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"governance" poems
The Jewish brothers in Defiance were definitely tough. One wanted to **** many Germans, the other to save many Jews. The German soldiers were expendable, unmarried, unremarkable. Each little death was very little, a little spittle in a big wind. Fast forward to my friend's son's bar mitzvah or daughter's coming of age ceremony. Food is abundant, the music frenetic, the rabbi paid. Gifts generous but not obvious. Wealth does not obviate death and we know it. Here too we have natural leaders. Youth basketball coaches, school principals and, again, interpreters of prayers. When violence comes to the neighborhood they are who we'll first look to for governance and guns. Unless have you read The Admirable       Crichton? Boredom, boredom conflated with loneliness, may be a sign of good luck. To live a good length or light year away from man's bad breath, allergenic perfumes, sickening flatulence and shed hair. But you are drawn back into the debate about perfection by your own       ******** While teaching at the old city jail I have learned this: only meditation upon the periodic table can save your soul. From itself. Imagining the world without the self will make you whole. What else is there to say. Do less until one thing's done well. After the war the brothers started a small trucking company in the Bronx. Grateful for such peace, the accounting was relaxing. They thought back to how they met their wives, naked before the bombs and bullets. How they lost and found themselves in       what happened.
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Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Defiance
The Jewish brothers in Defiance were definitely tough. One wanted to **** many Germans, the other to save many Jews. The German soldiers were expendable, unmarried, unremarkable. Each little death was very little, a little spittle in a big wind. Fast forward to my friend's son's bar mitzvah or daughter's coming of age ceremony. Food is abundant, the music frenetic, the rabbi paid. Gifts generous but not obvious. Wealth does not obviate death and we know it. Here too we have natural leaders. Youth basketball coaches, school principals and, again, interpreters of prayers. When violence comes to the neighborhood they are who we'll first look to for governance and guns. Unless have you read The Admirable       Crichton? Boredom, boredom conflated with loneliness, may be a sign of good luck. To live a good length or light year away from man's bad breath, allergenic perfumes, sickening flatulence and shed hair. But you are drawn back into the debate about perfection by your own       ******** While teaching at the old city jail I have learned this: only meditation upon the periodic table can save your soul. From itself. Imagining the world without the self will make you whole. What else is there to say. Do less until one thing's done well. After the war the brothers started a small trucking company in the Bronx. Grateful for such peace, the accounting was relaxing. They thought back to how they met their wives, naked before the bombs and bullets. How they lost and found themselves in       what happened.
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27
There’s an assembly in the making and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event making way to their front row seats ****** in nose   hanky in hand   and all colorfully draped   in those cuffed pin stripes and Jerry Garcia ties *now what would the Grateful Dead or any of their fine entourage have to say about this foul routine?* Apropos of that they’re talking in the 3rd person with tight syllables and wavy hands and all taking a run at the state of the union there’s Valentino and Freddie and good old Sal "look....their fiddling with their nuts!" cries a layman from the balcony seats the Yin and the Yang have got even the most liberal minded scratching their heads as questions fly in from the field: *don’t you know the way it used to be? have you no morals? which way to the exit!?* These front row fanatics have surely been scrimmaging in the corn fields all down in that classic 3 point watching their weight with sample selections from the Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar as members of the congregation look on with envy *pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!* Union heads are running rogue loading up on grievances and lines passing files at a make shift pew jumping the bunkers and stepping on clams while the orderlies move in   for governance It’s a bewildered state   and only for the mind of the rigorous Jimmy D would say: “it’s nothing you pussy...to the victor goes the spoils! everyone has a bit of good you know... you just have to find it!" Unrest is growing in the ranks and the masses are unstable Time to hammer down with a formidable brace and two tick play
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Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
Town Hall
There’s an assembly in the making and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event making way to their front row seats ****** in nose   hanky in hand   and all colorfully draped   in those cuffed pin stripes and Jerry Garcia ties *now what would the Grateful Dead or any of their fine entourage have to say about this foul routine?* Apropos of that they’re talking in the 3rd person with tight syllables and wavy hands and all taking a run at the state of the union there’s Valentino and Freddie and good old Sal "look....their fiddling with their nuts!" cries a layman from the balcony seats the Yin and the Yang have got even the most liberal minded scratching their heads as questions fly in from the field: *don’t you know the way it used to be? have you no morals? which way to the exit!?* These front row fanatics have surely been scrimmaging in the corn fields all down in that classic 3 point watching their weight with sample selections from the Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar as members of the congregation look on with envy *pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!* Union heads are running rogue loading up on grievances and lines passing files at a make shift pew jumping the bunkers and stepping on clams while the orderlies move in   for governance It’s a bewildered state   and only for the mind of the rigorous Jimmy D would say: “it’s nothing you pussy...to the victor goes the spoils! everyone has a bit of good you know... you just have to find it!" Unrest is growing in the ranks and the masses are unstable Time to hammer down with a formidable brace and two tick play
