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SøułSurvivør Jan 2017
A protest song inspired by sjr1000

Frig & Frack dance a dance
To see who is astute
They run an oil rag up a pole
To see who will salute

Nobody seems to see it
They just watch TV
Corporate's just overjoyed!
They can dance for *FREE!


They just quash the media
Build gas-guzzling trucks
People purchase in their millions
So Frig & Frack make BUCKS!

Nobody seems to wonder
Why water tastes so funny
Why their kids have cancer
Why... Big Oil's makin' MONEY!


Yeah... nobody seems to care a fig
Most people aren't that hyper
Now Corporate can laugh and jig...

...and we all Pay the Piper!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/16/2017
Please read sjr1000's poem
"Friggin' Fracking"
It's just scathing.
We need more protest & awareness of this!
The media ain't gonna tell folks...
That's what poets & songwriters are FOR!
Stephen E Yocum Aug 2013
Once it was just an innocent pick and shovel,
not much effort not much trouble,
Populations grew and demands exploded,
machines invented, more fuel was needed.
Trees were cut, factories built, coal discovered,
Smoke stacks billowed, still it was not enough!
And populations doubled.
  
Holes were drilled, to reach down deep,
"Black Gold" they said would be so cheap,
light the homes and run the ships,
drive the trains and keep the peace.  
Still it was not enough!
And the populations doubled!

**** the Earth, she can take it,
there is always more to exploit,
more to shamelessly profit from it.

Deplete the surface, Oh hell,
just go down deeper,
Oil all gone, well how 'bout shale?

A little recipe for disaster:
Drill multitudes of holes miles deep,
inject under extreme pressure,
thousands of gallons of water
imported from some great distance.
"Truck it in, ***** the expense!",
Add tons of harsh chemicals into this
volatile, polluting mix.
Blast deep strata with this brew,
until solid rock does crack,
Shale into gas and liquid gold,
Then bring it to the surface.

Now never mind the consequence,
That near by ground water as it flows
from out of household taps,
can be set afire by just the touch
of the lighted flame,
from a single just struck match.

And those now huge cracks deep
within the mantel of the Earth,
what of them I say,
Well not far below those cracks
is our molten lava core,
Just looking for escape.

Respected Geologists warn us of the risks,
Triggering quakes and huge volcano rips,
Yet the Fat Cats and their government,
still assures us, "never mind the consequence".

Ridiculous yes, perhaps suicidal,
As if the Captain of a submarine allowed his crew
to pound large nails into the body of his boat,
To hang up pictures of the Pope.

Again ridiculous you say,
Who would do such a insane thing?
The same **** guys that once owned the crews,
that swung that old pick and shovel,

A father to son inheritance,
by the same thieves, that manipulate our economy,
Riding the Bull up Wall Street and back down again,
All at their selfish greedy whims,
Never considering their corruption as any particular sin.

Those one percent spoilers who generation to generation,
continue to profit from their latest Big Business Gyration.
Even inventing a new name for this particular indiscretion,
Never even wincing, they straight faced lie with conviction,
and say hence,
"Hey folks, it's called Fracking, and you shouldn't mind
the consequence", 

So, it's profits over common sense,
The Fat Cats win again?  
My response to that,
Perhaps someone should FRACK them!

Now as to this just read little parable,
Less you dismiss it as some environmental fable.
The moral here is,
You glutinous greedy Big Oil Boys,
need to push back from the table!
A citizen lament for our Mother Earth .
Tommy Johnson Jul 2014
One day Frick when to the place to buy some stuff
While Frack stayed in the area to do some things
Frack tossed out some junk
He used the the whatchamacallit to clean the thingamajig
Pick up the odds and ends
And he scrubbed a doodad with the thingamabob


Frick purchesed some knickknacks and bric-a-brac
A few sundries
A couple of tchotkes and trinkets
Some whatnot
A gizmo
A gadget
And more miscellaneous paraphernalia

When Frick got home Frack asked "What'd you buy?"
Frick said " Oh, this and that" "What'd you do all day?"
Frack said "Just a hodgepodge of etcetera, etcetera"
       -Tommy Johnson
Anais Vionet Dec 2022
Gigi Hadid wore pearls, a t-shirt and jeans to Paris fashion week. So, our (Lisa, Leeza and my) theme for this New Year’s Eve is “Jeans and pearls.” To be accurate, Gigi’s distressed, slouchy bottom, boyfriend jeans were embroidered with pearls - the pearls weren’t worn as a necklace - but Lisa and I think anything involving embroidery is a trailer-park trend - so we’ll be wearing strings of pearls. If Karen (Lisa and Leeza’s mom) lets us, that is.

Karen has four strings of Tiffany pearls - called Essential, Ziegfeld, Akoya and South Sea Noble. They’re all 16-inch, single strand strings (which we all prefer) and they range in value from $600 (the Akoya) to the expensive (South Sea Noble) string - that she won’t lend anyone. The good news is, if anyone is thinking of buying me a string of pearls, I can’t tell the difference between the cheap string and the expensive string.

Leeza (Lisa’s 13-year-old sister) wants to be included in EVERYTHING this year, which is funny because last year she either attacked us or completely ignored us. This year, Leeza has a thirteen-year-old’s razor-sharp instincts and relentless curiosity.

