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Down in the bayou where the mangroves grow
There's talk of black voodoo, like Marie Leveau
The Swamp Witch, is legend, she has magic so black
That those who have seen her, have never come back
There;s tales of the noises that come from the dark
Of werewolves and zombies as rough as the bark
The mangroves are sentinels, to where the magic resides
Where even a longboat has no room to glide
Bodies go missing from the graveyards most nights
And there's always a fog shading the fireflies lights
The Swamp Witch is ruler and Queen of this world
Where souls are all taken and spines can be curled
They say that she came here from Canadian lands
She was a metis they say, from the Western Tar Sands
A mystic by nature, a dark witch by blood
She lives deep in the swamp, protected by gators and mud
The gators respect her, they do as she bids
They keep watch on the waters, they're her reptillian kids
She keeps zombies as gendarmes, collecting bodies to turn
Just how black is her magic, no one can discern
The Swamp Witch is legend, she is as old as all time
The air in the bayou is as thick as the slime
The cajuns say voodoo is the core of her heart
They avoid fishing where the mangrove trees start
The Swamp Witch, a legend ? or is she truly the Queen
She's the Louisiana Witch, no one survives once she's seen.....
It is not a confused whirr,
nor dumbish  agitprop poetry,
nor ramblings of a jumbuck
in guest for freedom to peddle
the awry science of antisemitism,
it is a poetic license of word-power
for him to  said what must only be said.

to sing cautionary verses and lyrics
against the flow of atomic warheads
from the America ,or whatsoever
on the western and Germany submarines
to the land of Israel, where Netanyau reigns
in terror and racist tyranny con Palestine,
or to versify a caution of this atomic arming
of Israel but not her neighbors like Persia
the cradle of Omar Khayyam the Rubiyatist,
or else to disarm the Arab world, as Israel terribly
arms her sons and daughters with nuclear and  Atomic drones
along with  hatred of the neighbours in mad avarice for land,
is not at all a crime of poetry but Gunter's artistic  morality.

Nobel reward cannot be a seal on your beak,
you Gunter, the brave son of  Bundeslander,
we cannot be lulled to sleepish silence
with blissful feelings of Nobel Laureatry,
cosmetic dignity , nonchalance or standoffishness,
when terror is reigning in the  Middle East
Israelis committing crimes against humanity
****** women, mauling children and shooting civilian Arabs,
that would be heinously wrong , punished even not
in the Hague of Holland but in the hottest place in hell
which John F. Kennedy saw Dante Alighieri creating,
for those who stand aloof , when evil is committed in the world.

Your communion in the Waffen schustafel or the Hitlerite SS,
is not impeachment on your moral history,nor reason for shame,
the poltergeist of Europe in the days of your youth was pure SS ,
in nature ,fibre and DNA,every European dreamed of a colony,
Britain and France cahorted to own Africa as their handkerchief,
****** bench marked to own France in 1943,  a colonial vintage,
******'s ***** was genuine government in Germany,
democratically ratified by the voters in Germany,
Your service to ****** was service to your country,
it was your turn of patriotism and love of fatherland,
like your contemporaries in other parts of the world
who prospered as the FBI,CIA,Mossadist,Kosmosols,
Gendarmes,Kanu youth wingers,or Colonial police
in Britain's Gulag in the name of African Archipelago.

i don't know what they mean,
when they call you Gunter the anti-Semite,
rebuking Israelis  terrible killing  of  Arabs
is not reason not even an emotion enough,
anywhere, whether on earth or in the ethereal,
to call Gunter an  anti-Semite or an  immoral poet.

wasn't colonialism a warped racial conscience,
was it not anti-negroism or anti-africanism,
persistent torture of black slaves in America,
doesn't it call for social phenomenology?
isn't it Anti-blackism or it is only  justifiable slavery?

Let Gunter Grass say what must be said,
let him sing what must be chanted,
Like Lenin and Gogol of Russia
let him do what must be done
let him fear what must be feared,
let him not fear the loss of Nobelite dignity,
Jean Paul Sartre won the Nobel Prize ,
but his clear socialist consciousness
made him decline to pick the cash,
in true service to his ideals,
he still glowed like a bush fire
in the Harmmattan wind
he never waned in glory whatsoever
even in his current realm of abode
among the living dead of the world
he still shines as a  center piece
when time for chance to voice of  reason
is called for, for humanity's sake,
Let Gunter Grass say what must be said.
in defense of Gunter Grass poem on Israeli-Persian relations, which has made Israel to be armed with Nuclear and Atomic warheads.Israel is not sensitive to global peace.
Anais Vionet Feb 2023
It was Monday, June 20th, 2022. My roommates and I are in Paris to see Olivia Rodrigo (in two days). But tonight, I was doing a favor for my great uncle Remy. Taking my elderly great-aunt Yvonne to the airport.

In RL this all happened in French but I wouldn’t do that to you - but just so you know.

“I’ve always thought of Anais as a granddaughter,” Yvonne said too loudly into my phone, which she had picked up and I was afraid she’d drop. She kept trying to hold it to her ear.

She smiled at me with her old lady dimples. “That’s sweet of you to say,” I lied. She doesn’t fool me. She’s not innocuous. She’s as mean as a snake and she doesn’t like ME at all. How did I end up doing this? I asked myself.

“No Aunt Yvonne,” I said as I gently moved the phone away from her ear. “This is a CAMERA call. Hold it out so they can SEE you.” She’s saying a final goodbye to Remy and letting a cousin know her arrival time. As the Facetime call ends, I pocket my phone with relief.

Lisa’s with us (I told her not to come) and she doesn’t speak French. So for her, this whole task is an awkward pantomime. Charles, our escort, drove us to Orly airport and he’s circling in wait to pick us up.

Yvonne walks at a glacial pace, and it took forever to clear security. Lisa and I have special tags allowing us to escort Yvonne to her gate. I offered to get her a wheelchair, but NOOOOO.
“We need to hurry –,” I began, but she interrupted me.
“Why are you wearing that skintight nothing?” she barked loudly, irritatedly, “if I had YOUR figure, I’d hide those tiny *******” (“minuscules seins,” in French, loudly). Heads turned. As I flushed with irritation, she cackled like a witch.

It’s 8pm in Paris and 30.5°C (87°F). I’m wearing a sports bra and two tank tops. Sue me. I wasn’t planning on doing this at all. We were staggering slowly through the terminal when, like a gift from God, an Air France courtesy tram pulled up next to us.
“Get on,” I demanded, “or we’ll miss your flight.” She did - as slowly as humanly possible.

When we finally got seated at the gate, she sent me for bottled water, a sleep mask, a neck pillow, sugarless lemon drops and a Paris Match magazine. “Thank you, my dear,” she said upon my return, baring her teeth at me in what I suppose was meant to be a smile.

“You should come and visit me (in Libreville, Gabon, Africa),” she suggested, “I think there are things I could teach you.” This is like that gingerbread-house invitation we read about as children.

“I can’t,” I said, with feigned regret, "I'm in school,” (I wouldn’t go there if she lived with Timothée Chalamet).

I heard a familiar voice, and I looked up to see my Grandmèr arriving with her usual entourage of 7 or 8 lackeys, a couple of frazzled Air France employees and two gendarmes.
“Yvonne,” she said, pointing to the two Air France employees, “these people will see to you. Say goodbye to Anais.”

“Goodbye dear,” Yvonne said in a fake, fragile voice. I gave Yvonne a half-hearted Paris bises (two kisses on each side) and my Grandmèr shooed me away with a hand gesture and an impatient, “Go, GO.” I’m afraid uncle Remy’s in trouble.

Yvonne and her branch of the family are the slimiest people you could ever meet. They’re billion-heirs (not billionaires - billion-heirs) who (theoretically) stand to inherit handsomely when my Grandmèr dies (I am NOT in that grubby lineup). They’re liars, cheaters and scoundrels who’d stab you in the face for an olive to put in their martinis. They're legal reasons my Grandmèr has to put up with them from time to time - but every interaction is fraught with phoniness.

About fifteen minutes later, Lisa and I are in the car with Charles racing back to Paris for dinner with our roommates. As I texted them to expect us in 20 minutes, Lisa said, “I got bad vibes from that old lady - the way she LOOKED at you when you weren’t watching..”

“YOU,” I said with a chuckle, “are very perceptive!”
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Fraught: “causing emotional stress or something bad.”
I.

Tu n'es certes pas, ma très-chère,
Ce que Veuillot nomme un tendron.
Le jeu, l'amour, la bonne chère,
Bouillonnent en toi, vieux chaudron !
Tu n'es plus fraîche, ma très-chère,

Ma vieille infante ! Et cependant
Tes caravanes insensées
T'ont donné ce lustre abondant
Des choses qui sont très-usées,
Mais qui séduisent cependant.

Je ne trouve pas monotone
La verdure de tes quarante ans ;
Je préfère tes fruits, Automne,
Aux fleurs banales du Printemps !
Non ! tu n'es jamais monotone !

Ta carcasse à des agréments
Et des grâces particulières ;
Je trouve d'étranges piments
Dans le creux de tes deux salières ;
Ta carcasse à des agréments !

Nargue des amants ridicules
Du melon et du giraumont !
Je préfère tes clavicules
À celles du roi Salomon,
Et je plains ces gens ridicules !

Tes cheveux, comme un casque bleu,
Ombragent ton front de guerrière,
Qui ne pense et rougit que peu,
Et puis se sauvent par derrière,
Comme les crins d'un casque bleu.

Tes yeux qui semblent de la boue,
Où scintille quelque fanal,
Ravivés au fard de ta joue,
Lancent un éclair infernal !
Tes yeux sont noirs comme la boue !

Par sa luxure et son dédain
Ta lèvre amère nous provoque ;
Cette lèvre, c'est un Eden
Qui nous attire et qui nous choque.
Quelle luxure ! et quel dédain !

Ta jambe musculeuse et sèche
Sait gravir au haut des volcans,
Et malgré la neige et la dèche
Danser les plus fougueux cancans.
Ta jambe est musculeuse et sèche ;

Ta peau brûlante et sans douceur,
Comme celle des vieux gendarmes,
Ne connaît pas plus la sueur
Que ton oeil ne connaît les larmes.
(Et pourtant elle a sa douceur !)

II.

Sotte, tu t'en vas droit au Diable !
Volontiers j'irais avec toi,
Si cette vitesse effroyable
Ne me causait pas quelque émoi.
Va-t'en donc, toute seule, au Diable !

Mon rein, mon poumon, mon jarret
Ne me laissent plus rendre hommage
À ce Seigneur, comme il faudrait.
« Hélas ! c'est vraiment bien dommage ! »
Disent mon rein et mon jarret.

Oh ! très-sincèrement je souffre
De ne pas aller aux sabbats,
Pour voir, quand il pète du soufre,
Comment tu lui baises son cas !
Oh ! très-sincèrement je souffre !

Je suis diablement affligé
De ne pas être ta torchère,
Et de te demander congé,
Flambeau d'enfer ! Juge, ma chère,
Combien je dois être affligé,

Puisque depuis longtemps je t'aime,
Étant très-logique ! En effet,
Voulant du Mal chercher la crème
Et n'aimer qu'un monstre parfait,
Vraiment oui ! vieux monstre, je t'aime !
John MacAyeal Sep 2015
I went to a European restaurant recently
and it may have been in Europe too
It wasn't a bad meal
And the waiter presented me with a bill crowded with euros
Or maybe pounds
I looked at it
Then said to him
"How about paying me the bill you owe me?"
He gawked at me.
"How about paying me the bill for serving as your pressure valve. Do you know how many insurrections, how many assassinations we prevented by taking in your frustrated and disaffected?"
He continued to gawk at me.
So I continued.
"No, really. Do you know how much you owe us for saving you from the Kaiser, from ******, from Mussolini, from who knows how many more crazies?"
He gawked, not knowing whether to call the gendarmes or reach into his billfold.
I continued.
"How about the bill you owe us for showing some restraint? You know we could have hanged every **** and Fascist officer over colonel at least? But we didn't. Instead we turned them into Siemens executives and Fiat general managers."
He still gawked, poised to jump for a phone or maybe just shout real loud.
So I continued.
"How about the bill for making your mediocre artists into rich men and women? You know it's us who turned Abba into stars. It's we who built the Scorpions' mansions."
He finally said something.
"Scorpions don't live in mansions. They live in nests."
I got up and left, then paused outside,
rested the left sole of my Ferragamo shoes on a Ferro Concrete wall
And waited to get arrested by cops without guns
Don Bouchard Jul 2016
It's not that I wanted to step away from the mic,
Nor wander away from the words;
It's this monstrous paper I'm trying to write
That keeps me from seeing you birds.