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57
Yes I go, yes go to seek a Great Apocalypse One that will unravel the complex elaboration of difference To articulate a perpetual aesthetic with violated codes Of the experience of illusions of temporal stimulus That are beyond all compass and soothe a fragmentation Oh Great Apocalypse of beauty whose deception finds strategies For youthful prodigality and binds me to your inarticulation An embodiment of beleaguered and charmed fictions Whose artifice is the governance of generous impulses As such sway about me with a harmony of moral disquiet Inadequate in description of the qualities of their oppression Yet oh great apocalypse there is a plausible generosity In these pale assumptions of impatience which carry The obligations of a universally shared human existence Compelling a projection of charged issues on competing claims For the enigmatic logic of life Yes Great Apocalypse now I understand all thought From Everywhere and for Always
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Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
Great Apocalypse
reveling in the unity of contradiction the omnipresence of disjunction the opaqueness of transparency the anarchy of governance the unknowableness of the zeitgeist the banality of chiqueness the slavery of fashion kinda like being a hipster in Brooklyn with no conscience of consciousness or is it no consciousness of conscience? one is a statement the other a dumb question seeking an intelligent answer truly the tragedy of comedy or is it the comedy of tragedy? enough of these silly questions....   why don't it just fall apart? how does it stay together? accessorize smartly tight ensem put together right Music Selection: Jimi Hendrix ifasixwas9 Oakland 6/21/13 jbm
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Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Happy Birthday Jean-Paul Sartre
RNA or DNA polymerase, an enzyme, protein, attracted to promoter molecules in the polypeptide chain causing a zipper motion and transcription of the code, a duplication of codons, introns and exons, and so it goes, sharing and unsharing electrons. These attractions and repulsions, coming near and going far in nanounits or light years, fail to explain things permanently but make possible the technology to live long and well, with       personality. It is a form of governance, the governance of elements, elements are       now apparently our gods. Learn all you can about their laws, their names, their needs, read their poems. Only the mentally unusually sound       would, given this knowledge, agree to the process of mitosis and fertilization.       However, organisms go round then senseless via involuntary respiration.       Therefore, Pilot Oh Pilot Me.
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Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
Oh Pilot Me
To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it, as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately, which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem, sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending. So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves, I can feel them clenching in my gut.   As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a ***** call, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance, my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed, frankly they are getting out of control, as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself, are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place. Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you, even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much. I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin, naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch. Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time, I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough. I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises, representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation. Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really, and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace, breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making, which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly, and the skip in my step as I head home. So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear, I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? , in the hope that you might just say yes...
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Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
My forever one night stand
To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it, as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately, which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem, sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending. So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves, I can feel them clenching in my gut.   As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a ***** call, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance, my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed, frankly they are getting out of control, as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself, are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place. Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you, even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much. I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin, naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch. Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time, I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough. I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises, representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation. Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really, and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace, breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making, which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly, and the skip in my step as I head home. So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear, I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? , in the hope that you might just say yes...