As we’re Planning New Year’s Eve, Ethan Bortnick’s song, “Engraving” was playing. It’s a crazy song with middle-school, EMO, angsty vibes. One of the lines of the song is “strip for me”. As the song ends, Leeza suddenly asks us, “Have you two ever been to a *******?”
“No”, I answered.
Lisa said, “Once.”
“What?!” I asked.
“Really?” Leeza gasped, “Spill!” She demanded.
“This has random context,” Lisa begins, “I’ve been inside a ******* once in my life.”
Leeza and I tittered nervously. “I’m scared,” Leeza said, as an aside, grinning and rubbing her hands on her knees, clearly more delighted than scared.
“I was attending a middle school, Model UN conference, at Brown University,” Lisa continued, “and they took all the kids to a ******* for their model UN social.”
I gasped and blurted “There’s NO way this happened.”
“Yes,” Lisa insisted, “you can ask my mom.” she said, with a serious look, “And, and obviously, it was rented out for the night, but they didn’t, like, think to take away any of the normal features. There weren’t any strippers, but they didn’t take the poles down and they didn’t turn off the multiple TV screens on all the walls that were playing their normal rotating video content.”
“Wow,” I said, with my hand over my mouth. Meanwhile, Leeza was chortling like a mad woman and rocking back and forth.
“Everyone walked in,” Lisa went on, “and it was just middle schoolers, thirteen years old. There were pictures of the dancers on the poles, and our history teacher came in, and freaked OUT, saying, “Oh, no, No, NO!” Because it was a school event, we had taken school buses there, it was a boondoggle. They turned us all around and hustled us out of there.”
Leeza had stood up and was twirling with glee. Middle schoolers live for chaos.
“Taken out of context,” I said, “It was crazy you went to a ******* in middle school.”
“It was a jump scare, for sure,” Lisa confirmed, “we went from one vibe, a school field trip, to a *******.”

Anyway, for New Year’s, a lot is still up in the air - undecided - but we’re determined that we want to have a blast. We’re young and we want to support bad ***** energy (BBE).
“Oh, I have a BBE song!” Lisa squeals, “Mafiosa!” (by Nathy Peluso) She names it as it begins playing.

The songs in Spanish and when it ended, I’d looked up the lyrics because my 2 years of Spanish weren’t good enough. I tell Leeza the lyrics go: “Let the bad men fear me, when I arrive in my car - they speed off.”
“Yes!” Lisa Laughs, “We don’t drive - but, YES!”
“Emotionally,” I say, laughing too. “But verse two asks the great question, “What the frack is wrong with men when it comes to women?”
“It’s,” Lisa started, looking up and searching for words, “SUCH a timeless question.”
“Why’d you pick that song?” Leeza asked.
Lisa chuckled,” Because you don’t get more BBE than a female Mafiosa killer.”

Update: Karen agreed that as long as Charles is with us (and really, when isn’t he with us?), we can borrow the three inexpensive pearl strings (worth about 5k). So, I’ll be wearing the Akoya pearls, an Anna Molinari white, basic, cotton-shirt, washed denim cropped jeans with white bridal flats and Lisa and Leeza will wear their own, white tops, jeans, flats and pearls and we’ll be on-theme.

Happy New Year’s Everyone!
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Boondoggle: a wasteful activity involving public money or labor.
Brent Kincaid Feb 2016
You made me hate you.
You must love to do it,
You’re acting like you knew it.
You made me hate you.
There’s really nothing to you.
You’re loathed by all that knew you.

You are disgusting sometimes
And times you’re worse.
You really need drugs and
A doctor and a full time nurse.

You always lie so
The truth seems to evade you.
It’s like the devil made you.
I wish you’d just frack off.

Gimme, gimme, gimme
What I long for
A better kind of behavior
I can’t write a song for.
You know you made me
Hate you!
Maggie Emmett Jan 2015
My partner has a crush on Karen Black
He watches every movie and repeat
Anyone would wonder what they lack

As actors go, she surely is a hack
but “A Trilogy of Terror” is his treat
My partner has a crush on Karen Black

It’s not as if she has a fulsome rack
But something stirs his blood to boiling heat
Anyone would wonder what they lack

I dream of Idris Elba in the sack
Sheer perfection wrapped naked in a sheet
But my man has his crush on Karen Black

Her voice so harsh the underground would frack
Split layers of the earth beneath our feet
Her smiling face would every mirror crack

Despite all this, she seems to have the knack
To entice and tease every man to cheat
My partner has a crush on Karen Black
It makes me wonder what it is I lack.
© M.L.Emmett 2015
For humorous picture of this poem: https://magicpoet01.wordpress.com/2015/01/27/karen-black-a-villanelle/
I am the carnage
dripping with emoluments
reeking of duplicity
occupier of cities
torturer of insurgents
ruler by decree of tweets

A grand vision of myself
is forever fixed
in my mind’s eye

I am the zeitgeist
my murmuration
reverberates
through every
media channel
dazzling the
dizzy digerati
diligently tweeting
my precious
prescient
predilections

I descended from
my gilded 5th Ave tower
conveyed by a downward escalator
to save the common mass
from devastation and destruction

sweeping across
magnificent porticos
making grand entrances
through marine guarded gates
the glint of a rising sun
highlights the halo
of my golden coiff
and the fortitude of
my deep red power tie

I survey the global landscape
that fellow elites and I
have assiduously crafted
to loot unfathomable wealth
to indulge our idiosyncratic whims

The perpetual war
Toppled soverns
The viral terrors
The blighted cities
Ineffectual schools
Strangling bureaucracies
Egregious taxation
Omnipotent corporations
Offshored industries
Meager wages
Balooning wealth gap
Industrial stasis
Imminent domaine
Deteriorating health
Withering private life
Fractured families
Ubiquitous addictions
Disempowerment
Disenfranchisement
Stultifying work
Environmental degradation
Consuming violence
Government  spying
Police State repression
All was created by me
For the benefit of me

I alone can fix the carnage
I and like minded confederates
so cleverly created for our sole benefit