So, summer is ending, and I'm sixty-plus pages in,
With twenty or so of references done,
And a chapter or two I have yet to begin
Before I can rejoin the poetry fun.

I'd best step back out before gendarmes
Arrive to see if I'm even alive,
Locked up in this office with silent alarms
As I struggle to finally arrive.

Dissertation resembles gestation;
The fun was in passing exams;
Now I'm paying the past years' tuition
By proving I didn't just cram.

Can't wait to join you all in a few
...months?

Don
Robert C Ellis Jun 2016
The common blow fly, the
Adults, feeding off nectar and
Animal carcasses
All Forensic protozoa
Owing their
Fine structure of mid-gut
Epithelium to an alchemic
Grand Master,
Razing his glass knife
across alabaster and
buffer acetones as
These  larval Celestials
Intone
As gendarmes of Cyrus and
Cassaiopeia vibrating
The metronome
Honed with memory,
In my ear
All of it History
This poet decided against  
becoming a measly minced meaty morsel

undetected inauspicious augury
     assigning  adept
     aqueous ace AOL amphibian,
     who surreptitiously crept

to the secret crypt (guarded by
     foo fighters and amazing dragons)
     said gendarmes did except
special fluid scrip as egress into
     heavily fortified
     (with USDA recommended allowance),

thus when the configurative motley crue
including thyself (a bono fied doo
bee brother - long given up for lost,
     which "FAKE" oracle

     misinterpreted by a goo goo
doll, and cross dresser named Hugh
played being took a vow el,
     and hence consonantly knew
    
all along, i dwelt peacefully
     in a soundcloud loo
immensely spacious with ooh
dills of survival trappings

     purchased from  Peru
laborers treated by free pact
     guaranteeing a socially
     conscious shopper to rue

painstaking indigenous stoop labor,
     now stamped imprimatur could allow,
     enable and provide means to shoe
each formerly eczema dappled,

     cracked bare foot
     ah, a glimmer of hopefulness
     (upon this crowded house of a planet) view
which youtube snapchat ting

     reddit as joyous outlook
     sans linkedin shutterfly,
     twitter ring tender flickr ring shoots
     communicated an instagram message
     of hopefulness kickstarting optimism

versus the initial thread of this poem,
which to set this got off track
     (hinting at goal to be
     a paperback book writer wannabe)
rather than ending up as a byte size snack

     for a limbering beast, into whose tumblr
of one jagged razor sharp teeth
     like daggers lined up along a rack
     of reinforced steel maw,

     which bang for the bite did pack
leaves no room for bing a survivor
     as fierce jaws clamp down
     worse than getting steam rolled by a mack

truck, but subjected to thee yield,
     whence thousands of pounds
     per square inch of pressure  
     on par lambasted from Donald Trump flack.
Je vois bien l'arbre aux pommes d'or
Prospérer dans vos prés humides ;
Mais cela n'en fait pas encor
Un vrai jardin des Hespérides.

La timide sécurité
N'avait pas de plus doux asile
Que le verger riche çt tranquille,
Par les fils d'Atlas habité.

**** du loup, la brebis, en joie,
Y bondissait parmi les fleurs,
Et de l'hyène aux yeux menteurs
Les agneaux n'étaient pas la proie.

L'honnête homme, sans passe-ports,
S'y promenait exempt d'alarmes.
Un dragon veillait au dehors ;
Mais au dedans pas de gendarmes.

Écrit à La Haye, en 1818.
Big Virge Sep 2021
Folks These Words Are NO Token... !!!
... And NO I’m NOT JOKING... !!!
  
A Lot of World Systems...  
Now Seem To Be BROKEN... !!!  
    
Because of A VIRUS...  
And COMPLICIT Silence...    
From Those In Environments...  
Where Money’s The Tyrant...  
That Keeps Them Compliant...  
Like Mind Controlled Liars... !!!  
    
And Because of New Tech...  
That May Well Represent...  
... EXTINCTION Events...  
Where Humans Regress...  
And Face Nonexistence...  
Because of... Nonsense... ?!?  
That REJECTS Common Sense...  
    
That’s Now ABSENT From Commons...  
And Heads Running Congress... !!!  
    
Policies of DURESS...    
Now Provide MALCONTENT...  
That Makes People Dismiss...  
Embracing Disciplines... !!!  
    
That We Should NOT Forget...  
Like... ABSENCE of Malice...  
And Youth Violence... !!!  
    
MORE Trust of Each Other...  
LESS HATRED of Colour... !!!  
RESPECT For Our Mothers...  
And Fathers Who Love Us...  
Instead of ADULTER...  
With **’s Undercover... !!!  
    
More Actions That Smother...  
CORRUPTIONS Uncovered...  
    
So That They’re REMOVED...  
From Our World Leaders Crews...  
    
MORE TRUTH In The News... !!!  
And LESS That’s Confused...  
    
And LESS Foolish Notions...  
That Leave People BROKEN... !!!  
Until They LOSE Focus... !!!  
    
LESS Deceitful P.O.T.U.S... !!!  
And Media JOKERS... !!!  
    
MORE Verse With An ONUS...  
To STAND UP For TRUTH... !!!  
    
Instead of It’s Use...  
Being Simply... ABUSED... !!!  
    
And By This I’m Meaning...  
LESS Verse That Is Reaping...  
Rewards For POOR TEACHINGS...  
And IGNORANT Leanings... !!!  
    
Like... VIOLENT Acts...  
And LUSTING For Cash...  
As Well As *** Missions...  
That Just DEMEAN Women... !!!  
    
As Well As Young Girls...  
Until They Are BROKEN... !!!  
By... ****** Commotions...  
That Lead To WRONG TURNS...  
    
LESS... Genetic Testing...  
And Chem’ Trails Connected...  
To Make... BIO WEAPONS... !!!  
    
LESS Money Invested...  
In New Tech Progressions...  
And Food That’s Produced...  
By... GMO Groups... !!!  
    
LESS Weapons In View...  
That Now Create Coups...  
And Protests And Chants...  
From People Who March... !!!  
    
LESS Enforcement of Arms...  
That Leave Our Young HARMED...  
Because of Gendarmes...  
And Police Firearms... !!!  
    
Less People Who Hark...  
To REJECT Natures Path... !?!  
    
MORE Love And MORE Charm...  
And LESS ANGER That Starts...  
The Use of Remarks...  
To Break Peoples Hearts...  
In Public Chatrooms...  
That Are Globally Viewed...  
Because That’s NOT COOL... !!!  
    
LESS RESPECT For These Names...  
Who’ve Gained Themselves Fame...  
For Indulging Shame Games...  
And NOT Using Their Brains... !!!  
    
Let Me Say That AGAIN... !!!    
    
LESS RESPECT For These Names...  
Who’ve Gained Themselves Fame...  
For Indulging Shame Games...  
And NOT Using Their Brains... !!!  
    
LESS Seeking Attention...  
MORE THINKING That’s LEVEL...  
Instead of Dishevelled...  
Because It Is... BROKEN... !!!  
    
Just Like TORTURED Rebels...    
Who REJECT Oppression... !!!  
    
This Wordplay Is POTENT...  
And May Well UNSETTLE...  
    
Just Like Thunder Storms...  
That Cut Power OFF...    
When Lightning Hits Shores...    
Rooftops And Much MORE... !!!  
    
These Words Have Been Written...  
Because I’ve Bared Witness...  
To How NATURES POWER...  
Can Cause DEMOLITIONS...  
Just Like Burning Towers...  
And DESTRUCTIVE Visions... !!!  
    
And NO I’m NOT JOKING... !!!  
These Words I’m Now Quoting...  
    
Are Because....  
    
At This Moment...  
    
My Room Has No Light...  
To Aid My Poor Sight...  
On This Powerless Night... !!!    
    
Barbados’s Oceans...  
Are All That I Hear...  
Because Natures Steered...  
It’s Powers Right Here... !!!  
    
And Has Made My Mind Focus...  
On What It Is Showing... !!!  
    
That If We Aren’t Wise...  
And Ignore Natures’ Signs...  
That Where We Are Going...  
With Tech And Invoking...  
NONSENSICAL Notions... ?!?  
of Being ALL KNOWING...  
    
We’ll Leave Our Young People...  
To Powers SO EVIL...  
That They’ll Become Feeble... !!!  
    
In Ways Where This World...  
Just Like Them...  
    
Will Become.....  
    
.............. “ BROKEN “........... !!!
A very powerful storm took power out for about 26 hours in Barbados, and just before it came back on, I wrote this in almost, complete silence and darkness....
VIII.

Voilà ce qu'on a vu ! l'histoire le raconte,
Et lorsqu'elle a fini pleure, rouge de honte.

Quand se réveillera la grande nation,
Quand viendra le moment de l'expiation,
Glaive des jours sanglants, oh ! ne sors pas de l'ombre !
Non ! non ! il n'est pas vrai qu'en plus d'une âme sombre,
Pour châtier ce traître et cet homme de nuit,
A cette heure, ô douleur, ta nécessité luit !
Souvenirs où l'esprit grave et pensif s'arrête !
Gendarmes, sabre nu, conduisant la charrette,
Roulements des tambours, peuple criant : frappons !
Foule encombrant les toits, les seuils, les quais, les ponts,
Grèves des temps passés, mornes places publiques
Où l'on entrevoyait des triangles obliques,
Oh ! ne revenez pas, lugubres visions !
Ciel ! nous allions en paix devant nous, nous faisions
Chacun notre travail dans le siècle où nous sommes,
Le poète chantait l'oeuvre immense des hommes,
La tribune parlait avec sa grande voix,
On brisait échafauds, trônes, carcans, pavois,
Chaque jour décroissaient la haine et la souffrance,
Le genre humain suivait le progrès saint, la France
Marchait devant, avec sa flamme sur le front ;
Ces hommes sont venus ! lui, ce vivant affront,
Lui, ce bandit qu'on lave avec l'huile du sacre,
Ils sont venus, portant le deuil et le massacre,
Le meurtre, les linceuls, le fer, le sang, le feu,
Ils ont semé cela sur l'avenir. Grand Dieu !

Et maintenant, pitié, voici que tu tressailles
A ces mots effrayants - vengeance ! représailles !

Et moi, proscrit qui saigne aux ronces des chemins,
Triste, je rêve et j'ai mon front dans mes deux mains,
Et je sens, par instants, d'une aile hérissée,
Dans les jours qui viendront s'enfoncer ma pensée !
Géante aux chastes yeux, à l'ardente action,
Que jamais on ne voie, ô Révolution,
Devant ton fier visage où la colère brille,
L'Humanité, tremblante et te criant : ma fille !
Et, couvrant de son corps même les scélérats,
Se traîner à tes pieds en se tordant les bras !
Ah ! tu respecteras cette douleur amère,
Et tu t'arrêteras, Vierge, devant la Mère !

Ô travailleur robuste, ouvrier demi-nu,
Moissonneur envoyé par Dieu même, et venu
Pour faucher en un jour dix siècles de misère,
Sans peur, sans pitié, vrai, formidable et sincère,
Egal par la stature au colosse romain,
Toi qui vainquis l'Europe et qui pris dans ta main
Les rois, et les brisas les uns contre les autres,
Né pour clore les temps d'où sortirent les nôtres,
Toi qui par la terreur sauvas la liberté,
Toi qui portes ce nom sombre : Nécessité !
Dans l'Histoire où tu luis comme en une fournaise,
Reste seul à jamais, Titan quatre-vingt-treize !
Rien d'aussi grand que toi ne viendrait après toi.