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27
People always complain about political correctness Unless it's something important to them Then they expect you to use empathetic indirectness As to not hurt the feelings of men I'm a homosexual talking to a stranger They don't detect this They say ****** and unleash my anger They don't expect this They were expecting me to be socially correct To their bigoted views They can't handle it when their hatred reflects And they're given their due I can't ask for a simple date Or mention anything about God I can't ask for their ****** state That would imply that they're flawed Yet they say I'm easily offended But their argument is upended When there are many topics I must avoid Or hedge around Otherwise they will get easily annoyed And wear a frown People say Donald Trump is politically incorrect But that's not true He's a hateful piece of **** People confuse that with political incorrectness But if about half the people who vote are pieces of **** Can that really be said to be incorrect? The idea of the president being politically incorrect is absurd By virtue of being elected his politics are being endorsed And endorsement is what comprises political correctness He may know nothing of governance or diplomacy But he was correct when it came to politics I live in a country where I can say pretty much whatever I want And then everyone else can react however they want To be angry at someone's reaction is its own political correctness They're just mad it's not their own specific politics being adhered to So when people mention political correctness I laugh It's a defensively reflexive path When they live an unexamined life But then complain about their plight They think they're hated because they're white They think they're hated because they're right I dislike them because they have low empathy So I don't want to be near that Because their hatred starts to enter me When they call me a queer *** Then they expect me to love it But instead I tell them to shove it They tell me I'm being politically correct Maybe it's their own lives they should inspect
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Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
Political Correctness
People always complain about political correctness Unless it's something important to them Then they expect you to use empathetic indirectness As to not hurt the feelings of men I'm a homosexual talking to a stranger They don't detect this They say ****** and unleash my anger They don't expect this They were expecting me to be socially correct To their bigoted views They can't handle it when their hatred reflects And they're given their due I can't ask for a simple date Or mention anything about God I can't ask for their ****** state That would imply that they're flawed Yet they say I'm easily offended But their argument is upended When there are many topics I must avoid Or hedge around Otherwise they will get easily annoyed And wear a frown People say Donald Trump is politically incorrect But that's not true He's a hateful piece of **** People confuse that with political incorrectness But if about half the people who vote are pieces of **** Can that really be said to be incorrect? The idea of the president being politically incorrect is absurd By virtue of being elected his politics are being endorsed And endorsement is what comprises political correctness He may know nothing of governance or diplomacy But he was correct when it came to politics I live in a country where I can say pretty much whatever I want And then everyone else can react however they want To be angry at someone's reaction is its own political correctness They're just mad it's not their own specific politics being adhered to So when people mention political correctness I laugh It's a defensively reflexive path When they live an unexamined life But then complain about their plight They think they're hated because they're white They think they're hated because they're right I dislike them because they have low empathy So I don't want to be near that Because their hatred starts to enter me When they call me a queer *** Then they expect me to love it But instead I tell them to shove it They tell me I'm being politically correct Maybe it's their own lives they should inspect
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51
Wailing walls, howling fences Encaged and blocked by barriers All smashed, sorted in security fence Miles of humanity and flesh torn apart Why is it that we can’t live together? We bleed the same coagulating blood Lined up and humiliated in alleyways Paths of iron bars and imprisonment My veins wringed, intensive torment Mentally distracted, strained by grief Settlement, conflicts and border struggles Governance, religious trickles of disunion The biblical birthright verses human rights The unsighted straining peace settlement Shadows of the peace blueprint screams Ongoing reconciliation, milked in small doses Whose home is whose? Subdivided in areas Controls of disillusionment undisclosed Unmanned checkpoints evokes fears Revolving cameras tossed and turned Bansky slogan “make hummus not war” Smashes freedom to uproot  and merge Constitute and construct peaceful resorts All horns blowing to collapse duality
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Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
Bawling West-Bank Barrier
The Spirit Has Given Us Wounds so that the flies may feast on us The limit has been set by those who infest us with fallacy and hypocrisy. Those who pull the strings so that they remain kings as their subjects decay. Those who grab things which belong to all the African kings of today! “Keep them in the dark, let them not see the goodness of light”, they say. But I am the light of Africa and I will shine so bright to open up their eyes so that they may shine more than I shine Africa is not poor, Africa is being looted Africans are not poor, they are just being cheated. Bribe is costing our lives as our corrupt leaders misuse our resources People are dying as the leaders grow fat and untouchable. Transparency and good governance seems unachievable Discrepancies of unscrupulous activities surfaces whenever the media starts to deceive Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. Our silence is tolerance to injustice and violence They have violated our minds with their dead conscience. They have desecrated our rights with their dead ignorance We are all leaders lets dethrone these dealers They have annihilated those who could bring change because of their arrogance Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. Kufa nenyota makumbo arimumvura Honai Baba isu tatambura Kudya nhoko dzezvironda Honai Ishe tauyaura Siyahlupeka!!!! Huyai mutinunure Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. Distort the message Corrupt the masses Falsify the knowledge Blindfold the masses Broad day sacrilege Sacrifice those who speak out To satisfy the deplorable desire And insatiate the insatiable greed. Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. You Leaders we erected you are smart... Using our money to fund your reelection processes As you feed us with promises which are nothing but lies All the efforts your make are to meet the interests of your pockets All the votes you take are to increase the weights of your accounts You leaders we've elected you disgust. Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. What are we? A race in need because of those who lead? A curse on the face of the earth because of our creed? We are a unique and immortal breed. We are going to change our heads so that we succeed.
