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NeroameeAlucard Jan 2015
In a city full of fake thugs and now record beef they just settle it with 8 slugs
There rose a kid from out of Rogers parkway who kicks slow flows containing dopamine in the bars I slay like Dre Day I'm celebrating out the melon insane like dry water the sheep I'll slaughter like a psychopathic ******* with a daughter
Allow me to introduce Nero The Damphir psychotic and I kick knowledge like a field goal my pen is spinning the rumpelillest gold causing static with the lyrical automatic I splatter brains on the floor it's a nasty habit to endure.

I'm Chicago's poet I spit knowledge and split spines with the rhymes so solid no one will notice I roll this ***** up like the best cest and smoke it unless you take it off the wax and into the turf I'll make you taste the salt of the earth and after you're in the dirt I'll bear you like Paul you have no chance at all against me the pen is all I need to destroy then employ my victims my rhymes stay within them like That dude they net in juvenile detention center I'm centric on hip-hop that is I got love for cold crush sugarhill grandmaster flash and whodini Wu-Tang naughty by nature and Cypress Hill
A song I'm working on, how is it?
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
"Nothing is so healing as the human touch."


Started:    June 21, 2011
Finished:  August 14, 2011

"Nothing is so healing as the human touch."

Purportedly, the final words of Bobby Fischer, the reclusive, oft bizarre-acting Chess Grandmaster, whose life deserves your examination.  

I wasted decades of my life in a loveless, sexless, miserable marriage. I read his dying words, and the poem~notion was born, but the words had their own timetable and it made me crazy.

All the facts you need to read this old poem are now in your possession.
~-----------------------------------------------~
Mos­t poems used to just tumble out,
Sudoku words combos,
Gunslinger I was,
poetically licensed to shoot
from the hip (the lip?).

Then you go mute, until that second,
When once again,
machine gun stanzas fall like
Cheerios
spilling all over the kitchen floor,
as they always do at Two Am
when quietude is in high season,
And the whole house is sleeping.

Once in awhile,
the title~idea recorded,
but the poem unwrit,
just won't come.
*** but no ******.

The words smack you,
write me, I deserve it,
a challenged duel glove
goes kissy kissy on your face,
but the words,
the choice of weapons
eludes for weeks, months.  

So Bobby,
your challenge
long ago accepted,
but my reply imperfect,
has lain bound and gagged,
a poem-in-progress
hid in the trunk of my heart,
unable to escape, even when
escape attempted, unsuccessful.

From June till August moon,
your dying words have been
a cancer growing, within,  
hiding from my bullets
invented to radiate,
your final words, explicate,
Explode and expose.

Your life,
an essay on life in solitary,
anti-social would immodestly describe your life best.

How came you then to exclaim,
re the glories of human touch?


Ah a dying man's last regret,
a simple cri du couer,
nothing extraordinaire,
a basic 101 shoulda/woulda
of "I coulda done it better,"
what's the big deal?

Until this exact second,
Sunday rain jolted body from bed
do I instant understand my obsession,
the import to me,
the need to capture
the haunt of the healing
of your dying words.  

Life is small, miniaturized
when numbered in decades -
five, six, seven,
maybe,
eight nine or even ten.  

How came I to pass so many,
discarded whole decades,
of the few we garner
without the sustenance of
Human Touch?

How came I to allow this
disaster to pass?


How did I advance to the next grade/decade
when a failing grade was scarlet tattooed
In ****** scars upon my chest?

Would be easy to dismiss
as just another
whiney rant
that is no longer relevant
to you,
lies I told myself,
no longer resonate,
over, now.

Never.  

Everything matters.  

Summation.  Accumulation.

Day Counter Totals
reveal gaps of years
that cannot be refilled
so your accounting
must include a retelling of the
wasted days and acknowledge
with your dying breath,

Nothing is so healing
as the human touch.