D'ailleurs, né d'un régime où dominait l'effroi,
Ton éducation sur ta tête affranchie
Pesait, et, malgré toi, fils de la monarchie,
Nourri d'enseignements et d'exemples mauvais,
Comme elle tu versas le sang ; tu ne savais
Que ce qu'elle t'avait appris : le mal, la peine,
La loi de mort mêlée avec la loi de haine ;
Et, jetant bas tyrans, parlements, rois, Capets,
Tu te levais contre eux et comme eux tu frappais.

Nous, grâce à toi, géant qui gagnas notre cause,
Fils de la liberté, nous savons autre chose.
Ce que la France veut pour toujours désormais,
C'est l'amour rayonnant sur ses calmes sommets,
La loi sainte du Christ, la fraternité pure.
Ce grand mot est écrit dans toute la nature :
Aimez-vous ! aimez-vous ! - Soyons frères ; ayons
L'oeil fixé sur l'Idée, ange aux divins rayons.
L'Idée à qui tout cède et qui toujours éclaire
Prouve sa sainteté même dans sa colère.
Elle laisse toujours les principes debout.
Etre vainqueurs, c'est peu, mais rester grands, c'est tout.
Quand nous tiendrons ce traître, abject, frissonnant, blême
Affirmons le progrès dans le châtiment même.
La honte, et non la mort. - Peuples, couvrons d'oubli
L'affreux passé des rois, pour toujours aboli,
Supplices, couperets, billots, gibets, tortures !
Hâtons l'heure promise aux nations futures,
Où, calme et souriant aux bons, même aux ingrats,
La concorde, serrant les hommes dans ses bras,
Penchera sur nous tous sa tête vénérable !
Oh ! qu'il ne soit pas dit que, pour ce misérable,
Le monde en son chemin sublime a reculé !
Que Jésus et Voltaire auront en vain parlé !
Qu'il n'est pas vrai qu'après tant d'efforts et de peine,
Notre époque ait enfin sacré la vie humaine,
Hélas ! et qu'il suffit d'un moment indigné
Pour perdre le trésor par les siècles gagné !
On peut être sévère et de sang économe.
Oh ! qu'il ne soit pas dit qu'à cause de cet homme
La guillotine au noir panier, qu'avec dégoût
Février avait prise et jetée à l'égout,
S'est réveillée avec les bourreaux dans leurs bouges,
A ressaisi sa hache entre ses deux bras rouges,
Et, dressant son poteau dans les tombes scellé,
Sinistre, a reparu sous le ciel étoilé !

Du 16 au 22 novembre 1852, à Jersey
Las voces de abajo
      vidalitá
están casi mudas
pero los gendarmes
      vidalitá
matan por las dudas

no saben en dónde
      vidalitá
se enredó el enredo
por las dudas llevan
      vidalitá
chalecos de miedo

dudan los dudosos
      vidalitá
duda poca gente
dudan los esbirros
      vidalitá
duda el presidente

pero si supieran
      vidalitá
lo que el pueblo sabe
ya no dudarían
      vidalitá
que duda te cabe

conseguir lo justo
      vidalitá
cuesta dios y ayuda
pero se consigue
      vidalitá
no te quepa duda

yo tan sólo dudo
      vidalitá
cuando es más barato
si para mañana
      vidalitá
o dentro de un rato.
La verdad es que
grietas
no faltan
así al pasar recuerdo
las que separan a zurdos y diestros
a pequineses y moscovitas
a présbites y miopes
a gendarmes y prostitutas
a optimistas y abstemios
a sacerdortes y aduaneros
a exorcistas y maricones
a baratos e insobornables
a hijos pródigos y detectives
a borges y sábato
a mayúsculas y minúsculas
a pirotécnicos y bomberos
a mujeres y feministas
a aquarianos y taurinos
a profilácticos y revolucionarios
a vírgenes e impotentes
a agnósticos y monaguillos
a inmortales y suicidas
a franceses y no franceses
a corto o a larguísimo plazo
todas son sin embargo
remediables
hay una sola grieta
decididamente profunda
y es la que media entre la maravilla del hombre
y los desmaravilladores
aún es posible saltar de uno a otro borde
pero cuidado
aquí estamos todos
ustedes y nosotros
para ahondarla
señoras y señores
a elegir
a elegir de qué lado
ponen el pie.
Big Virge Sep 2020
Ya Know I’d...
Rather See... " CALM "...
Than ALL THIS ALARM... !!!!

MORE Welcoming Arms...
LESS Guns In Young Palms...

The Use of ******...
Has Left MANY HARMED... !!!

New Orleans Has Now...
Got Bodies To Farm...

THAT Line Deserves PSALMS...
Cos' Those Who Have DIED...
Have LOST Lucky Charms... !!!

But Hopefully Now...
Are RESTFUL And CALM...

NO NEED For Gendarmes...
Or... Government YARNS...

NO NEED Now For Money...
Or... EXPENSIVE Garms'...

See These Are The Things...
We NEED To............... DISMISS.....

Luxuries Leading To Peoples Killings... !!!
How Can We Expect To Serve and Protect...
When People AREN'T HAPPY...
Because of Their DEBTS... !!!!!

Most People Are FRIGHTENED...
To... Write Out A Cheque...

Cos' If You’re In The Red...
The Bank Then COLLECTS... !!!!!!

EXTORTIONATE Charges...
Leave People... UPSET... !!!

People AREN'T CALM...
Because They Are VEX... !!!

Why Use Direct Debit... ?!?
Or Have Cards For Credit... ?!?

I’d Rather Have Dinner...
With... Old Norman Tebbit’... !!!

Of Course That’s NOT True... !!!
Cos' He WASN'T Cool...
With Black Guys Like Me...
With... Differing Views... !!!

Views That AREN'T Clouded...
By... BIASED Reviews... !!!

Reviews That We See...
In... EVERYDAY News...

DON’T Get It Confused... !!!!!

I USE News Reviews...
To RAISE THE PROFILE...
of... CERTAIN Issues... !!!

I’ve Said It Before...
... I’ll Say It AGAIN... !!!

Your Everyday News...
Is NOT Always TRUE... !!!

But Certain Things CLEARLY...
Require... NO CLUES...
Like... MURDEROUS Acts...
Or RACIST Attacks... !!!

Just Like The Ones...
Where Those FOOLS...
Used An... AXE... !!!
I’m SAD About That...
But THIS Is A FACT... !!!

It’s HARD To Stay Calm...
If You’re A Young Black... !!!

But Blacks NEEDS To Learn...
To... Make The Worm Turn... !!!
Some White People CLEARLY...

Are Keen To Discern...
What It Is They Can Do...
To LIGHTEN Our Mood...

So DON'T Think That We...
Can Ever Be... FREE...
WITHOUT Showing LOVE...

Well You May Not Agree...
But CALMNESS Is KEY...
As Is... UNITY... !!!!!

Take That Advice...
PLEASE Have It ON ME... !!!

PEACE Is The Answer...
As Is A GOOD KARMA... !!!

EVEN With Your Woman...
She LOVES When You CHARM Her... !!!

A SMILE And A Grin...
Is Where This Begins...

We Need To STAY CALM...
When With Our Women... !!!

It’s NOT Always EASY...
But Who Said It Was... ?!?

It’s Kinda Like Finding...
The... " Wizard of Oz’ "... !?!

It Lies DEEP WITHIN...
NOT IN Books of Hymns... !!!

These Days I’m Inclined...
To... Channel My Mind...
To... LOVING Mankind...
Rather Than Walk...
In The Land of The Blind... !!!

Cos' Walking With Them...
Means You Walk A Fine Line... !!!!

A Line WITHOUT Calm...
And Glasses of Wine...  

A Line Where You’ll Find...
Yourself TRAPPED In A BIND... !!!

A BIND Where Your TRAPPED...
Behind... ENEMY Lines... !!!

So Who Are Your Friends... ???
They... May Be Your End... ?!?
Friendships Aren’t Meant...
To... FUEL ARGUMENTS... !!!

A TRUE FRIEND Is Someone...
Who Is... HEAVEN Sent... !!!

But How Many of Them...
Do We... REALLY Have... ???

When Young I Was Told...
To... Look In Your Hand...
Your Fingers And Thumb...
When Added Make FIVE...

You’ll Be LUCKY To Have...
Five TRUE FRIENDS In Your LIFE... !!!!!

It Seemed So Contrived...
To Be...  So PRECISE... !!!!!!
But Now That I’m Older...
It Seems To Be RIGHT... !!!

People Will... " Tell You "...
That They Are... " Your Friend "...
But When You're In TROUBLE...
... How Many of Them... ?!?

Will Make A Case For You...
And Build Your DEFENCE... ?!?

This ISN'T The Way...
I Want This To End ... !!!

So Let Me Do This...
With Words That Transcend...

We NEED LESS Alarm...
We NEED To Link Arms...
We NEED... UNITY...

And This... I Believe...

Will Bring....

..... " Calm ".....
LISTEN HERE : Taken from the, " On The Virge ", album.
https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/calm-2
Unbeknownst to me if royal
gilded crests comprised
my rusty dust caked coat of arms
hence, I take liberty successfully farms
productive crop to contrive fictitious
Medieval Age forebears
with favorable charms
strong agile hands

hurling crude accouterments
centuries prior to invention of firearms,
which weapons (of mass sieve construction)
privy to proto gendarmes,
this inventiveness of mine conjures
courageous knights in shining armor,
perhaps monogrammed,
hammered chain metal,

nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore
where love's labors not lost,
viz hub bully accepting, condoning,
and employing embellishments extempore,
whereby solar rays alight,
flickr, and glint glore
re: us astral motifs, the stellar
craftsmanship one (even a poor,

indigent destitute beggar
like yours truly)
could not ignore
exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic
trappings incorporating magical lore
aesthetically pleasing

fascinating, and appealing to one poor
uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian
incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating,
and fancying deplorable basket case to restore
himself, the legitimate true heir,
who could double as

courtly jesting troubadour,
whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris
violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War
constitutes dreamy gotcha your
attention fabricated and
facilitated to Zoar,

an actual ancient city
anachronistically inserted here
thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference
Google made me aware,
which ye probably care
nary a fig about, but
placename linkedin mere
to allow, enable and provide bare,

lee tenuous appeal dare
ring me to trump
poetic formality near
rolly returning full circle (one tough Job)
manufacturing prevarication
recounting "FAKE" heir
essentially envisioning, imagining,

and jimmying gallant
high in the saddle career
timeless lifeline chess piece
of centuries gone by
enshrouded with reverence by this air
rent considerably less provocative
then missives by Baudelaire.
Big Virge Sep 2021
It’s TRUE That I’m A Guy...
Who Writes The Type of Rhymes...

That Take A HARD LINE...
Or Stance... If You Like... !!!

On Everything From Race...
To Things That Equate...
To Being... INHUMANE... !!!

In Ways That Dish Out PAIN...
And NOT USING Our Brains...

So HARD LINES That I Take...
Are NOT Made For GAIN... !!!
Or To Join... MONEY Trains... !!!

They Deal In Something MORE...
Like... HIGH Levels of Thought... !!!

So AREN'T Those That Are BOUGHT...
Like *** Acts From A *****... !!!

My HARD LINES Are RAW...
And What Some Call *******... !!!

Just Like The Musical Score...
That's Now Heard By Those...
Who Recognise My Flows...

That INDEED Are HARD... !!!

Like The Musical Tones...
That Flow With What’s Shown...
When I Drop Spoken Words...
of HARD LINES That DISTURB...
Those With Brittle Nerves... !!!!!

When It Comes To The Cards I MARK... !!!
of Those Who LACK The HEART...
To Take Hard Lines And Stance...
That DON'T Submit To Chants...
of IGNORANCE That HARMS... !!!!

Like Those Who Wear The Garms...
of... Parisian Gendarmes... !!!

Who Seem To Want To BEAT...
Black People That They Meet...
Because of Racist Vibes...
That Clearly Rule Their Minds... !!!

These Days HARD LINES Invite...
A Load of Different Crimes...
According To The Tribes...
Who Like To... Politicise...