I understand the peril of
The Forgotten Man
He is under siege  
Hiding in the bowels
Of violent cities
He is foreclosed in
Shuttering suburbia
He is lost in the changing
Ethnicity of our homeland
He's been abandoned
By the perpetually elected
Politicians beholden to the
Monied interests
He is set adrift    
To wander among
the tombstones
Of a dying America

We are under siege
By Illegals stealing jobs
Victimized by their crime sprees
They live off the public dole
They undermine America
aided and abetted by the liberals
Who like the terrorists
Are waiting to pounce
with blood dripping fangs
to further their
UnAmerican agenda

I am the corruptor
I bought the politicians
Skidded the regulations
evaded taxes
cut corners
pushed every
envelop to
advance the
cause of me
-the devoted profiteer-
the dissolution
of Atlantic City
is the hallmark
of my handiwork

I gorged myself
at the public troughs
Reaping tax abatements
my skilled hand
always extracting
concessions and coinage
from the public purse
a clever businessman indeed

I am the art of the deal
the bankrupter of businesses
prince of crooked commerce
Defaulter on debts
Whelsher on payments
to workers for service due
I am the darling of the
double dealing derring-do

I am drawn to the beautiful
I am enamoured with me
My favorite pastime,
Watching Celebrity
Apprentice reruns
-the highest rated show
of all time… (a curious alt fact)-
more people attended and
watched my inaugural address
then any other president
throughout history….
PERIOD!

I have a proud collection
of trophy wives ….
the purpose of my family
is to affirm and flatter me
I agree with Howard Stern
that Ivanka is a piece of ***
I wish I could date her

As I walk the fantastic
performance stages of my life
I am radically entitled
to gleefully grab *****
insult disgusting subordinates
castigate uppity females
like Rosie and Megyn
while remaining
a titillated ******
visiting teenage
beauty pageant
dressing rooms

I am a committed
serial adulterer
that staunchly upholds
the sanctity of family values

I made my fortune
Extracting rent
trafficking in vice...
gambling and circuses
For the masses
These are my specialties
and I ***** my name
to all licensees
willing to pay me
to brand any
faux luxerient

I alone can fix the carnage
I and like minded confederates
so cleverly created
for our personal benefit

Tax me with requests
for insights to whom
I am and with whom
I do business
I will offer nothing but
the impenetrable
opaqueness

Look into the mirror
Every base impulse
Every fear, prejudice
Resent you discover
You will find me

I am settled into
every ****** crag
Every worry line
searing your brow
Skillfully plained by me

I am a paradox
wrapped in the
enigma of self
aggrandizing deals

I am the
daring deconstructor
of public schools
Rent seeking
holy privatization
will enrich fellow elites
together we shall
gleefully grease the slide
of the dumb down ride
abhorring facts
ideology, opinions
and optics rule

I cultivate a
suspicion of science
Preferring the superiority
of suspicion in service to
A bloated gut feel
as the ultimate arbiter of
The course to pursue

I pledge allegiance
to the ruthless exploitation
Of Mother Earth
Like a juggernaut
I will roll over the
Standing Rock Protectors
And any opposition
to the extraction
And distribution
of fossil fuels
I'll Frack
the republic to pieces
Direct my armies
To conquest oil rich nations
to quench my insatiable thirst
For the fuel of all capitalist tools

health care is not
a universal right
I care only for
The health of my own
and the welfare of
the privileged few
I promise to *******
Many with my Trumpcare

I am the defiler
of sanctuary cities
Disruption is my pleasure
the route of humanity
Tramping through
this burning world
Is welcomed to my hell

I distrust unity
I slice through cohesion
At ribbon cutting ceremonies

I drain The Swamp
And fill it with quicksand
I Enable anger
It's a sign of manliness

I collaborate with
a rising Confederacy
The Altright promises
To undermine the Union
With assault and battery…

My pout crowns
a cunning heart
My scowl is
the router of joy

Purple bunting
Perpetually hangs
On my heart

The blue line
Is not blue enough
the lawless half
Must be cowed
Into submission

I vow to scrub
The institutional memory
Of the Federal system
and all democratic tradition

I exalt  the fantasies
Of the forgotten man
I will fill his long memory
With fables of his foibles
And litanies of my
next great conquest

My Scepter of deception
Anoint the fictions of me
Attesting to my greatness
My craft is vanity

Putin is my model
I empathize with
How he deals with
dishonest journalists

I am empowered by the
Apartheid of Zion
I too am a builder of walls
Celebrant of separatism
Suspicious of the other
I burn the bridges
Severing all connections to them

Duplicity is our new national religion
My thumbs are bloodied by furtive tweets
My mind is pinched by anguish
The weight of myself
Strides across our
denigrated landscape
like Goya's Colossus
I am the carnage  

Music; Led Zeppelin
When the Levee Breaks

Lavallette
1/29/17
jbm
composed after the Women's March
to honor ****** Hair,
the 45th President of the US
To frack, or not to frack, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the eyes of the world to suffer
The stings and barbs of outrageous corporations
Or to take up pen against a flood of money
And by opposing silence them.  To speak, to write
Not heeded; and by a word we say stop
The drilling and the thousand unnatural shocks
That earth is heir to: ‘tis a consummation
Decidedly to be needed. To speak, to write;
To march, perhaps be silent—yes, there’s the challenge
For in that sleep of conscience, what death may come?
"Ninì Santoro, il fine dicitore,
maestro di eleganza e di maniere,
il re del music-hall, il gran signore,
debutta questa sera al Trianon".
Guardanno 'o manifesto, chi liggeva
penzava: certo chisto è n'artistone.
Tenevemo st'attore? E chi 'o ssapeva!
Stasera stessa mm' 'o vaco a ssentì.