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May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 6:11 AM UTC
The Spirit Has Given Us Wounds
The Spirit Has Given Us Wounds so that the flies may feast on us The limit has been set by those who infest us with fallacy and hypocrisy. Those who pull the strings so that they remain kings as their subjects decay. Those who grab things which belong to all the African kings of today! “Keep them in the dark, let them not see the goodness of light”, they say. But I am the light of Africa and I will shine so bright to open up their eyes so that they may shine more than I shine Africa is not poor, Africa is being looted Africans are not poor, they are just being cheated. Bribe is costing our lives as our corrupt leaders misuse our resources People are dying as the leaders grow fat and untouchable. Transparency and good governance seems unachievable Discrepancies of unscrupulous activities surfaces whenever the media starts to deceive Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. Our silence is tolerance to injustice and violence They have violated our minds with their dead conscience. They have desecrated our rights with their dead ignorance We are all leaders lets dethrone these dealers They have annihilated those who could bring change because of their arrogance Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. Kufa nenyota makumbo arimumvura Honai Baba isu tatambura Kudya nhoko dzezvironda Honai Ishe tauyaura Siyahlupeka!!!! Huyai mutinunure Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. Distort the message Corrupt the masses Falsify the knowledge Blindfold the masses Broad day sacrilege Sacrifice those who speak out To satisfy the deplorable desire And insatiate the insatiable greed. Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. You Leaders we erected you are smart... Using our money to fund your reelection processes As you feed us with promises which are nothing but lies All the efforts your make are to meet the interests of your pockets All the votes you take are to increase the weights of your accounts You leaders we've elected you disgust. Chorus Our land and resources are enough to feed and clothes us all But the land mourns and the waters are bitter because our hearts are sore. What are we? A race in need because of those who lead? A curse on the face of the earth because of our creed? We are a unique and immortal breed. We are going to change our heads so that we succeed.
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57
Give me back my sheets! You have stained them... With your neo-nazism. White pride world wide? You are no nativist. Sure Whites are now eight percent of the population, but is race culture? Catholic under those stained sheets? Your diocese's came and made that road to Rome. Albeit subversion of Americanism mutually. And as communism did exactly what we knew, by way of the Black Church and the Synagogue. Have manifested Jewish rites in governance. Made non-miscegenation taboo for Whites systematically. Compromised national sovereignty for a global order. All the while feminists have made the womb an ego for Moloch. You say the Ku Klux **** is unacceptable? They are nil. Yet you romanticize the mafia. Thank you mafia for upholding the unions, gambling and *********** Give me back my sheets! © S. Wesley Mcgranor
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Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
Give Me Back My Sheets
Nigeria 🇳🇬 A lot has happened to you since 62 You're a year older, and still most of your kin hates you They forget how they may not exist without you Yes! You are on the brink of hell, To say your name has been marred with gutter An act from most of your children You have suffered the injustices of men We hear cries of your children in the North Thousands of hooligans in the South-West There is so much bad blood in the East The Middle Belt doesn't know her role or who to follow Your name has been berated all over the world Your currency, at the brink of death with the stock market Stolen funds for those who can grasp it Banditry for the suffering Masses Illegal mining, yet no one is talking about it You have suffered bickerings from people who want to _Japa_ A fluctuating forex makes it no easier They blame you for their atrocious behaviour They sometimes forget how fertile you are. Nigeria! From East-West and North-South, you have suffered injustices For decades, you have been subject to malicious governance Battling all levels of inflation, subjecting your people to abject poverty Yet the rich get richer, and the poor? More Jejune if you ask. At 63, I want to fight. For your children and kinship Fight for your soil and regain your strength Battle with these injustices and insecurity Bring down inflation and take back your crown Debunk all forms of evil committed with your name And fight for a better 64. Nigeria is great, Nigeria will be great Nigeria is our father's land. Happy Independence Day, Nigeria 🇳🇬 Bellah.