Thank you my love.
Thank you, Mr. Fischer.
Summer
2011
SUDHANSHU KUMAR Jan 2023
You thought, this life's a game of chess
And you're the queen of this play
And everyone else is nothing more than a pawn
Who's only there to die for your victory...
But you never cared for those little hearts inside those walking pawns
Which always craved to get embraced
But fell for your tricks of use and throw...

You're the grandmaster of this game
So you caught another pawn out of me
Played with my emotions, manipulated my empathy
And you hid behind my back to escape that battlefield
But I understood your tricks the moment you made potions out of my riddled heart..!

And now that I've realized your true intentions
I won't be that pawn for you anymore
Your manipulation won't work on me
And the armor that safeguarded you won't protect you any longer...
But I'm not saying, you'll stay unarmed in this game
After all, you're the queen of chess
And I'm pretty sure, you'll catch another pawn out of someone/somewhere..!
brandon nagley Jun 2015
It's mind control, mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Mind control, it's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Don't let them mold your mind
They wanna control mankind
Seems like their only intention
Is to exploit the earth, yeah

And you trust in their deceit
Your mind causes your defeat
And so you become an invention
To distort this earth

Propaganda and lies
Is a plague in our lives
How much more victimized
Before we realize? Hey

It's mind control, mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Mind control, it's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Ooh, Grandmaster
Let the people go
You put them in total confusion
To downs-troy their soul

For they practice what You preach
So they're always in Your reach
Hi-tech slavery in these days
It's mind control

They'll make it attractive to get man distracted
Corrupting your soul, polluting your soul
Destroying your soul, mind control

Mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Mind control, it's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Come on and get it together, brother man
What, what you say?

It's mind control, mind control
Corruption of your thoughts
Yeah, yeah, destruction of your soul

Mind control, it's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

(The truth is there for us to see)
It's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul

(The truth is there for us to see)
It's mind control
Corruption of your thoughts, yeah
Destruction of your soul
(The truth is there for us to see, the truth is there for us to see)
Coop Lee Oct 2015
mom betrays us.
headlights into the night
& up the breakneck boulevard bluff overlooking town and terminus.
she brings his heart in a ziploc bag,
an offering
to that old burnt-out oak.

                     [husband\father\corpse]

front porch blood trails forever. she
claims self-defense and the camera-eyes caramelize her
fame & fortune & stepdaddies & book deals & ziploc pb&js & dead dog omens.
when did the heartache begin?

heir\son\brother\body
racing car ****** and fluxed up the boulevard in a ritual reach for daddy and the oak.
the girls are waiting. one two three, seeds.
brakes sabotaged. he
bursts into death, a molten ball of mazda.
father and son laugh there on the brim of here and hereafter.
apparitions uncoiled.

                    [home movies]

where mercury avenue ends
the woods begin.
& those woods are evil, an eldritch place, she laughs.
even the indians wouldn’t bury their dead there.

america.
caught between the whir of spokes and windshields reflecting
sky and skin, the blue hue
of television flickering on the hands of a family.

grandsons conjure grandmaster demons
on the ply of their treefort high.
the heart of grandma in a ziploc bag.
jupiter and saturn are in conjunction,
twelve past midnight on a tuesday in september.
a school night.

            [the babysitter brings over an unlabeled video tape, says its scary]

the children watch.
slumber party screams and pb&js.
ghouls blunted by pungent neighborhood inertia.
son, a ghost returned in rhythm and electronics,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance.
previously published in Deluge Magazine, by Radioactive Moat Press http://www.radioactivemoat.com/deluge-issue-three.html
Rama Krsna May 2023
a novice,  
i may be....

learning the lexicon of love
from a practicing grandmaster
whose expressive kohl-rimmed eyes
dart from side to side,
speaking a million languages of the heart.

transfixed
nay, transformed
an intimidated admirer of hers,
i’ve become,
from such a great distance.


© 2023
love embedded in silence is beautiful
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2014
"Nothing is so healing as the human touch."