C' 'o tubbo, 'a caramella e nu bucchino
d'avorio giallo, luongo miezo metro;
un fazzoletto bianco nel taschino,
ncuollo nu frack 'e seta blummarè

Tutt' 'o teatro illuminato a giorno,
na marcia trionfale comm' "Aida",
Santoro ascette e cu na faccia 'e corne
pareva ca diceva: "Eccomi qua!

Mo v'aggia fa vedè chi è Santoro,
il fine dicitore, il fantasista
ca quanno arape 'a vocca caccia ll'oro,
oro colato 'e primma qualità".

'O pubblico ansioso s'aspettava:
chi sa mo ch'esce 'a vocca a stu Santoro.
Ma ch'era ascì... Santoro 'ncacagliava,
faceva smorfie, zumpe e niente cchiù.

Nun fernette nemmeno 'o riturnello
d' 'o primmo raccuntino d'avventure,
quann'uno arreto a me: "Santò, si bello!"
('Ndranghete!) E allazza nu pernacchio 'e nuvità.

Fuie cumm'a nu signale 'e na battaglia,
mancava poco e nce scappava 'o muorto:
'e sische mme parevano mitraglia.
Santoro nun putette continuà.

"Ll'artista" se facette 'a mappatella:
'o frack, 'o tubbo, 'o fazzuletto bianco,
s'annascunnette pure 'a caramella.
Dicette: "Aggio sbagliato,.. Ch'aggia fà?".

Trent'anne so passate 'a chella sera
che il fine dicitore fantasista
pe fforza avette chiudere 'a carriera
a beneficio dell'umanità.

Aiere steva scritto into 'o giurnale che:
"dopo varii e lunghi appostamenti
è stato assicurato un criminale
alla Giustizia delle Autorità".

E chi era, neh, stu disgraziato?
Santoro... il dicitore fantasista,
ca, pe magnà, al furto s'era dato
o pover'ommo pe putè campà.

Io penso che fu l'epoca sbagliata;
trent'anne fa tutto era n'ata cosa.
Oggi che il nostro gusto s'è cambiato
Santoro fosse na celebrità.
Zaynub Jan 2015
in school
we learned about hydraulic fracturing
when they would send pressurized chemicals into the earth
until the earth began to “frack”

well that’s what i felt like
when your words rained down upon me so hard
my brain began to crack
I was in my chair
outside, on the patio,
when I thought
I would have ***
with my lover Earth,
so remembering
Kurt Vonnegut's
interesting kind of ***
where the two lovers
put their feet together,
I put my feet
on my lover's feet,
and Bam
what a feeling!
so she suggested
that I go eat some dirt
as a kind of communion,
so I watered my **** garden
remembering
that the Earth laughs
in weeds,
and watered the other garden
remembering
that the Earth is dirt,
so I ate
a little pinch
of dirt,
and then she told me,
"Don't worry
about the men
who frack me
and **** me,
I love them
and will give you all
everything,
because there's always more
where that came from."
D Lowell Wilder Mar 2016
Say that we are enemies
Arch-eyed sharp means you ridicule.
You don’t get what our spit means to each other.
You mah frick; I you frack.
Yolo contendere, peace out bella pie.
Pushing on word boundaries, stretching them.
All we get is rhetoric,they're just gobbing off and I'm sick of it
we ought to send the ****** lot down the pit
I'm so frustrated I could spit.

They're bearing down on me in Downing street, building
high rise homes but
tearing down the street where I grew up,it
makes me want to throw up,show up with a deputation to
state the case for conservation,but they never listen to the likes
of me,
that's democracy,a bunch of scheming hypocrites sitting in their leather seats and tearing down my ****** streets,the ones where I grew up.

Well,
**** me, fracking's got to be the only saving grace I see,they say they'll frack far,far below,
ha,
so
them ******* at the top will be the first to know
when the whole world falls apart and
the last to bleedin' go.
David Nelson Apr 2010
4 and 20

Jump down, turn around, pick a bale of cotton,
scuse me, while I kiss this guy,
old times there, are not forgotten,
4 and 20 blackbirds, baked in a pie,

now of course, the question has to be,
just what is the point, of all these crazy quotes,
the message seems quite clear you see,
unless you've been too busy, tending to the goats

just why is it mandatory, that have to keep jumping down,
would it not be easier, to stay there all along,
and just what did Jimi mean, why would he kiss a clown,
or did I misunderstand, the meaning of his song

I also take exception, to the fact presented here,
that old times or not forgotten, never fade to black,
hey, I cannot even remember your name my dear,
just who were those jokers, Frick and Frack

Is it really possible to fit all those birds,
under the crust, of just one pie,
and of course the thing that bugs me,
is why, oh why, oh why

Gomer LePoet...
(News, May 2015: Every new home in France must grow food or have solar paneling)

Maupassant and Baudelaire
Say stick it up your derriere
You countries that just won't care
'Cos energy is free as free as thought
In sunshine caught
So take your sticky carbon crap
Your shale, oil, and your frack
And leave them in the ground below
For we are here: the undertow
And we will grow.
Megan Mae Jan 2011
How does this happen,
Again and again?
I don't try to do it,
I can never win.
I honestly watch out,
I'm careful and proud,
But still i end up falling-
FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
I'm sick of the heart ache,
I'm tired of the pain.
I want it all washed away
In the thundering rain.
Why can't it be easy
IS THIS JUST A GAME?
My poor heart is broken
they have no shame.
My hearts not been whole
For quite some time.
Been broken to pieces
Dropped on a dime.
Why do I keep doing this,
Will I ever fracking Learn?
My heart should be locked up
All those cruel men should BURN!
They trick me and treat me like i'm one of the best,
Then reach in my throat and pull my heart from my ******* chest.
Just beat me and kick me and tie me in chains
You honestly can't hurt me, no matter the pains...
For now my heart is locked up
You'll never see it again.
Not even will it peek out for even a friend.
For i've been fooled to many times,
I'm so heart sick looking for love to be mine.
So fragile, so eager, I don't want to be alone-
Yet here i am hitting every fracking stone.
Frack Really I did it again?
When will my heart learn it never will win.
Forget all the sighing, forget all the thieves of hearts.
Put ice on the bruises and wrap all the marks.
I'll never let any one else in again,
Why must I fall for you...over and over again...
- From Slipping Heart
BF Dec 2014
-
you enable me
you toy with me
you puzzle me
you frick with me, you frack with me
you scatter my thoughts
my wits
my heartstrings
but you also make me laugh
and that kind of trumps everything else
Commuter Poet Sep 2016
How do we want our children to live?
Must it be the same way as us?
Did we succeed in showing the way?
Or should we be seeking an alternative path?