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Oct 1, 2023
Oct 1, 2023 at 3:59 AM UTC
Nigeria at 63
Nigeria 🇳🇬 A lot has happened to you since 62 You're a year older, and still most of your kin hates you They forget how they may not exist without you Yes! You are on the brink of hell, To say your name has been marred with gutter An act from most of your children You have suffered the injustices of men We hear cries of your children in the North Thousands of hooligans in the South-West There is so much bad blood in the East The Middle Belt doesn't know her role or who to follow Your name has been berated all over the world Your currency, at the brink of death with the stock market Stolen funds for those who can grasp it Banditry for the suffering Masses Illegal mining, yet no one is talking about it You have suffered bickerings from people who want to _Japa_ A fluctuating forex makes it no easier They blame you for their atrocious behaviour They sometimes forget how fertile you are. Nigeria! From East-West and North-South, you have suffered injustices For decades, you have been subject to malicious governance Battling all levels of inflation, subjecting your people to abject poverty Yet the rich get richer, and the poor? More Jejune if you ask. At 63, I want to fight. For your children and kinship Fight for your soil and regain your strength Battle with these injustices and insecurity Bring down inflation and take back your crown Debunk all forms of evil committed with your name And fight for a better 64. Nigeria is great, Nigeria will be great Nigeria is our father's land. Happy Independence Day, Nigeria 🇳🇬 Bellah.
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36
Support your local drug dealer, **** your local poets Protest the local governance and burn your houses to the ground We don't need them anymore, not where we're going So rise to your feet and sweep away the apathy this is a call to arms, your swollen scarred weather-beaten arms Take your loved ones and dispel your desires the Id  and Ego will die soon and we can bury them beneath the beetroot blood red desires of the human psyche dissipate All your instinct are an lies Here in lies, a truth you despise Oh, the world in your eyes After death, again we can rise
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Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
There Was Once An Old Man That Walked With Strident Gait and He Had Wild ****** Features and I Saw Him Everyday As I Walked To School But We Never Spoke and I Sometimes Still See Him, Walking Passionately and Wearing Bright New Trainers...
We have seen your greasy lips Of supple warmth nibble our geographical space with relish With your cerebral repertoire of Machiavellian tactics A savage sage gleaning with resounding skill And crafty navigational sail Your masterstrokes through climes and tongues reverberated With your sparkling craft of vile crypt Across regions, tribes and locales Of your fangs that foiled good governance But this time… Your gladiatorial glide on this political turf Shall experience a firestorm of rejection Your emissaries across territorial divides Shall be hounded to delusion For the masses shall maul your mushy mantle of self grandeur To the abyss of dishonour For your subsequent arrival shall be booed to your doom Your waning clout shall swing you to judgement Of abysmal invasion We are watching your fragile trot through this fearsome terrain Of your permutation in levitation For Damocles’ fiery sword shall haunt your ambition Your raging mist on this cloudy night Shall encounter a violent tussle Prepare for war! The scarlet venom from your cruel camp Shall cease with instant visitation From the warhorses of this fearless infantry Armed with the right tools to disarm your fortified fortress As you dispatch your foot soldiers Of monsters and Leviathans To play a callous hoax like the cunning fox Their morbid mien shall encounter an eternal fall! Let the music begin… Onuchi Mark © 2010
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Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 6:32 AM UTC
DARKENED TRAIL
pasty white ghosts haunt the corpse blue cornfields of Iowa whispering wisps of smoke shimmering shadows of the past setting the pace for the rat race that is the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election senators billionaires doctors frauds liars fools campaigning for selection in an archaic and outdated form of governance witness the spectacle the orgastic worship of solipsistic oligarchs bloated by their own sycophantic rhetoric it's just another form of all-American entertainment each orator's charismatic adage froths forth from a throat like a grave pragmatism throttles hope as we stoke the fires of self-indulgence and neglect the fact that we acquiesced as another deceiver stole votes we're choking on placebo pills every ballot cast is another act of apathy escapism pleading vainly for a savior to rescue our sick society but these hands didn't evolve so we could collect a representative to lead us blindly into one fiasco after another these fingers penned   humanity's symphonies and these calloused palms have toiled for years under an apathetic sun we learned to make love using our fingertips and with these fists we could chart a new path but only if we raise them in defiance our only chance is leaderless resistance