Started:    June 21, 2011
Finished:  August 14, 2011

"Nothing is so healing as the human touch."

Purportedly, the final words of Bobby Fischer, the reclusive, oft bizarre-acting Chess Grandmaster, whose life deserves your examination.  

I wasted decades of my life in a loveless, sexless, miserable marriage. I read his dying words, and the poem~notion was born, but the words had their own timetable and it made me crazy.

All the facts you need to read this old poem are now in your possession.
~-----------------------------------------------~
Mos­­t poems used to just tumble out,
Sudoku words combos,
Gunslinger I was,
poetically licensed to shoot
from the hip (the lip?).

Then you go mute, until that second,
When once again,
Machine gun stanzas fall like
Cheerios
Spilling all over the kitchen floor,
As they always do at Two Am
When quietude is in high season,
And the whole house is sleeping.

Once in awhile,
The title~idea recorded,
But the poem unwrit,
just won't come.
*** but no ******.

The words smack you,
Write me, I deserve it,
A challenged duel glove
Goes kissy kissy on your face,
But the words,
The choice of weapons
Eludes for weeks, months.  

So Bobby,
Your challenge
Long ago accepted,
But my reply imperfect,
Has lain bound and gagged,
A poem-in-progress
Hid in the trunk of my heart,
Unable to escape, even when
Escape attempted, unsuccessful.

From June till August moon,
Your dying words have been
A cancer growing, within,  
Hiding from my bullets
Invented to radiate,
Your final words, explicate,
Explode and expose.

Your life,
An essay on life in solitary,
Anti-social would immodestly describe your life best.

How came you then to exclaim,
Re the glories of human touch?

Ah a dying man's last regret,
A simple cri du couer,
Nothing extraordinaire,
A basic 101 shoulda/woulda
Of "I coulda done it better,"
What's the big deal?

Until this exact second,
Sunday rain jolted body from bed
Do I instant understand my obsession,
The import to me,
The need to capture
The haunt of the healing
Of your dying words.  

Life is small, miniaturized
When numbered in decades -
Five, six, seven,
Maybe,
Eight nine or even ten.  

How came I to pass so many,
Discarded whole decades,
Of the few we garner
Without the sustenance of
Human Touch?

How came I to allow this disaster to pass?

How did I advance to the next grade/decade,
When a failing grade was scarlet tattooed
In ****** scars upon my chest?

Would be easy to dismiss as just another whiney rant
That is no longer relevant to you,
Lies I told myself, no longer resonate, over, now.

Never.  

Everything matters.  

Summation.  Accumulation.

Day Counter Totals  reveal gaps of years
That cannot be refilled so your accounting
Must include a retelling of the
Wasted days and acknowledge with your dying breath,