Our planet is green, blue and kind
The air all around is fair and mild
The creatures beside us are full of great beauty
The earth is a miracle home to the trees

How do we want our children to live?
Must it be the same way as us?
Did we succeed in showing the way?
Or should we be seeking an alternative path?

Our industries build still more powerful weapons
The leaders talk of building up walls
The money men force us to pay higher prices
Whilst profiting daily from eternal wars

How do we want our children to live?
Must it be the same way as us?
Did we succeed in showing the way?
Or should we be seeking an alternative path?

Our seas fill up with plastic pollution
Our cities require that you wear a mask
Our reactors leak waste that will damage your baby
They frack the land brutally to quench their thirst

How do we want our children to live?
Must it be the same way as us?
Did we succeed in showing the way?
Or should we be seeking an alternative path?

The sun rises daily to show us our weakness
The moon weeps at night as we lie in our beds
The stars ask us questions to trouble our conscience
The galaxy waits for the next generation

How do we want our children to live?
Must it be the same way as us?
Did we succeed in showing the way?
Or should we be seeking an alternative path?
21st September 2016
It's a good day to live, to die, to try and write
I might even say it's a good day to wonder
outside of Pandora's keyhole
but you'd think it was a euphemism,
an alchemy when in reality it's a truism
as real as this.

If you'd told me the secret
let me in on where you keep it
we could do away with injustice
as you do away, every day.

In Lancashire
which is where the cheese is from and
on some promenade or off on the side
they're going to frack

Westminster backed the money men
and now we're ******* in knots
so
tell me how local is local when London's
disloyal?

I'd ask a Royal
but there's never one about when
the **** hits the fan,
well
not since Princess Diana
but
that's another sad story.
Kagey Sage Jun 2018
Progress is what we denote our history
but I think every human
must be high on helium
a rapidly depleting natural gas  
But we'll still frack the Earth up her ***
'till Cheney's great-grandkids choke
on air that weighs a couple ton
So instead of crying, Heil! I-burnt-a-ton!
He'll be saying, I failed ya son    

It's billionaires tricking millionaires
and poor funeral expenses heirs
They say the pretension is concentrated
in the impoverished to middling educated

"Those ***** Planeteers driving Priuses
and demanding taxes for their green agenda
Taking subsidies away from good ol' coal and oil
Like the Earth's more important than employment

Jesus was a carpenter, even he had a job
and there's still plenty of resources left to use up
Once the last drop of oil is drilled, the last animal's dead
Then the carpenter will come back to judge your soul

Hopefully you didn't waste your time
trying to save what was meant for man"
Michael Marchese Nov 2016
End scene on the Neogene

Where life-distort systems sustain
The epidemic apathy  
The superficial philistine
Degeneration entertain
Apocalypse obscenity
When everything's a ******* screen
Explicit content can't disclaim
The creds will roll mentality
Director's cutting guillotine
Makes severed heads and zombie brains
Of our inane humanity
One more cliche inaction scene

Exit stage fright for Pleistocene

Where anti-social norms have changed
The prof pic of society
To this no-filtered drama queen
Waging a twitter war complain
On photobombing refugee
Hashtag #unfriendthistrendregime
Unfollow Insta-claims to fame
Of Snap-storied conformity
Emoticon artists convene
To sell their Tinder-kindled pain
For likes and robot empathy
Dead to the world as they live stream

Brief Intermission Holocene

Where modern man is just a game
Of media monopoly
Rich Uncle's *** of Disney schemes
Pinochhio's nose, knows no shame
When Apple's poison byte comes free
With Mickey Mouse ABC themes
No Goofy Fox News hound can tame
The Lion King Plutocracy  
As talk show ghosts in the machine
Project deceptive astral plains
Phantasmic family tv
What's real is once upon a dream

Final act Anthropocene

Where we're all dropping acid rain
In puff-puff gas complacent-sea
Raising the level of morphine
Numbing denial river veins
To drown the truth in ecstasy
From alcoholic gasoline
That's sold dirt cheap like frack *******
By FDA approved decree
So patch it up with nicotine
And then OD on pure disdain
For sober, bleak reality
An age of addicts on drug screens

Let curtains fall to wipe us clean
Matt May 2016
I can tell you about life
But I don't know
What's for

I can tell you
I'm alive
And my life
Is a total bore

Sometimes on hikes
Or sitting beneath trees
Only a little meat
Too much is not good for me