0
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
caucus
Hand on the good book that I never read, I swore my loyalty though you know I like to fib, Even as your see the guilt gushing beneath my skin, I’ve been holding the prosecutor’s hand, with another on the switch, A spineless snitch waiting for the green light to fry you for what Benjamin did, So sorry this couldn’t have been different, But the chair only seats one according to our governance, And I’m not the victim with a scheme preached as providence So sorry for the inconvenience But I want to feel the pulse of the pompous cease, And watch the stillness of eyes that once blinked, When they found the oval throne of a tyrant Instead of the virtuous, The one who was to lead us, So who’s stopping me from strapping you to that seat? Since my crime caused the scene Since your fathers where the ones who put your sons to sleep Coming from the cranial cracks of the insane, Those that tried justified slavery while promising us all equality I am the reason they put price tags on humans And why this isn’t the land of the free I’m the governor forcing your loyalty Or I tell everyone you’re a traitor before finding you guilty, I’m Uncle Sam’s mistress, The thought process of social unrest, When the enemy was a homegrown threat, When Plymouth protest turned to disobedience, I was with the Protestant, I’m the crack in the Liberty Bell, The judge, jury, and judicial jezebel, The King, the colonial, the freedom fighter, the insurgent I’ve once facilitated your independence, I was your lust for a better existence Since the struggle against a parliament I’ve been dealing you an idealistic hand, Since the election of the forty-third, I am the notion that this isn’t the promise land Like a revolutionary remedy I am the idealistic ****** The enemy of our mentalities The thought of defying the constraints this reality
0
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 2:38 AM UTC
Ideolo-psycho (II)
Hand on the good book that I never read, I swore my loyalty though you know I like to fib, Even as your see the guilt gushing beneath my skin, I’ve been holding the prosecutor’s hand, with another on the switch, A spineless snitch waiting for the green light to fry you for what Benjamin did, So sorry this couldn’t have been different, But the chair only seats one according to our governance, And I’m not the victim with a scheme preached as providence So sorry for the inconvenience But I want to feel the pulse of the pompous cease, And watch the stillness of eyes that once blinked, When they found the oval throne of a tyrant Instead of the virtuous, The one who was to lead us, So who’s stopping me from strapping you to that seat? Since my crime caused the scene Since your fathers where the ones who put your sons to sleep Coming from the cranial cracks of the insane, Those that tried justified slavery while promising us all equality I am the reason they put price tags on humans And why this isn’t the land of the free I’m the governor forcing your loyalty Or I tell everyone you’re a traitor before finding you guilty, I’m Uncle Sam’s mistress, The thought process of social unrest, When the enemy was a homegrown threat, When Plymouth protest turned to disobedience, I was with the Protestant, I’m the crack in the Liberty Bell, The judge, jury, and judicial jezebel, The King, the colonial, the freedom fighter, the insurgent I’ve once facilitated your independence, I was your lust for a better existence Since the struggle against a parliament I’ve been dealing you an idealistic hand, Since the election of the forty-third, I am the notion that this isn’t the promise land Like a revolutionary remedy I am the idealistic ****** The enemy of our mentalities The thought of defying the constraints this reality
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41
Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret,Kenya;[email protected]) Sembene Ouasmane the son of a fisherman the son of wolof tribesmen the owners of Atlantic you are a bad liar, my kinsman and foreman why didn't you wait for me to grow up you only belied to me for your to die earlier i begged for your pipe for i also to **** it with passion you told me to hold on until i grow up only for you to accede to July death in 2007 i am tortured in this life without without you agonized by daily chores without a glance at the fume of smokes being blown from the magnificent ceramic pipe on your mouth, i wanted you teach me what Maxim Gorky and Emile Zola taught you i wanted to learn from you what you learned at the Moscow cinema school was it cinematographic Marxism or filmographic socialism that you learned? i wanted to get you alive so that we can sing together the songs of Cedo and Xala, why were your gods collecting the pieces of wood; was it humility and humanism? I wanted to see the powerful words of human side of governance coming from you sober gentle mouth onto African plateau that is replete with commonaplace selfish power struggles, i will build a monument in respect of your service to African literature and your service to protection of humanity;both Arabic and African your service to humanity as you forgave a French woman who stole your book only to publish it under her name in a dint of ****** wham pam pams.
