"gorbachev" poems
why i am an only child?
you have to ask the Polish women
who were forced to drink iodine....
1986...
Chernobyl...
it spread to Poland from the Ukraine...
a "rainbow" effect,#as my great-grandmother
recounted...
in the local park?
streaks... of autumnal trees
in their full bloom decay,
and the furthest green in summer...
a strange time...
why wouldn't my mother have
more children?
i guess, in fear of breeding a ******
pro-life, what?!
you raise them!
see how they turn out when
you're dead!
god's "grace"...
you ever curate the fate
of your grandmother?
well then!
now you know!
nature is ruthless!
man attempting to
overcome it?!
you know
what nature does?
i know what nature does...
steam-roller and...
somehow the most vocal speakers
are those daring to
question the feathers
of a macaw parrot...
substituting it with
fashion trends...
mort in concencus,..
vive in conscissio...
i might have been born with
a sibling...
but i wasn't...
the Scandinavian countries learned
of it,
from under, beneath the iron curtain...
and who can actually blame Gorbachev?
when the U.S.S.R. was made
dissolute?
and no war took the zeitgeist
garments of a pope's approval?
no cardinal red,
with Attila's river...
who is to blame,
the scolded transition period of peace?
no one unless my grandfather can
understand the peaceful transition
of the disintegrated U.S.S.R.,
into a Russian Fed.?
no one?
but the women of Poland
and the Ukraine? still had
to drink iodine...
and i am...
i am...
i am...
i will always be...
the long lost cousin of the Chernobyl
geblüt;
there is not concept of
a butterfly effect...
when it comes to the query of an,
atomic reactor!
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Across the ice a baritone
Projects his notes of steel,
A tenor’s harmonizing
Adds that melancholy feel
And the glory of the voices
Flows out through alders bare
And the listeners weep for Russia’s soul
And the tragedy found there.
The tragic melancholy
Found in every Russian heart
Liberated by the sadness
A fine harmony can impart.
Of the monolithic yesterdays,
Those forgotten fields of dead
And that fire within the *****
Which numbs the agony of the head.
Dark stains along the timber wall
Wood fire’s stones make steam
It fills the room with stifling heat
Which sweats the bodies clean.
Red wheals raised on shoulders
Birch branches whip the back
Whilst companion tones of maleness
Speak in vectors women lack.
Red larches in the foothills
Gold lantern light on snow,
The vastness of ancient steppes
Of Central Asia grow.
A viola’s velvet passion
Sighs beneath a cottage door
And the sadness in sensation
Brings grown men to weep once more.
The vastness of the terrain
The hardness of the land,
The bitter cold of northern wind,
Each freezing winter spanned
By Siberia’s lashing gales,
White snow is metres deep
And turquois ice as hard as steel
Beneath which... rivers creep.
Dostoyevsky,Kruschev,
Rasputin and the Tsars,
Great Lenin, Marx and Trotsky
And the swords of Horse Hussars.
Gorbachev the great redeemer,
Poor Yeltsin’s pale white skin
And the ****** found in Stalin's smile
Span the politics of sin.
This great Russian melancholy
Lies deep within the soul
It’s a legacy of yesterday
Of her history's brutal goal.
It’s a product of the suffering
Inherent in the past
Endured by legions of the people
Then dispensed with…
With a laugh!
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
13 April 2009
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
addressing my southpaw weakness...
don't know... my left hand is a bit...
weak...
started to train it...
by extinguishing cigarette
butts on each other knuckles...
have two vacant slots to fill...
and plenty of whiskey...
why?
i paid my Shylock...
i was **** with the Gorbachev
**** on my right shoulder blade...
now comes the fun part!
the lesson...
of boxing, with not boxing gloves!
i want the middle finger knuckle
to... hurt... the... the most...
like Tom Waits'
circus narrative...