And these people
On there computers
And their phones

Everyone in their
Own zone

And I'd like to go
To an exclusive party
Just for fun

To see hot babes
On the beach
*******

Underneath
The setting sun

"Frack"
That is what
Starbuck said

But he did not
Let the enemy catch him
He is not dead

You want this
You want that
It doesn't work that way

Keep most things inside
Don't give yourself away

Times are fleeting
And no one is meeting
Meeting me here

And I'm alone again
And I find it all queer

I should just relax
And have a beer

But no one wants to drink
Alone
That is no fun

The man
From the Twilight Zone
Had to make a distant planet
His home

They brought him
A robot lady
To be his friend

To him it was
A Godsend

And then something bad
Happened to her
In the end

I did not watch
What happened
To his friend

And here I am
All alone

Living in
My zone

I suppose
My muscles
Aren't big enough
Or I'm not
Mean or tough

I'll probably
Be a ******
All of my days

Learning to
Experience pleasure
In different ways

Just wanted a hug
Just wanted to feel
Wanted friendship
With a woman
Something real

Something of value
A little fun

In and out
Of my life
These women walk
And on their phones
They do talk

Off to be with
Lovers and friends

My loneliness
Is a steady trend

Friendly women
Come to me
Let us eat mangos
And let things be

It will all happen
So naturally
Hugging underneath
The shade of elm trees

Lovers are much to close
Don't want to get burned
Like a marshmallow
At a roast

Just want mutual appreciation
And friendly hugs
And to drink Ovaltine
From coffee mugs

And as the seasons pass
I wonder

And my cat is still
Quite frightened
My rain and thunder

Often times
I ramble on
They tell me that it's toxic
a bit like voting
Brexit,

I tell them go
and frack it and
tell me how it feels.
This is your soul speakin’
Time has come to enter the ring
You want ‘em to know you’re the king
I don’t wanna see this body give in
For that matter, be the master
Off with this super cozy sweater
Pump it up baby, work it out,
Hold yourself together and try it out.

So let me tell you it’s gonna hurt so bad
But when the signs kick in, don’t stop
Tell them guys you’re gonna get on top
To do that despise respite, lad
You wanna sweat and you know what?
Considering the effort, it’s great
Think about your badass swat
Punch this body to the floor

You don’t want to reach your limits
You’re here to overcome them, so come on
School gave you more than satisfying units
You’ve learned to cope with it, you’re tough
Don’t waste your time, your session is on
And don’t be surprised, this is gonna be rough
Whisper you love this power when you grab it
If you fake the whole stuff this is not gonna make it


So get up, gimme all you got, this is the first round
You like the way you’re struggling and screaming
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!

You’ve passed the 30th line, and you should begin to feel
Sweat covering your hands and this heavy barbell
Ain’t so bulky after all, here comes the spell
Casting this astonishing adrenaline, don’t kneel
Ignore the pain caused by the bench press, you feel better
If you hold onto it because this is the right track
You won’t die baby, bounce and destroy the latter
And remember of the rest you don’t give a frack

So get up, gimme all you got, this is the first round
You like the way you’re struggling and lifting
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!




That’s not the helluva lot to do, you know
At first you can just choose to take it slow
But I thought I told ya to rip your ribs
Well yes, sweat is dripping on your hips
Don’t give up **** it, don’t give in
I said don’t give up, did you hear me speakin?
You’re getting stronger, I said you’re getting stronger
You’re a 700 nitro gun, guy, and it’s getting warmer.

So get up, gimme all you got, this ain’t the final round
You like the way you’re struggling and lifting
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!

June, 10, 2014.

After workin’out.
lelolel Dec 2017
Destruction of wildlife
Dark laws enforced
Don't frack with my life
And i won't frack with yours
Traveler Mar 2020
Traveler
Watch Her choke as we burn Her oil
Frack Her in Her fertile soil
Festering life forms
In a enchanted garden
In debt to The Earth
No footprint pardoned..
ryn
Pillage and plunder Her precious rocks
Engorge Her full with artificial stock
Praise Her beauty
yet **** for Her bounty
What careless minds conceived
Our callous hands retrieved
Traveler & ryn
Collaboration


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGfuIBs2r28
"Ninì Santoro, il fine dicitore,
maestro di eleganza e di maniere,
il re del music-hall, il gran signore,
debutta questa sera al Trianon".
Guardanno 'o manifesto, chi liggeva
penzava: certo chisto è n'artistone.
Tenevemo st'attore? E chi 'o ssapeva!
Stasera stessa mm' 'o vaco a ssentì.

C' 'o tubbo, 'a caramella e nu bucchino
d'avorio giallo, luongo miezo metro;
un fazzoletto bianco nel taschino,
ncuollo nu frack 'e seta blummarè

Tutt' 'o teatro illuminato a giorno,
na marcia trionfale comm' "Aida",
Santoro ascette e cu na faccia 'e corne
pareva ca diceva: "Eccomi qua!

Mo v'aggia fa vedè chi è Santoro,
il fine dicitore, il fantasista
ca quanno arape 'a vocca caccia ll'oro,
oro colato 'e primma qualità".

'O pubblico ansioso s'aspettava:
chi sa mo ch'esce 'a vocca a stu Santoro.
Ma ch'era ascì... Santoro 'ncacagliava,
faceva smorfie, zumpe e niente cchiù.

Nun fernette nemmeno 'o riturnello
d' 'o primmo raccuntino d'avventure,
quann'uno arreto a me: "Santò, si bello!"
('Ndranghete!) E allazza nu pernacchio 'e nuvità.

Fuie cumm'a nu signale 'e na battaglia,
mancava poco e nce scappava 'o muorto:
'e sische mme parevano mitraglia.
Santoro nun putette continuà.

"Ll'artista" se facette 'a mappatella:
'o frack, 'o tubbo, 'o fazzuletto bianco,
s'annascunnette pure 'a caramella.
Dicette: "Aggio sbagliato,.. Ch'aggia fà?".

Trent'anne so passate 'a chella sera
che il fine dicitore fantasista
pe fforza avette chiudere 'a carriera
a beneficio dell'umanità.