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Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
Ode to the pipe of Sembene Ouasmane
Appointment to have ***** removed by robot-assisted surgeon. Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique. Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine. There's always governance even if there's little or no government. Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it? At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill! Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident. Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife. Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get. The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town. Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion And the whole known world from India to Britain. It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy Although after a while you stop remembering To fear. That's when everything becomes clear Purpose v. purposelessness matters less, Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust. Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room. Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with       eyes open, Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work,       imposes Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
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Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Robot-Assisted Surgery
Appointment to have ***** removed by robot-assisted surgeon. Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique. Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine. There's always governance even if there's little or no government. Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it? At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill! Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident. Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife. Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get. The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town. Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion And the whole known world from India to Britain. It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy Although after a while you stop remembering To fear. That's when everything becomes clear Purpose v. purposelessness matters less, Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust. Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room. Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with       eyes open, Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work,       imposes Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
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37
---:$:---:$:--- There he goes the Democrat's fool the Republican's stooge a New Order tool He thinks his candidate tells the truth He's heading for the voting booth There she goes those lies are glib her female hero promotes Woman's Lib! For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin! There they stand The brave Senators The political nightmare Dogs and curs You're out of work and in a jam? Just email your Congressman! As far as our Fearless Leaders go they're no better they're politicos For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin! At the end of our rope we choke and dance but we keep our political stance We listen to their clever quips kissing babies with rotting lips But they are poisoning the water we drink the air we breathe C'mon folks! THINK! We have power! We have might! We gotta think! We gotta fight! The Constitution's eroding away! The Bill of rights? Ha! Gone today. In the end We could WIN! There's 99 of US to only ONE OF THEM For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin SoulSurvivor (C) 2/17/2015
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Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
Jolly Roger Grin
we are beggars we feed on scraps and wear tatters we have nothing that matters in this world we cannot be bold they say "beggars can't be choosers" we can prove them wrong any day we didn't choose to live like this we were forced to do so corruption and lack of proper governance we were the first to burn in the furnace of human misery no government makes us their priority please pay attention to us even we want to see our kids board a school bus and make a fuss on which phone they want even we want to flaunt our cars and houses we are beggars and we want to live better.
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
lives of beggars
Start now knowing joy, that’s an order, overcome a deepening solitude. Like a bee at a bugle or me at the deli on Third Avenue. I said to Joe when do you think this weather will break? He jokes, April. That’s no joke. Weak creatures die and the strong barely survive. Half a year goes by another cancer checkup. Cheer up. Any weather’s better than no weather at all. There’s always governance even when there is no government. My candidate drops out after Iowa. Why do I always lose at politics and poker? Peace at last! No lawnmowers, no leafblowers. Big comfy couch. Meditate on this: Do what has to be done. Find your lover gazing at the moon and take your garbage to the dump. Your web site evaporates and your possessions are thrown in the dumpster except your trumpet which finds its way to a future trumpeter.