As If They Are ALL WISE... !?!

In Preserving Peoples’ Lives...
In Ways That Don’t Downsize...
And Limit The Good Times...
That Good Living Provides...

Well My...
HARD LINES CRITICISE... !!!

Those Who Still DENY...
Equality And Status...
For Lives That...
... APPARENTLY Matter... !!!

When They’ve Got Skin...
That’s... BLACKER... !!!

Than Crude Oil In Tankers...
That's EMBROILED With Bankers... !!!!!!

Whose Cashflow’s HiGH...
Like Those Who Fly...
And APPARENTLY Supply...
*** Acts For A PRICE... !!!

And Garments Like...
Their... UNDERWEAR... !!!
As Well As Invites...
To Share Their Beds...
If The Price Is Right... !!!

It’s A CRAZY TIME... !!!
Where Hard Lines Now Find...

Green Miles That RISE...
Just Like Dark Knights... !!!

Who Now Have JOKERS...
... In Their Sights...
For Being BAD Brokers...
Who DESTROY Lives... !!!

Just Like The Movie...
BELIEVE... That’s RIGHT... !!!

WITHOUT Bram Stokers...
Or... IGNORANT P.O.T.U.S... !!!

But Leaders Focussed...
On... CORONA Vibes...
That Are Causing Fights...
And PROTEST Lines...
Where Policeman Try...
To Play TOUGH Guys... !!!

Because of The Spread...
of... CORONA DEATHS... !!!

While Government Heads...
Leave Freedoms DEAD...
Until Monetary Funds...
Start To Cause PROBLEMS... !!!

For Economies SHUT...
Due To This Virus... !!!

That Has Now UPSET...
A Lot of Businesses... !!!

Because of Lines Drawn...
That Have Shut Their Doors...
That Of Course Has Caused...
Jobs To Be... FORLORN... !!!!!

I’ve Never Been One...
To Follow Governments...
Or... Political Crews...
Whose Feuds Make News... !!!

Because In Them I See...
A CORRUPTED Breed...
of... Humanity... !!!!!

Who Much Like THOSE...
Who TAKE AWAY Folks Hopes...
And Deal In Hate...
VANITY And Displays...
That Are... INHUMANE... !!!

That TRULY DISGRACE...
Our... Human Race... !!!

When It Comes To The Rhymes...
That I Sit And Write About Their Kind...

The Rhymes That I Find...
That Define What I See...
In The Ways That They Be...

Are Those That Are Inclined...
To Take A VERY....

...... “ HARD Line “...... !!!
It's not always popular, but it's always straight, just like me !
Wk kortas Apr 2020
In his reveries, there is no furtive glancing around corners,
No skulking and scraping to hide from scowling gendarmes.
He is huge, *******, a proto-Kong of the wrong side of the tracks,
(Indeed, more than that—beyond the corporeal,
Something elemental, Master of Nature’s laws
Yet subservient to none of them)
Strutting down the boulevards and byways,
Marching through the very midst of graveside services,
Feasting on the floral tributes,
Fornicating with the freshly dug earth.
And he races onward, unconstrained and uncontrollable,
Forcing himself upon matchstick girl and street urchin,
Misusing them in horrible, unspeakable ways,
(His appetites creatures unto themselves,
Not subject by the boundaries of propriety or biology)
Taking for himself their sad collections of pennies,
Tossing them heavenward to rain down in a copper cacophony
Before he steals upon an unsuspecting bobby,
Slitting his throat and setting the corpse afire,
Proceeding then to urinate upon the ashes.
As these tableaus unfold in the nickelodeon of his sleep
(Not accompanied by some tinkling version of Hurry No. 26
Jangling uncertainly on some hayseed the-ay-ter untuned upright
But rather by some Dada-esque concoction
Bereft of consistent key or time signature)
He laughs unrestrainedly, bereft of cause or context
Without a trace of mirth or simple humanity.
Found yours truly
a grateful dead head
convenient scapegoat dejure
Norristown police officers
fingerprinted me for
casual postal employment
linked to vicious brutal crime
someone else who shared
identical name and fingerprints as mine
the latter of corpse far fetched
stole social security

I ream member –
being held ransom
bound and gagged
if paperback writer
wrote story resultant account
would total about 300 newpages
printed August 16th, 2019.
    
Despite never committing
major criminal offense
routine dactylogram
pointed ****** finger of guilt
at me, and an all expense trip
paid to high security prison.

I initially thought ruse
as cruel prank (Ritz large),
and utter nonsense
good humor quickly melted away
nsync with sense and sensibility
after getting roughly manhandled
courtesy dense sumo size wrestlers
(think Andre the giant)
humongous state troopers.

They spoke staccato rapid
fire automatic gunfire tongue
with unfamiliar accents,
and kept no holds barred
steely iron tense grip
upon this skinny, shy, scared...
long haired pencil necked geek.

Said uniformed, nasty mean looking,
heavily muscled, pierced, tattooed...
armed to the dagger oh type teeth
gendarmes escorted, forced, shoved...

These foo fighters,
not friendly village people,
nor Mister Fred Roger type gents
violently tossed yours truly...
carelessly knocked out
any remaining toothless cents
from out my noggin.

Slam dunked me
into back seat bullet proof
partitioned cheaply tricked
paddy wagon went these lovely bones.

Events of my life passed
before myopic mind's third eye blind.

These hooligans counted as nothing
but hoodlums from Bedlam.

A "FAKE" outlaw film
of unreel projections,
unspooled, and untethered
within fifty shades of fist size gray matter.

Surreal elegance definitely
case of mistaken rather stolen identity
perpetrator(s) data mined
under my uber outsize honker
mine outside Semitic schnozzle
created double blind spot.
    
Yea twas while aye became entranced,
mesmerized, yoked (albeit visually)
courtesy aromatic exotic incense
held this hybrid piqued bishop,
chain mailed (gratis
United States postal service)
good knight captive,
where agents provocateurs
kickstarted, out maneuvered,
and pinned yours truly with engulfed  
par excellence for the course.

Aforesaid mean drama
played out across mine
mien anxiety riddled body electric.

Analogous to once upon time
life size chess board,
I felt marshalled
(tuckered out nonetheless)
like life size pawn
gambled as live pièce de résistance.
May today bring unbridled bliss
delivered courtesy sunshine kissed
giving Midas a run for his money.

When the last trace of night
evaporates analogous to milky hue,
whereat a dreamy state
pervades thy being from tropical delight
as  approach of Dawn
highlights morning landscape Gaia drew
ah, a paradise
in pristine majestic light
arced, bathed, chiseled displayed
described, elongated, fingered gilt
heraldic imagery joyfully

kindling luminosity
markedly novel picture
quintessentially resplendent
sedating this ubiquitous voyager
waking xing vision
yawning zealot acquiesces
bounteous chimerical dalliance
betwixt Goddess delivering break of day
against defeated quotidian
celestial vault, where Mithras dethroned

the capriciously finicky
inky beleaguered darkly crest
etched fading faux French Gendarmes
into humongous jagged lances
endowing sinosoidal amplitude
modulations nudging raiment
donned by trumpeting requiem,
quiescent pronouncement
obliging new morning laminating,
kneading, and jettisoning

remnant shreds twilight
understood voicing willingness
Xerxes yeomen paid tribute
as did preceding and subsequent
captivating Earthlinked
fighting globe trotters held hostage
upon thee third rock from the sun
straddling an invisible saddle
which oblate spheroid
forfeited, manacled, and pitched
tarry sky (vis a vis feathery touch)

as one more ordinary day
wrested, tussled, and quickened
nocturnal nod toward solar spears
betook the reluctant
wrap of blackest night soundlessly forcing
transient ******* (overruling
the cerulean skies) until
dark shadows prefacing the edge of night
once again admirably, willingly,
and unequivocally surrendered  

a fair pact to take solace
whence the morrow allowed, enabled
and provided a ray of shining hope
(every now and again eclipsed)
via the Lunar trajectory
coinciding with axis
when spatial relations
commandeered thru cosmic consciousness
dictating gambit heft
forging atypical sliver of night

before cosmological laissez faire
retreated into the back round,
a universal choreographer
envisioning, insinuating,
maintaining quirkiness  
until recapitulation
sans astronomers predicted future
trio of heavenly bodies
would be aligned bedazzling Primates
access to espy Corona of the sun.
Here lies chalk – the familiar rock of home –
It conjures up bluebirds; outlines comforting whims
Like tennis-courts, a victory horse, the tailor’s art;
For hope-lorn exiles – a cue to how much wanting aches.

There, out at sea, where a silt-grey sky lies heavy
Upon the monotonous tumult of roiling rollers, money
Has crossed hands, so the crafts are readied
For Albion - the magic isle - where families are headed.

Ahmed and Sara, the father and his girl,
Run to the transport to a better world;
Through the dim dawn’s mistle gendarmes call “Arrete!”
Flares are fired and the excitement’s almost sweet.

It’s a race for a place to break a lifetime’s wait,
Sticks crack the resolve of the policemen’s warrant
And they’re on the infirm, ill-inflated dingy
With a hundred others: crushing, cursing, clinging.

“Sara! Sara!” Under she goes beneath the darkness massing.
“Baba! Baba!” Her little arms helplessly pushing nothing
Away, as buried, she drowns beneath the asylum seekers,
Her breath clogged like chalk pores where the water reaches.

Chalk downs, meanwhile, take in all they can
Impervious to the hardness of politicians’
Igneous laws that leave the beleaguered fraught,
Each slow sunrise a cage where freedom was sold short:
Did you too ministers lose a grip by a long, long chalk?
If you go down to The White Cliffs of Dover you can find a poem there called "Porous." It inspired me to write this poem, but with a more acute slant.
I wrote this two days before the U.K. General Election, 2nd July 2025, hoping for change.
"Crusaders"

The Creed Crusaders march with pride —
Their mission: fight the West worldwide!
Obey the double-headed freak,
And dare not think, or even speak.

Again, the rake is in your way —
You’ll step on it, like yesterday.
The filthy fiends lie smooth and slow,
Corrupting minds before the blow.

The mass dumb-down — their sacred plan,
Decay rebranded as “We’ll stand!”
The slogans rise, the brains decline —
Like deer in headlights, dead in line.

The idiot mill is working fast —
These freaks are now the ruling caste.
And since the herd believes their lies,
The filth are kings in dumb disguise.

They showed it all through CowID’s reign.
But now it’s worse. The crawling bane
“Defends” their land by breaking others —
Bombs for peace. Like rabid brothers.

They clear the space with holy wrath —
For Khanate’s hell, a ****** path
Of rot, abuse and sterilized
Descendants *****, dehumanized.

The genocide’s a timeless feat —
Now built by hands that kiss their feet.
Behold the Khanate of pure doom —
“Hit the Khokhol harder, **** — make room!”



---------------------




Crusaders of rot, with lies they march —
Spreading death beneath a righteous arch.



---------------------




"Protect the land!" — while bombing towns,
The Devil crowns his loyal clowns.



---------------------




A Khanate forged in blood and lies,
Where future generations die.
They shout of honor, pride, defense —
While marching into pestilence.



---------------------



Russian Troops in Donbas, 2014

Four thousand came to start the war,
While shouting “Miners!” — nothing more.
And idiots believed the tale,
That myth still rides the Kremlin rail.

Deceit evolved into pure lies —
Since Goebbels is their god and guide.
Just multiply the filth you spread —
And rule the brainless world ahead.

We saw it all in CowID’s show —
The same old beasts, the same old blow.
Those muzzling freaks now stage a Shame,
With round-two ghouls who play war games.

Some ****-brained **** became a knight,
He “liberates” through scorched delight.
Yet in his mind he sees no crime —
Just “glory” smeared with blood and slime.

No future left, no way to heal —
The Dumb Parade is now the deal.
If you’re not dumb — you’re “mad” or “lost”,
While raving brutes serve war at cost.

The sane are few, but they exist —
They rose like truth from poison mist.
They showed that Honor isn’t dead —
Though all the world is rot and dread.

The beasts won’t win, though they parade —
A world-wide Shock will soon invade.
It’ll crush their fake triumphant path —
A trump card born of cosmic wrath.