Nothing is so healing as the human touch.
~~~~~~~
Happy 3rd Birthday poem.
Thank you my love
Kìùra Kabiri May 2017
"Remembering the Soviet’s silent sufferings!"

Chechnya, Georgia, Crimea…… Kiev!
There they marauded cruelly combing all  
And souls they severely sought to take like hogs
Souls they fatally fought-these Dmitri dogs
In death jails-a hell more than purgatory’s punishment
They put souls to pleasurably slaughter them all
And a soul at its time they picked and hacked in elated excitement
Severely they severed them these trigger happy Zarkozsky fools

Hunger and starvation their invasion caused!
It is a saying: To suppress small states-hunger and violence cause!
And out of these societies’ desperations, demeaned humans
Will subjugate freely as miserable subjects-slaves to any rule
The soviet sacrificed us to their animosity and brutality
Our children, our parents, our experts-we all fatally fell
Of their gallous guns or cruel squads or unnatural hungers
Humans, hardworking humans became bones-NOTHING!

We did the donkeys’ hard works-indefatigably  
And they ungrateful, kingly collected our all
All our tills tires they unjustly carried away
And all was left in sustainable villages were huge hungers-
Everywhere were war casualties: tension, desperation, mass starvations-
And when angered we couldn’t bottle anymore we staged rebellions
And they cursed us with all sorts of chemicals contaminations

They combated and convicted us with any known brutal cruelties
Innocent infants they injured with their injustices-fatalities  
Little angels they hewed with brutality-others they made all sorts of slaves
They collected us, us resilient and begun murdering our mettle vitalities
Men, all able men they collected, killed and covered in mass graves
Them they carried in transport trains, some they threw away in trenches, in rivers…
Their remains they concealed to deny us a claim of their atrocities and animosities

Babies remained, crying for their dying mummies and daddies
Long after finally they have given up fighting-living
Poor innocent babies, unaware it is death……
It is not death the devil but Dmitri dogs the devils
That has fat fed on their last of defenses-able parents
Times ahead of them were tough if not toughest

The Petrovs’, the Pavlovichs’, the Mirovics,
The Lenin’s, the Stalin’s, the Sarkozsky’s.....
They are animals raised from hells horrible
There not to pamper and foster but to decimate  
Ruthless and cruel they killed without a soul-a heart  
Death is their rite, blood is their eucharist
Mass mortuaries of mutilated bodies are their sophists
Killing is their glorious celebrations-theirs sacred sacrifices

In jail, doors opened and rude were ruthless soldiers’ orders
Chains crinkled on ground as sacrifices lead to little altars
Prisoners were time to time collected and lead in cruel commanders’ commands
And from distances came echoes of targeted bingo bull’s-eye shots
A LOW ROW of shots followed by the silences of squeal of sailed souls and their guilt
If a day or a night-if any able to tell from chained scary dark chambers  
Passed and found you fit-alive, you counted yourself very, very lucky!

It was dark when we escaped from the jaws of our starving starring deaths
Out, the moon shone silvery sweet and bright on these sad ******-white snows
Its silver speckle lights letting lurid luminous sparkling glows
The snow rained with such sadness and bitterness
On our ears it whizzed with fury and ferocity
On our bare skins it bit with brutality and cruelty
On our near naked feet it froze and frosted
We endured, we had to!

Had we managed to rob death of its celebration and elation
A taste of our starved wounded bones-surviving skeletons
We had to struggle to live and hope give, we strived, we had no choice
If we were to be counted heroes of our hopeless humans
Saviours of our suppressed peoples
We had to reach a safe distance and our rural homes
To stage the war from the roots, the stems, the base!

A death in nature by nature is better than one in Dmitri dogs hands
Their deaths were inhumane, their deaths were merciless
They were mocking and shocking-laughing and loathing while killing
A mocking moustache peeking from their elongated mouths smiles
A cigar smoking from their mouth and emitting from their nostrils
A red star labeled soviet beret on their ***** irking hairy heads
They killed you slowly loving and laughing of any strength you gave to live
Until at last you are lost-in the abyss arenas of death, your are done
Such a point you give up, you can’t fight, resist anymore

They chased after us–they pursued us
They were too determined to not let any of us live
But miraculously we lived-we somehow survived
Here in this snowy arena it is a fair ground for everyone-
There is no grandmaster, it is improvisation
Survival only for the willed-fittest
Not how well you were equipped or trained
Though too skills and determination also counted

We trapped them in their own constructed coliseum
A lot of them free-froze and fell in these forgotten fields