Aiere steva scritto into 'o giurnale che:
"dopo varii e lunghi appostamenti
è stato assicurato un criminale
alla Giustizia delle Autorità".

E chi era, neh, stu disgraziato?
Santoro... il dicitore fantasista,
ca, pe magnà, al furto s'era dato
o pover'ommo pe putè campà.

Io penso che fu l'epoca sbagliata;
trent'anne fa tutto era n'ata cosa.
Oggi che il nostro gusto s'è cambiato
Santoro fosse na celebrità.
"Ninì Santoro, il fine dicitore,
maestro di eleganza e di maniere,
il re del music-hall, il gran signore,
debutta questa sera al Trianon".
Guardanno 'o manifesto, chi liggeva
penzava: certo chisto è n'artistone.
Tenevemo st'attore? E chi 'o ssapeva!
Stasera stessa mm' 'o vaco a ssentì.

C' 'o tubbo, 'a caramella e nu bucchino
d'avorio giallo, luongo miezo metro;
un fazzoletto bianco nel taschino,
ncuollo nu frack 'e seta blummarè

Tutt' 'o teatro illuminato a giorno,
na marcia trionfale comm' "Aida",
Santoro ascette e cu na faccia 'e corne
pareva ca diceva: "Eccomi qua!

Mo v'aggia fa vedè chi è Santoro,
il fine dicitore, il fantasista
ca quanno arape 'a vocca caccia ll'oro,
oro colato 'e primma qualità".

'O pubblico ansioso s'aspettava:
chi sa mo ch'esce 'a vocca a stu Santoro.
Ma ch'era ascì... Santoro 'ncacagliava,
faceva smorfie, zumpe e niente cchiù.

Nun fernette nemmeno 'o riturnello
d' 'o primmo raccuntino d'avventure,
quann'uno arreto a me: "Santò, si bello!"
('Ndranghete!) E allazza nu pernacchio 'e nuvità.

Fuie cumm'a nu signale 'e na battaglia,
mancava poco e nce scappava 'o muorto:
'e sische mme parevano mitraglia.
Santoro nun putette continuà.

"Ll'artista" se facette 'a mappatella:
'o frack, 'o tubbo, 'o fazzuletto bianco,
s'annascunnette pure 'a caramella.
Dicette: "Aggio sbagliato,.. Ch'aggia fà?".

Trent'anne so passate 'a chella sera
che il fine dicitore fantasista
pe fforza avette chiudere 'a carriera
a beneficio dell'umanità.

Aiere steva scritto into 'o giurnale che:
"dopo varii e lunghi appostamenti
è stato assicurato un criminale
alla Giustizia delle Autorità".

E chi era, neh, stu disgraziato?
Santoro... il dicitore fantasista,
ca, pe magnà, al furto s'era dato
o pover'ommo pe putè campà.

Io penso che fu l'epoca sbagliata;
trent'anne fa tutto era n'ata cosa.
Oggi che il nostro gusto s'è cambiato
Santoro fosse na celebrità.
Jason May 2021
She would stand in the path of an avalanche and yell, "Stop!"
Frack me if she wouldn't actually expect the avalanche to respect her.
She'd be thinking about how to teach the avalanche manners,
Safe inside her brand-new igloo.


Butch Decatoria Sep 2020
Crackersfrack!
Crackers Fracking barrels
Where family eats
Got diabetic farming gasoline
It’s a franchise made
To give disorders
The Web did not free all men
It’s global gone viral
World wide sky net
Complaining to the same machine mean
They will not listen
Crackers Fracking barrels
Don’t **** where
We sleep
When we close our eyes
What is seen inside
Inner void
Burnt
Black
Stuck on black
Not so easy
Sunday mornings  Faceless nation
Of unreal politics’
Scapegoat housewives :
Mothers once beloved, Those olden days
Parasols in the sun :
Spin doctoring our lives...
Crackers Fracking our lungs :
Deforestation asphyxiations,
Marching drums...

(World Peace Now !)
Repost
there  fracking in the sea all along the shore
the creatures in the sea no freedom any more
many they will die as they frack away
creatures cant talk back they dont have say

digging up the sea with there deadly deed
killing all the creatures killing all there feed
they dont really care digging day to day
destroying  everything that gets in there way

no matter what we say they will carry on
destoying all the nature till all natures gone
they dont really think they dont really care
they will carry on no matter what is there
Maggie Sorbie Dec 2018
Through the place where
the atmosphere ends
They're sending satellites
and things
to search around
to find more
resources to mine

and making holes
down in the ground
where they're drilling
and digging
injecting
to crack
and frack
for 'natural' gas

We're afraid
for the future
our children will find
We're afraid
one day they will mind
How many stretches of imagination
does it take to reach the Moon?

daily exercise?
I fraternise with this
enemy,
within me
there is untapped energy
come
'frack me'

ha
I crack myself up at times.
Butch Decatoria May 2021
Freedom Cries
Latter tears
For all the lives that lie
Beneath Founding Fathers' Liberties its feared
Swept under rug
In white toupees, french rolls
Talcum powder white
Land of blood & milk & honey
All the earth bestowed by God
For He so loveth man
Genocide wipe out the indigenous
Seed
The native son's lost histories
The world wide invasion
Like a web

Problem is people is
The virus to nature's maturity
Under Founding Fathers'
Liberty.