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Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 6:38 AM UTC
Start Knowing Joy
Nothing better than I chance to show you how I’ve froze over hell givin’ Beelzebub a chill, Your fables hold little weight when you try to justify their existence as long as I continue dissect your deities, Not that I am entitled but I can careless about how you explain yourself without the brain, I’ve been broken and forced to put the pieces back together because I’m not ready to embrace the oblivion without a say, Without of a chance to reciprocate what you didn’t do for me, I’m telling you to **** yourself till I fill in your grave, Get ready son for your vacant destiny, I’m done with the mental constraints of your needs, I’m fed up with taking a beating for the ignorance that breeds, Your about to bounce a check that will leave you dangled at the neck, Not a threat but I didn’t oppress the armed of ancestral resistance, That desk can’t keep you from the reach of those who believe in unconditional independence, And you know why you walk a thin line, It isn’t because of those nickels and dimes you earn overtime, It isn’t because you drive home to a white picketed life full of lies, It’s because you know if one of us grabs a mic we might turn to the tide, the next chapter of this species existence, Making you extinct, You think daddy’s inheritance will let you pass any Bill, But it only takes one to change the tone, One to alter the course of ****** fostered governance, Not suggesting a Reich’s renovation, Or an imperialist’s intervention, But an interruption to this Nation’s corruption, **** your principals, **** what your father’s told you, It’s our turn to mend this debilitated democracy, To end this domesticated atrocity, So sorry not trying to foment insurrection, Just asking the children to picket your legislative lickings, The documents you pen in order to silence dissidence, But I’m not going to fear old men with millions,
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Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Molly and Her Little Lucy
Nothing better than I chance to show you how I’ve froze over hell givin’ Beelzebub a chill, Your fables hold little weight when you try to justify their existence as long as I continue dissect your deities, Not that I am entitled but I can careless about how you explain yourself without the brain, I’ve been broken and forced to put the pieces back together because I’m not ready to embrace the oblivion without a say, Without of a chance to reciprocate what you didn’t do for me, I’m telling you to **** yourself till I fill in your grave, Get ready son for your vacant destiny, I’m done with the mental constraints of your needs, I’m fed up with taking a beating for the ignorance that breeds, Your about to bounce a check that will leave you dangled at the neck, Not a threat but I didn’t oppress the armed of ancestral resistance, That desk can’t keep you from the reach of those who believe in unconditional independence, And you know why you walk a thin line, It isn’t because of those nickels and dimes you earn overtime, It isn’t because you drive home to a white picketed life full of lies, It’s because you know if one of us grabs a mic we might turn to the tide, the next chapter of this species existence, Making you extinct, You think daddy’s inheritance will let you pass any Bill, But it only takes one to change the tone, One to alter the course of ****** fostered governance, Not suggesting a Reich’s renovation, Or an imperialist’s intervention, But an interruption to this Nation’s corruption, **** your principals, **** what your father’s told you, It’s our turn to mend this debilitated democracy, To end this domesticated atrocity, So sorry not trying to foment insurrection, Just asking the children to picket your legislative lickings, The documents you pen in order to silence dissidence, But I’m not going to fear old men with millions,
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30
The ballot box does my persistent fights convey, to restore what predatory lords did cart away; because I cast my vote for good governance to enjoy; that I may integrity in governance employ by firing evil men who human rights destroy.
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Nov 11, 2022
Nov 11, 2022 at 6:29 PM UTC
Democracy
You are excess of my goodness when am done with my badness I love you Africa in excess for your excess of problems; Poverty, wars, warlords, diseases, hunger, famine And cataclysms evilest eating away your terra firma Like a desperate Tiger on a capsized boat, Your riches in history of slavery and heritage of colonialism, In the excess of your global bleeding that makes me love you more, Your excessive black ugly humanity in the explosive population of useless human beings; barely illiterate and blunt in knowledge Buried deeply in the starkness of crude and vulpine culture, These bestow to me the synergy to love you O! My dear tarzanic Africa, Your excessive cult of dictatorships that glitter in aura of democracy, Sending your sons and daughters to miserable powerlessness, Devoid of governance in abundance of power and money corruption, Financing and cementing torture chambers for the voices of reason, Building my pedestal on which I stand to execute My cornucopia of love for you dear Africa, an avatar of Satan, As you are prone and spread eagled in a defenseless stretch Against all the ****** condemning your self to ideological turmoil, I still do love you in supercilious superfluity my dear Africa.
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Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
AFRICA MY CORNUCOPIA
lost beyond thoughts of consequence, bouncing taxis blur the streets of my wanderings, crowds released from roadside governance and the stillness gauges frantic adverts splayed. readiness surges toward academe in the guile of non-influence; inspiration settles into future springs while the flutist pleas for calm; and systems drag emotively to better corners. friendships diverge with wiser makings worn. in living returns the united self. aside turgid dregs of failure’s learned balm the written strength of former minds bead their voices into soulful vestibules and I crouch gayly in the tent of my desire viewing unmet worlds swept behind, saving other time-intended growth for lissome moments drawing on.
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Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
lost beyond thoughts