---------------------




They came as “miners” — masked and armed,
While fools stood still, confused, disarmed.

---------------------




From Donbas lies to global chains —
The Devil always re-explains.



---------------------




They call it truth — pure rot and shame.
But blood still burns behind the name.



---------------------




A million masks, one face beneath —
The face of lies, the stench of death.



---------------------




Where reason dies, the fools arise —
And call their madness "sacrifice".



---------------------




Sanity’s corpse lies cold and bare —
While flags of glory fill the air.



---------------------




They buried truth beneath their feet,
Then crowned the lie and called it sweet.



---------------------




When reason rots, the monsters breed —
And praise each genocidal deed.



---------------------




The death of sense was not a flaw —
It was the plan, it is the law.



---------------------




When reason dies, the end begins —
A flood of lies, a world of sins.



---------------------




Sanity fell — the trumpets wailed,
And beasts arose where humans failed.



---------------------




The mind collapsed. The void took shape.
And truth was hung in blood-red drape.



---------------------




The age of sense was torn apart —
Now shadows feast on dying hearts.



---------------------




No reason left, no final plea —
Just fire crowned in lunacy.



---------------------



The Song of Reason’s End

When reason dies, the end begins —
A flood of lies, a world of sins.
The mind collapsed. The void took shape.
And truth was hung in blood-red drape.

They danced around the burning throne,
Each beast convinced he stood alone.
The sky turned black. The silence screamed.
The prophets wept. The madmen dreamed.

No final plea. No voice to guide.
Just ash and echoes, multiplied.
The books were burned. The stars went blind.
And shadow ruled the fractured mind.

Sanity fell — the trumpets wailed,
And beasts arose where humans failed.
They crowned the lie. They praised the flame.
And scorched the world in Reason’s name.



---------------------



The Prophecy of Madness

When Reason broke and Silence spoke,
The minds of men were wrapped in smoke.
They crowned the Lie as Holy Light,
And called the Day what once was Night.

The Truth was chained in iron lore,
While every beast became a war.
They feasted on the ash of thought,
And praised the plague their hands had wrought.

The final books were torn apart —
The flame devoured both mind and heart.
Each question burned. Each answer screamed.
And lunacy became the Dream.

The stars withdrew, the sky went blind,
The last of hope betrayed the mind.
The wise were cursed, the fools adored —
And Madness sat upon the Lord.

No bells were rung. No angels wept.
The soul of reason coldly slept.
And from that grave of shattered laws
Rose Man, the Beast — with flaming jaws.


---

Glimmer of Light

But in the dark, beneath the ash,
Where time had stopped in silent flash,
A pulse remained — not born, not dead —
A spark no madness yet could shred.

It was no scream, it was no cry —
Just quiet deeper than the sky.
No flag it raised, no war it led,
It simply was, while all had fled.

It shone not outward, but within —
A light not made to fight or win,
But one that knew, through death and dust,
What doesn’t burn is what we trust.

No creed, no name, no bleeding crown —
Just Being, still, while all fell down.
And those who saw — though few, though torn —
Felt something vast begin… reborn.


---


Return of the Seers

They were not saints, nor crowned with fire —
No thunder marked their long desire.
They walked through ruins, bare and slow,
As ones who saw, not claimed to know.

Their eyes had burned in ancient flame,
Yet bore no pride, no earthly name.
They spoke not loud, but when they breathed —
The wind itself would pause, unsheathed.

They carried silence, deep and wide,
A vastness no one dared to guide.
Not saviors — no — but ones who heard
The voice beneath the shattered word.

They had no army, wore no sign,
Yet something in their gaze aligned
The scattered sparks, the thoughtless dust —
And whispered: “Still... in Light, we trust.”

No dogma lit their path ahead —
They walked where even echoes fled.
But every step upon the ground
Unsealed a truth, profound, unbound.


---


Breath of the Source

No thunder calls. No armies rise.
Just silent vastness fills the skies.
The Source inhales — a sacred breath,
A pulse beyond the edge of death.

It’s not a spark, nor flame, nor sound —
But where all time and space are bound.
A stillness weaving through the night,
Unfolding into endless light.

No eyes can see, no mind can grasp —
The Presence beyond all collapse.
It is the root, the well, the seed,
From which all thoughts and worlds proceed.

The Breath renews the shattered frame,
No need for glory, fear, or claim.
In quiet depths, the truth is born —
A dawn beyond all dusk and scorn.

And those who walk this path unseen
Will find the Source where Light has been.
No longer lost in endless fight —
But homeward bound, into the Light.



---------------------



Monsters

So many sellouts crawl around,
There’s barely any folk left now.
The bitter wise are left to mourn —
The world is filled with beasts and scorn.

Idiots, traitors, fascist slime,
Their strength all spent — they waste our time.
No way to teach these fiends, no cure —
They must be crushed. The wound is pure.

For them, the only joy remains:
To wipe out all that still sustains.
Even Nature’s ready, poised to strike —
No monsters, ****, or fascists like.

A cataclysm will come,
To purge the rot, to beat the drum.
No place for filth, no place for lies —
The earth will cleanse beneath the skies.



---------------------




Monsters breed, the wise grow few —
The world is rotten through and through.
No reasoning with fascist **** —
Only fire will make them numb.



---------------------



"Imperial Games"

A rotten colony chose to play
The empire’s games — to spite, betray.
But “tigers” turned to cardboard shells,
“No equals found!” — the ******* sells.

The masters gave the deadly call,
To send them blindly to their fall.
And propaganda’s twisted rage
Invented fights for “values” staged.

The bitter end: the cards all burned,
The “meat” ground up — a fate they earned.
For “meat” too — don’t trust the ****,
If only once — God saves some dumb.



---------------------




Cardboard Tigers, cheap charade,
Sent to die in masters’ game.
Meat for grind — a worthless pawn,
Trust the ****? You’re already gone.



---------------------




Tigers fake — just paper shells,
Masters send them straight to hell.
Meat on hooks, no hope, no grace —
Fools who trust deserve disgrace.



---------------------



Imperial Game Over

They played their cards — all flimsy, torn,
Paper tigers, so forlorn.
Masters smiled, the orders came —
“Send them all to feed the flame.”

Propaganda’s lies took flight,
“Fight for values!”— empty fight.
But truth revealed the final score:
The pawns are meat, no less, no more.

Burnt-out shells on battlefield,
No glory left, no sword to wield.
And those who trusted filth and ****
Are lost beneath the crushing drum.

No saviors come, no hope remains,
Just broken dreams and bloodied chains.
The game is done — the end is clear:
Imperial fools disappear.



---------------------



Fascist Power

Fascist power rages wild,
A tyrant’s cruel and reckless child.
The **** of traitors seem to’ve lost
All memory of what it cost.

What happened once to gendarmes’ hand,
To cops who fought across the land?
Not all became fools or cowards here
Within this poor land’s atmosphere.

Not everyone turned pale with fear —
No mercy should the fiends draw near!
We’ll deal with all that fascist filth —
The ******* paid in blood and guilt.

They’ll hang in chains, the time is near,
The reckoning for Judas’ sneer.
That warning bell will sound so soon —
To cleanse the filth beneath the moon.



---------------------



Armageddon

****’s on call, no shame, no mind,
Fools in squads, all blind and blind.
They feast not on foes made-up —
But on their neighbors, bitter cup.

Such are times for soulless breeds,
Madness sown like wicked seeds.
A filthy plague has spilled around —
A stinking flood on rotten ground.

The prophecy has come to pass:
A world decayed, a shattered mass.
It moves toward the final dawn —
The Armageddon drawing on.

Much suffering yet waits to come,
While Mind and Spirit here are numb.



---------------------



Armageddon

****’s on standby, void of shame,
Fools march blind, no soul, no aim.
They gnaw not foes of false design,
But neighbors torn by cursed spine.

Times have birthed this soulless breed,
Madness spread like poisoned seed.
A plague of filth seeps through the land —
A sewer’s flood, a death’s command.

The vision dark has come to life:
A rotting world in endless strife.
It crawls toward the final pyre —
Armageddon’s funeral fire.

No hope remains, no light to find,
When Mind and Spirit cease to bind.
The doom is near, the end’s embrace —
A hollow shell, a ghostly place.



---------------------



Dark Lines


When reason dies, the darkness wakes.

A hollow world beneath the lies.

Madness flows like blood through veins.

The final fire will cleanse the stains.

No soul remains to light the night.

The graveyard’s breath replaces sight.

From ashes cold, no hope will rise.

Only silence fills the skies.

Spirit shattered, mind undone —
The end begins where all is none.

Doom creeps slow with deadly grace.

A cursed earth, a haunted place.

When all is lost, the void will sing.

Armageddon’s shadow takes its king.



---------------------



Armageddon’s Shadow

When reason dies, the darkness wakes,
A hollow world beneath the lies.
Madness flows like blood through veins,
The final fire will cleanse the stains.

No soul remains to light the night,
The graveyard’s breath replaces sight.
From ashes cold, no hope will rise —
Only silence fills the skies.

Spirit shattered, mind undone —
The end begins where all is none.
Doom creeps slow with deadly grace,
A cursed earth, a haunted place.

When all is lost, the void will sing —
Armageddon’s shadow takes its king.



---------------------



Global Madness — New Millennium, January 1, 2000

A madhouse spans the planet wide —
They call this “new age” at zero’s tide.
Dumber only toads could be —
When heads refuse to think and see.

The second decade starts this way,
For fools to rule the foolish play.
The wise are few, we scrape the rest,
And send them off to fascist’s quest.

All must fall beneath the shot,
So joy and madness hit the spot.
The peak of dumbness now attained,
No lies or filth remain unchained.

Oppress and **** the helpless herd,
A “ruler” mad beyond all word.
Satanism’s their twisted creed —
The vile all serve this darkened seed.

Above them stands a beast so vile,
Fascists bow, remain the file.
And fools still grin, believe the gifts,
Of Danai’s doom — the cursed shifts.



---------------------




Global madhouse, fools in charge,
Lies spread wide and hope is scarred.
Rulers mad, their dark creed known —
Satan’s seed has fully grown.



---------------------



Rashists

To strike the tallest towers down —
Rashists follow orders bound.
A cruel contest set to scar —
A child’s eye as battlefield’s star?

Fascists, Rashists — one vile breed,
But skies will clear, their fate decreed.
Criminal marks branded deep,
No statute’s mercy theirs to keep.

The brave folk of Nenka’s land
Will sift the fiends like cursed sand.
They guard their freedom, dignity —
Fascist **** to graves, let be.

Their armor’s dust — no shield remains,
Their hate will fall with final pains.



---------------------




Rashists strike with orders grim,
Fascist **** — the world grows dim.
Brave will sift the fiends like sand,
Freedom’s sword in righteous hand.



---------------------




Rashist beasts, no mercy shown,
Tearing down what’s not their own.
**** of fascist blood and lies —
Their fate’s in fire, where justice flies.



---------------------



Rashist Reckoning

They strike the towers, blind and cruel,
A twisted game, a heartless rule.
A child’s eye marks their savage play,
Dark shadows cast where children stray.

Fascists, Rashists — one vile breed,
Fed by hate and ruthless greed.
But skies will clear, the truth will claim
The criminals, marked by shame.

No statute bars the coming wrath,
Their trail of blood — a deadly path.
The brave of Nenka stand as one,
To turn their hordes to dust and sun.

With freedom’s sword and honor’s flame,
They’ll burn the fascist **** to shame.
No armor saves the evil throng,
Their reign ends where justice’s strong.



---------------------



The Flow

Today the propagandists
Spout lies in endless mist.
Tons of filth pour down the drain,
A stench that kills like acid rain.

It’d fell a horse, no doubt,
But still, our fool stands stout.
The deaf are stunned, confused,
By fascist lies abused.

So not their faces —
But their backsides take the races.
Fascists boast with pride so vile —
For liars, barriers fell awhile.

From screens the gray mass pours,
Nothing but **** in endless scores.



---------------------




Propaganda’s toxic flood,
Spewing lies like burning mud.
Not their faces, but their backs —
Fascist filth exposed and cracked.