**** these teenage girls cutting...
how about their start burning
themselves,
with hot, metallic objects?
how's that?
less blood!
ha ha!
two knuckles down...
two to go...
i'm giggling with anticipation...
while, i, eat,
the, pain! ha ha!
who gives a **** about
predictability,
preachers / theologians
or stock brokers?
so who?
the Turkish barbers,
the English tailors,
the French chefs?!
who?
the roof, the roof,
the roof is on fire,
let the ************ burn...
we don't don't need no
water let the ************ burn,
let the ************ burn...
i'm a simpleton...
catch the genie... catch the lamp
sort of scenario...
otherwise?
bon voyage / bon soir /
mon amí!
god, i hate the french!
it's like...
you want to lick them...
face to face...
and then... punch them...
my type of ****** nationalism!
comes the third knuckle...
and the cigarette...
it will be put out onto!
- like an interrogator might...
you show the victim undergoing
the torture, with yourself
prior...
and then?
torture the **** out of them! ha ha!
i.e. who's the buckle,
who's the knuckle, and who's the knee?!
oh please! please!
don't mention the oysters
of the elbow!
have some common decency!
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
Seldom have I seen such strength, such purposefulness shown
And I have witnessed many who have made their message known,
Immovable this woman stands in seas of raging tide
Where friend and foe, as challengers, she’s deftly swept aside.
Resolute she stands atop white cliffs of blazing chalk
To glare across the Channel where her predecessors stalked
In league with Winston Churchill with pugnacious jawline set
When he thrashed the fiend in Jackboots and field grey appuletes.
In league with Margaret Thatcher with that glint of grey in eyes
To the accolades of Gorbachev who recognised the prize.
In league with Boadecia the ghost of power past
Who rallied this great nation to fight on to the last.
Snapping at her ankles the dogs of turmoil writhe
And comrades of another time amass to criticise,
Labourites howl murderously to all who would take heed
While the rabble rousing Europeans joust to intercede.
Swirling round her skirts they mass now screaming their abuse
At her articulated message of a pathway less obtuse.
If Tony Blair had the ***** it’s to her side he’d dance
As would Jeremy Corbett but of that there’s little chance,
Her Majesty stands forthright, as do all her heirs
Including Will and Harry who are cheering from the stairs.
Dianna’s there in spirit plus the Kiwis from the pub
And the rough crowd from the chippie all dolled up with a scrub.
She needs ALL of you behind her in her struggle for the best,
Independence for Great Britain is ascendancy’s great quest.
The very heart of what It means to dwell within these shores
The very heart of what it means to be Brittish to the core.
England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales combining for the task
Of a guarantee of future from the quagmire of the past.
We SHALL stand behind Teresa May and make our voices heard
As we scream aloud the anthem to impart our final word….
RULE BRITANNIA,
BRITTANIA RULE THE WAVES
BRITAIN NEVER, NEVER EVER…
SHALL BE SLAVES!
Boom, boom, boom
RULE BRITANNIA,
BRITANNIA RULE THE WAVES
BRITAIN NEVER, NEVER EVER….
SHALL BE SLAVES!
M.
18 December 2018
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
obviously Gibraltar would vote to remain,
it would be one of the few remains of
the British Empire, the Spanish
version of Hong Kong,
4.1% leave, 95.9% remain,
no immigrants there, just expatriates
from Benidorm - if it voted to leave then Spain
would double the emphasis to eject
the British from the region;
but if you're going to fully pull the thing apart,
and go to a history of myth, Arthur
prior to Angevin Empire, i guess you have
to give that little scrapheap of pride back too -
this referendum is really like watching
Gorbachev pulling apart the Soviet Empire
in slow-motion, it's not chunky like
Kazakhstan, a banoffee pie, but more
like what remained of feeding the 5,000 thousand
at the last supper.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
Her novels were full of everything you:
passive hopes; a burned Matryoshka doll
(Gorbachev); two fist-holes in a wall --
here's an epilogue: indelible, true.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
I didn't know
what to make of you
the first time we met.
You have one of those faces
that makes me feel like
I've seen you before--
on TV, in a movie,
someone famous.
Your jokes and quick wit
had me convinced that
I'd befriended a comedienne
when first getting to know you,
but upon learning more about you,
I realized you are more of
a renowned poker player,
somehow able to make
the hand you were dealt
into something valuable.
Like Mr. Gorbachev,
you listened to Reagan:
you tore down the walls
that confined you--
that people used
to define you--
and used them
to remind you
just how fortunate you are.