Life's propriety made property.  
We're lost on the run
Ignorants in bliss. Hail capitalists, consumers injesting under the gun...
What the frack is happening
Running out of hacking breath
What father knows best
Can't outrun Death.
Sionara all the best, god bless...
Out of breath.
And Done.
How ideal to luxuriate
supposed divine right frill
maximizing climate control
with matter of fact bravado
creature comfort pang to fulfill
consequent flagrant portent

to exercise freewill
beware controlled environment
pays hefty bill
cracking heat as
temperature gets chill
cumulative destructive

ecological footprints generated,
thus advisable to swallow
figuratively bitter pill,
herewith suggested
binary/digital quill,
cuz unchecked energy

consumption will
necessitate fossil fuels
subjected to frack and drill
invariably contribute
render moot no rhyme
or reason for Jack and Jill

to hastily clamber uphill
fetching pail of possibly
tainted, ruined, polluted... water
evidenced courtesy eutrophication
algal blooms, decimated krill
aquatic flora and fauna stockstill

meaning... untenable for life
perhaps percolating, spewing, zapping...
seepage from landfill
nsync with detritus
many industries spill,
not necessarily directly

linkedin to cranking thermostat until
warmth ideal for barenaked ladies,
who cavort, frolic,
viz yule eyes imagistic poetic skill
veritably lighting boathouse row
reflections shimmering, scintillating,

glistening off Schuylkill
deceptive brilliant appearance
unsafe toxic drinking water courtesy mill
yens flowing electrons to power
industrial secretes no longer confidential
public knowledge and awareness critical

to stem tide allowing, enabling,
and providing juice to sustain treadmill
ever faster rat race pace of life cozily housing
**** sapiens hermetically sealed against
extreme temperatures,

ye must adapt experiencing chill
bundling layers of clothes -
case in point yours truly,
who also keeps windows ajar
refreshing brisk air lungs to fill.
Donall Dempsey Dec 2023
"... IN THE UNENDING AFTERNOON OF HER EYES..."

We drift from
Parisian museum to

Parisian museum
as if calling upon

some grand home
and the paintings deign

to see us
we the tourist class.

We are caught
in a deluge.

The unrelenting rain
tears time off

the present moment
revealing the past underneath

an older century
bleeding through.

How fragile are
les temps perdu.

I  whistle a motif
from César Franck.

"What's that ?" you say
"...the National Anthem of our love!"

I gaze up at Proust's
cork-lined room

102 boulevard Haussmann
now become a bank.

Imagine him there
glancing down at us

glancing up  at him
the slight movement of  blue satin drapes.

Or have I imagined him
as he imagines us

hurrying figures
from another time

the rain obscuring us
each from the other.

"Love..." Marcel reminds me
“...is space and time.."

his voice almost lost
in the rain's din

"...measured by the heart.”

"Allons Madeline....allons!"
A French mum scolds her sulky child.

The rain reigns
supreme.

*

By 1906, Proust’s parents had died, his brother had married, and he felt the family residence was too big. He moved to 102 Boulevard Haussmann(in the Ian Fleming novel Thunderball, it is described as "the solidest street in Paris" and the site of the headquarters of SPECTRE.) a building owned by his Uncle Louis, where he wrote the bulk of his work, mostly in bed.

Today the building belongs to the CIC bank, which has restored the bedroom, famously lined in cork for soundproofing, but the room’s contents are in the Musée Carnavalet, leaving the solitary chamber soulless..the silence listening to us not making a soundl.
.
SPECTRE in some fictional alternative world still has its headquarters on Boulevard Haussmannn...a fact of which I was totally unaware being pulverised by rain and time....the moment coming apart at the seams.

A reconstruction, with original furniture, of the room where Marcel Proust wrote In search of lost time can be seen in the  Musée Carnavalet.

Off in a cramped corner were the reassembled pieces of furniture from Proust’s bedroom, including a five-paneled Chinese screen, a velvet armchair that belonged to his father and a writing desk, used mostly for piling books. He kept his notebooks and writing materials on an old rosewood end table beside the bed. Two other tables are adrift in this cramped tableau, one of which was used for his morning coffee tray, usually served with milk and croissants.

The original Boulevard Haussmann apartment was spacious but crammed with furniture, with double windows always covered by padded blue satin drapes. The bedspread was blue satin as well and there was a chandelier, which was never lit when Proust was working. The only light was from a long-stemmed, green-shaded lamp on the bedside table.

We were headed for  the Musée Jacquemart-André, at 158 Boulevard Haussmann, the former home of banker and art collector Edouard André and his artist wife Nélie Jacquemart, recaptures the interior decor and lifestyle of respectable society. Proust was never a guest there, but he rotated in the same social circles, We were mere tourists...awed by the past.

As Beckett puts it in his essay on Proust...

"Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits, since the individual is a succession of individuals; the world being a projection of the individual’s consciousness (an objectivation of the individual’s will, Schopenhauer would say), the pact must be continually renewed, the letter of safe-conduct brought up to date. The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day. Habit then is the generic term for the countless treaties concluded between the countless subjects that constitute the individual and their countless correlative objects."

This poem is one of the countless treaties various individuals of me made with the moment in time that was mine being shared with Proust.

The enigma of the “little phrase” that “swept over and enveloped” Swann “like a perfume or a caress..." still lingers on as maybe Frack or as Proust admitted in a letter  Camille Saint-Saëns. I rather prefer Franck's Sonata in A major for Violin and Piano  for its perfect cyclic beauty and its gentle reflectiveness.

But it was Franck's gorgeous Symphony in D minor( and the transformations of its four-bar theme )that I was lost in that day and became for me the "...national anthem of our love."

“It is only through art that we can escape from ourselves and know how another person sees a universe which is not the same as our own and whose landscapes would otherwise have remained as unknown as any there may be on the moon.”

The title comes from a lovely phrase that has always haunted me...

"...calmly imprisoned in the unending afternoon of her eyes..."

THE GUERMANTES WAY - MARCEL PROUST.

— The End —