---------------------



The Kunstkamera

A blind man led the way ahead,
A mute passed orders, none but said.
A crippled fool was at the helm,
A deaf one followed, lost in realm.

A handless craftsman built the scene,
A legless courier moved between.
A soulless priest the church did make,
A madman set the grim example’s stake.

A dullard taught the natural laws,
A cruel doctor dealt his claws.
A miser fed the crowd with trash,
While wisdom’s voice was always cast.



---------------------



The Kunstkamera

A blind man led — sure, what a guide!
A mute barked orders from inside.
A crippled fool sat at the throne,
While deaf ears made the madness known.

A handless craftsman built the show,
A legless courier ran the low.
A soulless priest staged hollow rites,
A madman crowned the dreadful sights.

A ******* taught what nature meant,
A sadist doctored punishment.
A miser’s greed fed all the trash —
While wisdom’s voice was kicked to ash.



---------------------



The Kunstkamera

A blind man marched — the grand parade,
A mute gave orders — all obeyed.
A crippled fool played king of clowns,
While deaf men spun the world upside down.

A handless builder slammed the nails,
A legless courier told the tales.
A soulless priest held hollow mass,
A madman led the circus farce.

A dullard schooled in nature’s lies,
A sadist doctored alibis.
A miser fed the stinking heap —
While wisdom drowned in shadows deep.

Welcome to this freakish show,
Where sanity’s the last to go.



---------------------



Goblins and the Gnome

The goblins listened close and tight —
The gnome promised them a goblin’s right.
But promises soon cracked and broke,
A vile, dumb, and wretched joke.

All pledges built to trap and lull,
A bait to keep the mind in lull.
But waking finds the world’s diseased —
Rot, stench, decay, the floor’s uneased.

That bottom planned by gnome’s own hand:
One goal — to crush, destroy the land.
These goblins, like a cancerous sore,
Believed the lies, then bred some more.

No thoughts or spirit rise or flow —
Their petty world is set to show:
To be “happy,” always bow and nod —
For gnome’s a god, their iron rod.



---------------------




Goblins hooked on gnome’s deceit,
Promises cracked beneath their feet.
No spirit left, just blind obey —
The gnome’s god-rule leads minds astray.



---------------------



“Headless Horsemen,” or Long-Distance Runs

"Intellectuals don’t run marathons fast."
— Vladimir Kireev, late marathoner and coach.


A marathon was run. The work
Is fit for fools — that’s just the perk.
The highest bar? A thirty-mile,
Beyond that, body’s out of style.

Long is the time for healing slow,
But forward drives the strong-willed go.
Usually leads into a pit —
The pit of form lost bit by bit.

Don’t mind the fools who run ahead —
The “headless horsemen,” so they’re said.
Better stick to simple moves,
And life will smile, bring joyful grooves.

After running — sweet reward,
Body needs it — can’t be ignored.
Aerobic stress it craves,
And mental calm it always saves.

The psyche’s rarely ever fine,
While trapped in Hell’s own dark confine.
So running’s super-yoga, friend —
Till thirty miles, God willing, end.



---------------------



Total Box

A punch, a knockout — strength’s my law:
To strike a face’s almost raw.
Slave beats slave, the master’s glad
The fiend won’t raise his hand — how sad.

Against those who build hell’s own pit,
The global media backs their hit —
Distracts with games, with wars, a show,
While fools watch on, caught in the flow.

The foe is only near, they say —
A slave who dares to stray away.
A different tongue, a different creed —
They’ll tear his throat if he won’t heed.

A fascist order spans the land,
By varied names they make their stand.
They plant the lie: “You’re free,” they shout,
While neighbors serve the dark devout.

A grayish darkness cloaks the earth,
It drags the world down to the dirt.
They showed us “AIDS,” and CowID —
And reason here is nearly killed.



---------------------




Punch and knockout, rule of law,
Slave beats slave, and tyrants draw.
Media distracts with lies and war,
True foes near—don’t trust the score.



---------------------



The Horseman Rode the Seine

Bots float down the river’s flow —
Olympians riding slow.
Behind them, rides a twisted fiend,
A grim-faced ******, dark and mean.

He drags a flag flipped upside down,
Prepared to raise it o’er the town.
What fools must be to fail to see
This flag’s a sign of blasphemy.

A symbol dark of Satan’s reign —
The Horseman brings Armageddon’s pain.
The world bows low to fascist reign,
Where reason’s cast out, lost, in vain.

They showed it all through CowID’s lie,
And fresh wars burning in the sky.
You must be vile to call this rod
Of Darkness ancient, not a fraud.

Before each event, it taps the drum,
A sign that horrors soon will come.
No subtle meaning here at all —
Just beasts who turned to **** and thrall.

Such wicked symbolism
Marks times of evil’s reign.
The world’s in change — but none benign:
A spiral deep in Satan’s sign.



---------------------




The horseman rides, the flag’s reversed,
A sign of darkness, fate coerced.
Armageddon’s voice is clear —
Fascism’s shadow looms so near.



---------------------



The Writing Brotherhood

Accusations often sound,
We don’t try hard, just spin around —
Lessons lost on shallow lives,
Where God’s own spark no longer thrives.

All our efforts feed the beast —
A rotten fascist, vile feast,
Built on cretinism’s base,
A toxic, sickening disgrace.

True fools are few, they fade away,
But overall — we’ve lost the way.
Changes come, but only worse,
A world descending in its curse.

So poems, blogs — we write in pain,
In this pitiful domain.
It’s needed, though it hurts to say —
In this sad and broken fray.

It hurts to speak in words the craze,
The madness, wildness that now stays.
Surrounded by fools’ blind sight,
Horror, despair become the right.

We won’t end life with a dot,
But with a half-spoken plot.
Let the verse be sharp and keen,
A blade to cut through dull and mean.



---------------------



United Packs

The jackals run as one fierce pack,
Charging forward, no way back.
Mind and conscience melt away,
Reduced to filth, they lose their way.

These jackals—no humans at all,
Nor monsters in propaganda’s thrall.
They’re freaks served up on devil’s plate,
A feast for fiends—sealed is their fate.

The Rubicon is crossed, no flight,
No turning back to human light.
Terrible reckoning will fall,
Once jackal’s lost, they’ve lost it all.

All soulless beasts now bound to rust,
Sent to scrap, consumed by dust.
The world chokes in this filthy haze,
Not peace, but rot, these bitter days.



---------------------




Jackals run as one dark pack,
Mind and conscience fade to black.
No return once Rubicon’s crossed —
Soulless beasts forever lost.



---------------------



Darkness

Darkness — fascist power’s reign:
No lower fall, no greater pain.
Not long ‘til you’re lost and tossed —
Like the jaws of Hell, all crossed.

Hell incarnate, here it stands,
Betrayer, fiend with ****** hands.
“Commander” now, the mind’s disgrace,
Reason’s curse, a brutal face.

No longer world, but beastly cage,
Fools rejoice in rage and rage.
For freaks, a twisted, foul parade —
Submit, and you’re the monster made.

Fight relentless, stand your ground:
Beneath fascists, life’s not found.
Wake from lies and clear your eyes —
See the slime, this vile disguise!



---------------------



Darkness

Darkness reigns — fascist’s curse,
A fall beyond the deepest worse.
Not far now — the abyss calls,
Hell’s own jaws devour all.

Hell made flesh, a traitor’s face,
A fiend who rules with cruel disgrace.
“Commander” now, the mind’s demise,
Reason crushed beneath dark skies.

No world left — a zoo of pain,
Fools rejoice in madness’ reign.
For monsters, a cruel charade —
Submit, become the beast they made.

Fight unyielding, break the chain:
Under fascists, none remain.
Shatter lies, reveal the slime —
This loathsome, vile, eternal grime.



---------------------



Darkness Falls

Darkness — fascist nightmare’s grip,
No depth remains beyond this dip.
A yawning chasm swallows whole,
Hell’s jaws clamp tight around the soul.

Hell reborn in traitor’s breath,
A fiend that drags the world to death.
“Commander” crowned in reason’s grave,
The mind enslaved, no will to save.

No earth remains — a cage of beasts,
Where madness reigns and terror feasts.
Monsters march in cruel parade,
Your soul consumed, your light betrayed.

Resist or drown beneath the night,
For fascists ***** the flickering light.
Wake from falsehood’s choking slime —
Or perish in the end of time.



---------------------



Fascist Filth

The Gestapo, cops in line,
Filthy guards of FSIN’s sign.
Prosecutors — dog packs growl,
All of them in darkness prowl.

The master — something not quite human,
A Kremlin dwarf, a vile goon.
A double’s thrall, a servant’s role,
This land? A madhouse swallowing whole.

Not long will last this fascist night,
For light will break and win the fight.
Even in this filth and grime,
The dawn will come — it’s only time.



---------------------




Gestapo dogs and ***** guards,
Fascist filth behind the bars.
Kremlin’s dwarf, a twisted pawn —
But light will break, a brand new dawn.



---------------------



Double Meanings

Reader — brain-digger, sifter keen,
Unraveling the “double mean.”
Usually there’s no thought at all,
Clear nothing in the messy sprawl.

You waste your time — beware the muck,
Thousands here, a fatal pluck.
Seek grains of truth so you don’t break,
For all this filth drags down the stake.

The bottom’s pierced, all beaten flat,
Or slandered lies by fascist’s spat.
No hope beneath this stinking ruse —
Just shattered truth and vile abuse.



---------------------



Double Meanings

Oh reader, digging through the muck,
Chasing ghosts that don’t give luck.
No real thoughts beneath the slime,
Just endless drivel, waste of time.

Why waste your brain on heaps of crap?
Thousands more — a fatal trap.
Search for truth? Good luck with that —
It drags us all beneath the flat.

The bottom’s broken, beaten down,
Or smeared with lies by fascist clowns.
No secrets here, just twisted schemes —
A circus filled with shattered dreams.



---------------------



Fools and Trifles

Trifles, trifles, trifles all,
Nonsense, nonsense — heed the call.
Fools, fools, fools, the same refrain,
Clutter, clutter — pointless strain.

Synonyms packed in every line,
Repeats that circle, intertwine.
Yet it’s the fools who hold this sway,
But don’t disturb the dolts’ display.

Touch a trifle, bruise your pride,
Like a fool who stumbles wide.
A stone upon a narrow track —
Just step around, don’t argue back.



---------------------




Fools and trifles, nonsense too,
Same old words, but nothing new.
Step on stones, avoid the fight —
Better skip their pointless spite.



---------------------




Fools and trifles, endless waste,
Dumb repeats with no good taste.
Step on stones? Just walk away —
Debates with idiots? No way.



---------------------



Fools and Trifles

Fools and trash, a stinking pile,
Idiots babble all the while.
Step on stones? Just leave them flat —
No fight with ****, ignore the rat.

Their empty words like poison spit,
No sense, no truth, just endless ****.
They prance around in shallow pride,
But wisdom’s flame’s been long denied.

Debate? A trap for fools to fall,
Their noise — a blight that chills us all.
So close your ears, reject the pest —
Save your strength for real contest.

They bark like dogs, but bite is none,
Just empty threats beneath the sun.
Their minds are locked in shallow graves,
Drowned in lies, devoid of braves.

No room for fools in wisdom’s hall,
Their babble only builds the wall.
So spit on noise, dismiss the clown,
True power wears no foolish crown.

The fool’s parade will soon decay,
Their shallow games will fade away.
But shadows creep where light once burned,
And twisted truths remain unturned.

In darkest pits their echoes roar,
A curse upon the fractured core.
Yet from the depths, a fire will rise —
To scorch the fools and burn their lies.

The weakling’s cry, the empty boast,
Are whispers lost on barren ghost.
Their kingdom built on rotted ground,
Will crumble, crash, no grace be found.

For every lie they’ve spun so tight,
A reckoning will claim the night.
No mercy waits for those who breed
The poison sown in word and deed.

So hold the flame, keep fury sharp,
Cut through the lies, ignite the dark.
The fools may howl, but none will stand
When truth burns bright across the land.