Like the rest of today's celebrities,
you are penning your own story.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 10:19 AM UTC
Tick tock, Slow clock
Piercing sound of Silence.
Disturbance of tranquillity
or is it the silence of the storm?
Eye of the storm
Hands of the clock
Wings of time
Ma'at or Isfet?
Coming of Christ or Kalki
Impending doom or
Time of tranquillity
What tidings do the stars bring?
Frozen, bloodied dove in Berlin.
Blaring sirens of the apocalypse
or news of the red man Gorbachev
which sound will come first?
Carrefour, welcome Hecate.
Blanche´s final invitation or
Lisa´s ticket out of Dissocia
which ride is it going to be?
Sylvia, Blanche, Lisa, Sarah.
Mahavira, Buddha, Moksh.
Time, Destiny, Moirai, Jury
What is the verdict?
So much sound, yet no voice from the trachea.
So much company, yet paint can only last so long.
So many words, yet not a single syllable spoken.
So much, yet none of it.
Storm of Isfet, Impending Kalki
Blaring apocalypse, Final Invitation.
Snip my scarlet line, Atropos.
Slow clock, Tick tock.
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC
Years ago
Upon a ship
Crossing
World
Wide seas
I did my time
In the serves of
Ronald Reagan's
Navy
Hurricanes
I've road a few
Sea sick misery
Home sick blues
Riding walls
Of violent
Waves
Above ancient
Sailors
Sunken graves
When Gorbachev
Finally gave
The post cold war
Took the stage
Yet the Russians
Navy still
Rattles it's blades
The Caribbean's
Cast a spell
Beautiful ladies
Hot as hell
Tropic voodoo
Nights
As if
Living every
Exciting moment
Of a magic life
Liberty boats
Bars and brothels
The Mediterranean Sea
Spanish charm
The beauty of Italy
The warmth of Sicily
I shall return someday
Dear France
To the friendly shores
Of thee
Menton, Toulon
From dusk to dawn
Where love is given free
Until then
It's the sea
To shining sea
For me!
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
I put the sharpen on em,
I hear the choppers coming,
Can’t eraser the past,
Everyone think I’m high off something. (X2)
Catch a vibe, I’m bumping.
Match with left swipe, I’m thirsty!
Oil up the pipe, I’m gushing.
My girl play my trumpet as good as Cindy Bradly.
So you bet imma be going down her pipe, like I’m jump man!
(Mario sound effects)
Popping the cherry off,
Got her yelling mozel tov!
Bringing down her walls, like I’m Gorbachev.
Sensual tingling heat, blasting out like a Molotov.
Fronting like a boss, spending cash mischievously!
Disrupting the masses, by saving music
Obviously.
And a lot be hating, but they just mad that they can’t understand me.
Because my lyrics go over their heads g.
So, I wont apologize for spreading the truth homie!
And I may never win a Grammy,
But I don’t need trophies to prove I’m the greatest g!
For my lyrics be piercing,
Are you listening?
Or do I need to put the sharpen on ya?
I put the sharpen on em,
I hear the choppers coming,
Can’t eraser the past,
Everyone think I’m high off something. (X2)
Catch a vibe, ya tripping!
I’m not in my right mind, I’m slipping.
Pull out the lean, I’m sipping!
Oh, lord please have mercy.
My vision getting blurry.
And If it ever comes back, find out where’s Perry?
I’m immediately regretting this decision, like I’m Ron Burgundy.
Can’t **** my struggles away like Timmy’s fairies.
If only real life could let up,
When I scream parley.
Who knew pirates had better morality than society eh?
Can’t it see I’m just living on a prayer like I’m Bon Jovi?
And just when life starts giving me a push, I get robbed like Kofi.
It only takes 5 seconds for things to go Nagasaki.
If only things could roll off me like I’m Rolie polie Olie.
If only I could hit three pointers as good as Steph curry.
Or be as funny as Bill Murray.
But as long as you fans still support me,
That enough for me.
And if you hate me, I might have to put the sharpen on thee.
I put the sharpen on em,
I hear the choppers coming,
Can’t eraser the past,
Everyone think I’m high off something. (X2)
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 4:59 PM UTC