---------------------



Super-Idiots

It’s suffocating. Shameful. Grim.
Rot and madness at the brim.
Play it raw, with nerves on edge —
Don’t expect from us a pledge.

Sold our souls for tin and “glory,”
Honors steeped in fraud and story.
Crafted lies — supreme and hollow —
That’s our “art.” No need to follow.

Touch us not — the stench is spreading.
Bureaucrats decide what’s heading.
We perform what’s been assigned —
Fake applause, and cash aligned.

Standards? Lies and flattery.
Truth? A dead accessory.
Led by Goats toward the flame,
Bleat in rhythm — that's the game.

One false bleat — and off they go,
Toward the Chimera’s fatal show.
Trusting freaks who weave deceit
At every soulless, bloated meet.

Dal would faint if he could see
How “super” now’s the highest fee.
How deep the idiot’s bowed spine,
A Super-Fool by grand design.

To save this world? It’s far too late —
“Super” trumps all higher state.
The whole **** thing is truly rot —
And lies are what the Super-Idiot’s got.

Lies are crueler, bolder, darker,
Truth is now a buried marker.
Dying like Dal — is that the way?
Pour us all one last cliché...



---------------------



Super-Idiot Creed

They march to lies, they cheer decay —
Each goat-led fool just bleats "Hooray!"
Truth is dead, and art's a fraud,
Their medals minted straight from God.



---------------------



The End of Light

Selfish little errands,
Blindness, fear, and spite —
Idiots in torrents
Speeding into night.

Few remain who feel it,
Few whose hearts aren’t dead —
But this world will steal it,
Turning souls to lead.

Masks revealed the vermin —
Now the truth is clear:
Scoundrels rule the sermon,
Fiends parade as “dear.”

Evil finds a haven,
Swells in fool-fed might.
Spirit’s light is fading —
Time to end this blight.

Judgment comes with thunder,
Crashing through the shame,
Stripping lies asunder,
Torching every game.

Better start salvation
At the final gate.
Some will know elation —
Sheep shall meet their fate.



---------------------



Endgame

The mask came off — the filth stood proud.
Now Light retreats. The grave gets loud.
Let sheep go down. The truth will rise.
The few will burn — then cleanse — the lies.



---------------------



Gentlemen of Misfortune

“Villainy is the only solid ground on which a man may firmly stand.”
— M. Saltykov-Shchedrin, "Modern Idyll", 1883


We, the Gentlemen of Loss,
Wear no tears — we bear no cross.
Freedom’s mind — the price is steep:
Always trailing in the sweep.

No elbows thrown to steal a seat,
No pacts with butchers in the street.
We loathe the bribe, despise the pack,
Their “unity” — a swarm attack.

They unite on petty evil,
Not a dream, but base upheaval.
Even Saltykov once said:
“Truth is wasted on the dead.”

We, the Gentlemen unfavored,
Hold one task that’s truly savored:
Hear the soul — ignore the noise,
Strip away their plastic toys.

Spirit-knights — we stand alone.
Mind without the soul’s a stone.
Things are simple once you see:
**** the lie, and speak what’s free.

Yes, the knight walks paths deserted,
But he’s hardly broken-hearted.
Fleeting life in this abyss —
Only Spirit holds true bliss.

Soon a storm will clear the slate:
Shame became the planet’s fate.
And for filth that fed this flood —
Let them burn in cleansing blood.

There is life beyond the blaze —
But the Spirit tests and weighs:
Do your task — and make it right:
Reignite your inner light.



---------------------



Knight of Spirit

Let the mob eat lies and gold —
We walk flames, but don’t grow cold.
Truth is exile. Light is pain.
But the Soul must rise — again.



---------------------



The Next Generation

Google trash, and social fever,
Zen-like sludge from YouTube's sewer —
Censorship becomes the weaver
Of a dull, obedient viewer.

Add their “colleges” and “classes,”
Nursery-school for drooling masses,
Toxic news and slave-like labor —
Here’s your worm. And here’s his neighbor.

Chances now to break the chain
Are so slim — it feels insane.
Truth be told, the war is lost:
Rotten minds at any cost.

A Pavlov mutt is what they’ll breed —
And AI gives the dog its feed.
The rare ones not turned into swine
Will lose access — by design.

The system’s eye will cut their ration,
And ban their steps without permission.
The “pawns” won’t help — they’re in submission,
Obeying every **** transmission.

And thus will History conclude:
If your grandsire bowed and cheered,
You’ll march in step — chipped and subdued —
While Klaus the Butcher grins, revered.



---------------------



Next Gen Programmed

They trained the dog, removed the spark —
Now Silence rules, enforced and dark.
The pawn obeys. The soul is banned.
The Butcher’s chip is in your hand.



---------------------



Darkness of Filth

Overkill.
Overrun.
Dragged through swill.
Truth undone.
All defiled.
Violence off the chart today,
Lies in layers choke the way.
Every effort to create
Turns to breeding rot and hate.

Spirit slandered, mind debased —
Cynic smirks in reason’s place.
What remains? Just stench and grime —
This is darkness made of slime.



---------------------



Filth Reigns

Truth is choked, the mind betrayed —
Rot and lies parade in shade.
Light is banned. The ****** applaud.
Welcome to the reign of fraud.



---------------------


Silencing Truth by Pseudoscience

Shocking facts are swept away,
Under tables — hidden deep.
Pseudoscience rules the day —
Fool if you believe their leap.

Their wild theories fall apart
Once the facts come crashing through.
Pseudoscience — mind’s bomb blast,
Soon the end is overdue.

Dumbing down goes on for years,
A new camp built to rot and rot —
Digital decay appears,
For fools trapped inside the plot.

Monsters build it fast and cold,
While catastrophe draws near.
But that storm will sweep and hold —
Smash fascism’s poisoned sphere.

Global fascism’s here, revealed
In plagues like CowID’s game.
Tremble, worms — your fate is sealed —
Shame and ruin is your name.

The honest soul who won’t betray,
Will leap to worlds fresh and clean.
Yet decay’s last spiral stays —
Madness grips the rotten scene.



---------------------



Truth Silenced

Facts get buried, lies deploy,
Pseudoscience kills the joy.
Fascists tremble — end’s in sight,
Pure souls rise beyond the night.



---------------------



The Magician’s Box

A zombie-box — a true marvel,
Rabbit’s not your common marvel.
It’s a seer, looking forward,
Feeding talking heads, the ward.

Down come circular decrees,
Sent by Houdini — master keys.
Audience cheers the staged charade,
Blind to traps the show has laid.

Stanley Kubrick directs the scene,
Mastermind of lunar dream.
Forgery so crude and wide,
Like CowID — drags worlds to tide.

In an instant, all’s undone,
Falsehood’s reign has just begun.
Cinema eclipsed by lies,
Magician’s box deceives our eyes.

It spreads in minds dull and mean,
Lost, degraded, dark and lean.
Building camps digital,
Minds infected, very ill.

Sadly, many such exist —
Earth is lost in their dark mist.
All will burn, then start anew —
No more tricks — just floods of untrue.



---------------------



Magic Box

Lies drop fast, the rabble’s fed,
Houdini’s tricks — the masses led.
False moon flights, the world’s descent,
Digital camps of dark intent.



---------------------



Suckers

Suckers,
Like fleas —
So they began to crush
In this evil age.
To **** them all —
The beast’s supreme task.
Worse than fleas,
That beast remains.
Only luck is found
By those who’re not dumb hounds.



---------------------



Suckers’ Fate

Like fleas, they crawl and choke,
Crushed beneath the beast’s stroke.
Only fools get caught and burned—
Luck’s for those who’ve learned.



---------------------



So-Called "Power"

The gang called “Power”:
**** and steal — their hour.
**** always on the rise.
For people — only demise.

Leave the Hell — it’s ruled
By a fiend, cruel and cruel.
Happy to destroy all souls,
Depart — then curses roll.

People serve as food,
In darkness, lies, and crude.
“Listen close to what we say —
Or we’ll crush you anyway.”



---------------------



Gang of Power

**** and steal, the ****’s delight,
Crush the people — end their fight.
Hear their lies, obey their game,
Or be broken all the same.



---------------------



The End of the Regatta

"We’re all participants in the race,
Rowing hard to win our place,
For glory, gold, and pleasures sweet,
Wine, beauties, and all the deceit.
Envy eats our souls inside,
Who grabs more, who’ll swell with pride.
Consumption grows, production stalls —
The race goes on as reason falls."
— From Treasure Island’s song.


The regatta’s over now —
No turning back, no final bow.
It’s also checkmate, cruel and cold —
No more tricks, no moves to hold.

We’ve reached the shore — no more to sail!
Spirit, Mind have ceased to prevail.
Only cops remain in sight —
When Honor’s lost, there’s only night.

This is average, sadly true.
Think critically — your odds are few.
Yet cycles churn, the ocean’s sway —
Destruction comes to clear the way.

All will be wiped away soon —
Ending madness, like a tomb.
Folly’s grown too long, too wide,
Time to purge the great divide.



---------------------



Regatta’s End

No turning back, the race is done,
Spirit killed, the truth outrun.
Madness reigns — they’ll burn it down,
From wreckage rises new renown.



---------------------



The Wretched Regatta

“We’re all racers in the race,
Rowing hard to grab our place,
For glory, gold, and wine’s embrace,
For beauties, and the rat race pace.
Envy eats the soul inside —
Who can grab the bigger tide?
Consumption grows, but work’s behind —
This race is rigged to crush the mind.”
— From Treasure Island’s song.


The regatta is a price:
To “success” — pay the vice!
But if your brain is full of fluff,
Your prize will be—an empty bluff.

Along the way you’ll sink and drown,
Pulling many spirits down.
If you wake, you’ll understand —
You’ve drifted deep to Hell’s own land.

Few will wake from mindless craze,
Lost within the dazed malaise.
The soul’s gone missing in the mess,
Drowned in chaos and distress.

The ones who lead? They’re cruel and brute —
Rude thugs with Satan’s suit.
If your vessel’s weak and thin,
Break the bottom — fight to win!

Or shame will flood your lowest part,
A sea of filth that breaks the heart.
You’ll drown within the media’s sea,
Breathless, lost in misery.

With such news, you’ll turn a fiend,
If you heed the evil scheme.



---------------------



Wretched Race

Drown in lies the media spews,
Fiends are bred from twisted news.
Break the hull or sink in shame,
Only fools obey the game.



---------------------



The Fools’ “God”

An outcast land —
More like a scare.
With you, that **** —
God of fools, declared.

Maybe just a double —
Fools trance-bound deep.
Reason’s faded, humble —
Lost in decadence steep.



---------------------



Fools’ God

****’s your “god” — a twisted farce,
Fools in trance, lost in the dark.



---------------------



Zombies and ****

Zombies and ****, **** and zombies,
******* propagandists on the rise.
Hell incarnate — this “combo” frenzy —
Where victims are the foes, if wisdom dies.

Zombies more fearsome than the trash,
Regime’s last stronghold, fascism’s lash.
It tears apart all that’s “art” —
Hybrid war’s dynamite, fools’ part.

Those zombie armies worse than foes,
Once trampling native lands and homes.
Dark forecasts for the puppeteers,
Spiritual death, a noose appears.

It strangles, kills without return —
Soulless robots, no heart to burn.
Humanity’s scarce in every space —
Thus dawns the age of vile disgrace.



---------------------



Zombies & ****

Zombies crush what’s left of light,
**** fuels lies, sustains the fight.
Soulless bots, no hope remains —
Darkness spreads its cursed chains.



---------------------



Social-Realism’s Curse

"Social-Realism — and what of it... The most hated phrase for me. Social-Realism is art’s death. Social-Realism is art devoured by boors, incompetents, philistines, scoundrels, crooks, fools in high seats. Social-Realism — a term with no true meaning. Social-Realism — nothing, zero, void. Nature abhors a vacuum. So this talentless void called Social-Realism instantly filled with filth and dishonor, **** without conscience or soul. No talent needed to **** this **** called “Social-Realism.” Just know the game, and your bankbooks will grow! Social-Realism means awards and ranks!"
— Oleg Dal, from his diary.


Vysotsky and Dal were crushed
By that nonsense, pure and raw.
Promises of carnal paradise —
Nothing but the vilest law.

A cesspool for the talentless —
A golden breadland’s guise.
But for the folk — the vampires lurk:
First dull the mind’s bright eyes,

Then **** away their honor —
Drain their spirit dry.
Fueled by greed and arrogance,
In devil’s service lie.

Many joined that wretched scheme —
“Cut down, smash, and take!”
Wretched beasts constructing hell,
For creatures made to break.

Built it fast, and just as quick,
To guard their piles of gold —
In savings books and treasures deep —
Their fortunes to uphold.

They crushed the rotten Soviet mess,
That stinking, foul disgrace.
Capitalism reborn anew —
Yet folk sweat in vain’s embrace.



---------------------



Social-Realism’s Hell

Art devoured by **** and greed,
Fools rewarded for the deed.
Vampires **** the people dry,
New chains forged beneath the sky.



---------------------



Changes in the Hellish Spheres

Can Cipollino — just a vegetable —
Defeat the Darkness’ wild assault?
Only demons will be reckoned,
By severing the head’s default.

The former Lord of this cruel world
Will torture, start anew the reign.
The “idols” too will rally fast —
Hell’s reborn to haunt again.

They’ll paint it over swiftly,
Propaganda strong and loud.
Minions sprout up quick as sparks —
“Fatherland’s loyal crowd.”

Claiming worth and iron will,
The farce begins once more.
The sheep will trust these “laws” again —
Blind fools led to the floor.

“New” education dulls the mind,
Turning sheep to empty shells.
Deceit herds all to sacrifice —
A pack of lies compels.

“New” faiths rise with Satan’s base,
Hidden depths of darkest sin.
Only few will pierce the veil —
They’re branded filth within.

Again all sinks to rotten core,
Decay returns to claim the night.
The demon (once a child’s plaything)
Builds his “Super-New” blight.



---------------------



Hell’s New Game

Demon cuts the old king’s head,
New hell’s painted, lies widespread.
Sheep believe the latest scheme,
Darkness fuels the endless dream.



---------------------


A Bad Deal

"A lifebuoy turned a collar tight."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec

"Dignity — above all, dignity,
So those who grant the gifts don’t drag you
To the stall and stuff your mouth with hay."
— Yevgeny Yevtushenko


“Saviors,” “rescuers,”
“Givers of gifts,”
Spent great effort —
To turn us all to beasts.

Each put in a collar — from childhood bound,
Only few find strength and means to stand their ground.
But these few can’t shake the herd today:
Reason’s just a mirage — two thirds idiots sway.

Clinical fools, plus a quarter mad,
A rotten deal: devils rule the pad.
A crooked thief just one step below —
This is the state of the world we know.



---------------------



Bad Deal

Lifebuoy turned collar tight,
Saviors drag us into night.
Fools and madmen rule the land,
Devils guide the traitor’s hand.



---------------------



The Land of “Pu-du-gi”

Pu-Pu-Pu — the double’s here, Putler.
Du-Du-Du — a fool who trusts all fear.
Gi-Gi-Gi — but not old ******’s guise:
The Kremlin **** just mocks and lies.

Doors locked tight in “bunker” gloom —
Filming’s canceled, Botox’s doom.
The speechwriter’s lost the knack,
One guard even slipped the track.

Soon the rats will scatter wide —
The ship is sinking, no place to hide.
In Kremlin halls they quake with dread —
All promises are dead and fled.



---------------------



Putler’s Fall

Rats scatter as ship goes down,
Bunker doors and Botox frown.
Kremlin lies have lost their might —
Darkness swallows all their fight.



---------------------



Abomination

Roofs are pierced,
Souls have vanished.
Fainter grows
The Light, now banished.

Crushed from all sides —
No salvation near.
Fascism praised
As if a cure, sincere.

Only fire can burn the pit —
Of fools and fiends that sit
Crooked, spawn of Hell,
In this cursed shell.

Yet the Sun still shines,
Burning filth away.
All this abomination
Will answer one day.



---------------------



Rot Burns

Roofs cracked, souls lost to night,
Light fades under crushing blight.
Fools and fiends, the pit must burn,
Sun will come — their fate will turn.



---------------------



Fight — Don’t Submit!

Don’t trust, don’t bow —
Send fascism to hell somehow.
Build community, unite,
Salvation’s in this fight.

Crush the lies, all lies that spread,
Multiply the truths instead.
Fatal “power” of the herd,
Don’t give them a single word.

Meet force with force — but wise,
Cast off weakness, clear your eyes.
We are nearing final days,
Soul’s salvation in the frays.

Don’t heed **** who preach the dark —
Or you’ll be lost, erased, no mark.



---------------------



Fight Back!

Don’t submit, don’t trust the lies,
Smash the **** before they rise.
Truth’s your weapon, soul your guide,
Stand and fight — don’t step aside!



---------------------



Fascism and Fools

Putler’s old,
But slavery’s new:
The zombie box now rules the crew.
All the fools
Like logs in stacks —
They pile them high, no turning back.

What then? They’ll be laid to rest —
And burned away, if dumb’s the test.
Worldwide fascism’s spread,
The meek fool’s voice is dead.

Lies and hysteria flood the air,
No shore in sight — a sea of despair.
Fools listen, deaf and blind —
Polluted Earth, a world maligned.

The whole world’s lost in sheepish trance —
The herd’s caught in a fatal dance.



---------------------



Global Fascism

Putler rules, the slaves obey,
Zombies march and fade away.
Fools like logs stacked high and deep,
Sheep who follow fall and sleep.



---------------------



Fascist Guts

Fascist guts put on a show:
Bragging, violence, bluff and blow.
Lies — the powder of their hate,
Turning countries into pens of fate.

Donkeys, sheep, and swine abound,
The worst of beasts make up the ground.
Mostly guilty for this shame —
Slaves to belly’s cruel game.

Souls and thoughts sold cheap for swill,
Food and drink their only thrill.
For this, wars sting like poison’s bite —
**** must answer, face the fight.

So few remain with hearts that care,
While beasts grow bolder, thick with snare.
And fascist fools, more cruel, more blind,
Grow darker still, with hate combined.



---------------------



Fascist Guts

Bragging, bluff, and deadly lies,
Beasts that crawl beneath the skies.
Souls sold cheap, the wars ignite,
**** must fall to end the night.



---------------------



Paperwork in the Madhouse

Screen’s black soot,
Easy to *****,
Spews its lies,
“By decree” — rough.

Says only paper,
Without a sign,
Hard to call
A valid line.

These moments show
Madhouse symptoms clear,
That all the world’s
In fascist fear.

Everywhere —
This rotten game,
A global madhouse,
All the same.



---------------------



Paper Lies

Screens spew filth, decree the fake,
Paper’s worthless if no sign they make.
Madhouse grips the world so tight,
Fascism’s shadow blocks the light.



---------------------



“Art”

Lacy husks of second-rate,
All that’s called the “art” we hate.
Nonsense piled to heights absurd,
But when stubborn craftsman’s stirred,

He will raise that nonsense high —
To peaks that scrape the sky.
No middle ground — just good or bad,
A stink, a shoe, a toilet pad,

Can be shown as “art,” you see,
To fools and fools’ society.
Monsters have the orders clear —
“Crush the wise with art’s veneer.”

Flush your strength down porcelain bowls,
Art as valve that drains our souls.
You’ll become a hollow shell,
If in that false hope you dwell.

At first it charms with pretty lies,
Then boredom’s dull, your spirit dies.
Only chaff and fools delight,
The touchy weak cling to the night.

Here the Spirit’s at the core,
No Spirit — just a rotten bore.
Flee the darkness, servants’ schemes,
If you’re yet a wounded dream.

This chaos grinds and grinds you down,
But let them loose — they’ll end the town.
Only Spirit keeps us strong,
Think how to break chains so wrong.

Where’s the spark for Freedom’s flight,
In this half-baked, soulless blight?
It’s a festering sore, a lie,
Feeding rotten hearts nearby.

Hearts that rot as flocks amuse
Their lusts and whims — false comforts’ use.
For fiends the pain is sweet,
Beneath thick fascism’s beat.

Where is fight against that hell?
The shameless art won’t tell.
Shots fired blank, no aim or spark —
All is gloom and bitter dark.

Exceptions? Maybe one or two,
But I ignore the chosen few.
Time for honor, truth to rise —
Yet rot advances, vile lies.

That filth serves fiends on call,
If Spirit’s alive, it must stand tall.
Speak the truth that saves the day,
Sell not your soul or run away.

The world’s in grave, soon cleansed anew —
So cast the thief and lies from view.
Judgment Day will come in time,
Death for servants of the crime.

Only truth will then survive,
While foul art can’t stay alive.
Stench so strong, a butcher’s blade
Could chop this rotten masquerade.

Today through film, the **** convey
Their filthy schemes in foul display.
Reclaim your Spirit, fight the lies —
Too soon to write the Spirit’s demise.

Though in the fight you fall and fade,
Your soul’s saved in the fiery blade.
Say “No!” to fate so dull and cold —
Burn the framed lies you’ve been sold.

If sent by demons’ call,
Stop believing in that thrall.
Mad world’s sailed to Hell’s abyss —
Fight to save your soul in this.



---------------------



Art’s Rot

Second-rate, lace thin and fake,
Craftsmen build the cruelest fake.
Spirit lost — all turns to waste,
Freedom’s spark crushed, dreams displaced.

Fools applaud the hollow show,
Fiends in shadows pull the flow.
Fight the lies, reclaim the flame —
Burn the falsehood, break the shame.



---------------------



Sports on the Zombie Box

"You can easily remove me from the game,
I’m weak before the strong — I shame,
But stop me by force? No, never!
When football calls, I break through clever!"
— Vladimir Vysotsky, 1971


Physical culture — always fine,
Beginner’s sport, a hopeful sign,
Until the Party hack takes seat —
Then sports become a trap and cheat.

In that machine of lies and spin,
The sporting world’s a game to win
By fools whose god is “success” —
A mask to hide the deep distress.

But truth — that “success” is fake,
A curtain drawn for eyes to break.
“Give me a slave of newer breed!” —
The Party hack fulfills the deed.

Energy flushed down the drain,
That’s what this sport will help sustain.
The world’s now in a phase extreme —
Of slavish trance, a dulling dream.

Fools think they’re free to heed
The lies that serve their twisted creed.
With falsehood, one can **** and spite —
While drowning out the inner light.

Distraction’s needed — games are key,
To blind the world we fail to see.
Under fascism’s foul rod,
No country’s free beneath the sod.

Fake countries, fake wins, all bought,
With doping’s poison deeply wrought.
No trace of reason will remain,
Only fear and madness reign.

That Party hack once wore red’s crown,
Now sells his soul, lets freedom down.
He serves fascists with zeal extreme,
Preparing souls for death’s grim scheme.

The goal: to **** the Spirit’s fire,
And wielding lies as dark desire.
Football, archery, fill the mind,
While truth and light fall far behind.

At matches, nations hold their breath —
Blind to the growing shade of death.
The best are killed in darkness deep,
While propaganda’s dung they keep.

The world is one vast lie machine,
Where sport’s the greatest show obscene.
Russia turned to Uganda’s place —
A lost and empty, shameful space.

Even sports are torn apart,
Fascists rule and crush the heart.
One stubborn box of zombie lies
Deludes the herd with empty cries.

The people herd, all over,
Feed them shows and empty cover.
The world has turned to stinking ****,
Where hell’s own “paradise” has come.

Such “sports” reveal the rotten core —
Exposing them leads to Hell’s door.
Only memes remain to spread
The psychic virus — minds are dead.

Seek the Path, build your commune,
Leave this global madhouse soon.
There are still some Men who stand —
Not every soul can be made bland.



---------------------



Zombie Sports

Slaves to screens, the sport’s a trap,
Party hacks run every map.
Fools cheer lies, the Spirit dies,
World’s a stage for twisted lies.

Doping wins and fake acclaim,
Fascist rule, the people’s shame.
Break the herd, reclaim your soul —
Fight the darkness, make it whole.

— The End —