Their bones never to reach their of-kin commemorating cemeteries
Nature is JUST! As us, theirs too had to bitterly mourn their nature lost
The never to see graves, reminders of their never returned fighting loved ones
With God’s grace on us, we cheated their beginning to tire authorities
We reached home; we reached the earth’s of our ancestors

And here we gathered to charge back-to seek backups
To restore the lost glory of our nastily punished perishing people
Some we sneaked to safety in case we all perish we have remnants
Backups to tell of us-our sorrowful story-our liberty struggles
To Kiev and its heroes; to Kiev and its strong heroines
To Kiev and its resistant living; To Kiev and its resilient
We gathered to kick back, to tell the world of the evils of the Soviet Satans
To mourn with grace our gone and done in this dehumanizing disgrace!  
O Kiev, her heartless Holodomor; O Crimea, O Georgia…..
The Satanic Soviet infiltration brought you eternal sufferings!

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Martyn Grindrod Jan 2017
Second Rank I stand
Head on,Eye for an Eye
Sacrificial Lambs
Seven Foot Soldiers and I

Step by Step
Bravery and Valour we bring
Readied for Battle
Lord Protectors of our King

We may be killed
We will stand tall
We will fight tooth and nail
We will answer the call

For the Grandmaster
We would die
Black or White
Up for the Fight




Thank you
Love chess
Diptesh May 2013
This man is not me: someone dark
Has taken over me:
He pulls me towards pettiness
And hollow acts of shame.
I resist much, but he is strong,
And I’m just a boy in a man’s shoes.

He is deliberately mean.
I strike back with kindness.
He talks of drab despair;
But I retain vibrant dreams.
Like a chess grandmaster
I attack with my random goodness.

But only one of us
Will stand in the end.
If you see me and I don’t smile
Somehow you know the worst.

And if I embrace you
With unfeigned eagerness,
Know that I’ve seen the dark side
But returned back, only for you.

Diptesh Ghosh
Dimitrios Sarris Jan 2019
He is the brother i never had
he is the friend from far distant shores.

He is a writer a poet of life and wonder
a warrior worthy of Valhala
a hero worthy of Olympus
a soul worthy of Tir na nog from Celts.

Wildman he is called in my book
of elven folk grandmaster smith
which Hephestos himself teached
of ancient long forgotten craft.

A glass of old greek wine i raise
and wish to him Happy new year.
My gift to him my humble poem
my gift to him my gratitude
for being my brother.
Gratitude for being an inspiration.
Alas, for he is a man worthy of all
the blessings of the Gods.
Was written for a good friend from HP Mark,
thanking for being the brother i never had.
NeroameeAlucard Mar 2015
It's like a jungle sometimes
that's what The Grandmaster said
but learning about bodies being found in alleys over colors
that's maybe not what he saw in his head
the streets are cruel, but they teach you a lot
every day in my city it seems
someone's getting shot
More bullets pop every night
And more kids don't get to see the sunlight
to quote Run-Dmc whatever did happen to unity?
we lost the concept when getting money and turning up became the only objects
of our fascination and now our babies won't grow up to see outside the chainlink fence that symbolizes the divide between the hoods, north south west and east side we need to call a truce put all the beef aside and let's grow as a city it won't be easy at all
but I guarantee if we can do this it's together not apart from the homies is how we'll ball
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
When man mortal with a title
Becomes vile and self righteous ,
He walks around with the Bible
Holy acts and all sacrilegious
Carrying LBGQT rainbow banners
Hailing the devil's temporal empire ..
Accomplished false pretenders
Adorned in bright priestly attire
Those revered by man mortal
Who himself discovered religion
But have lost God Himself in total
God the grandmaster of creation,
Who made everything in days
And created mankind in his image
When man transgressed in fleshly ways ,
He taped Agape love to the damage .
And for himself, God created mankind
Then by mankind , God was created
For mere control and mastermind
And to do this the world was reinvented
By man because he wants to play God
But lacks God's divine omniscience
So man can't become his own overlord
Bless the limitation of his intelligence .
Maybe God created man to worship and serve him and , maybe mankind created God to control dominate and manipulate
Mirage Dec 2017
Some people are born playing chess at a grandmaster level
Others have an ability to illustrate images of the highest caliber at a young age
She had a special gift that remained undetected for years
She could break down barriers and give you a sense of meaning
It was the pre-weeks of winter
Our connection was growing thinner
Leaves fell, and I began to shiver
Then, I knew my heart would need a blister.

Our time went by like a breeze
I assumed we had a tight lease
And I was mad at you for being a tease
Weren't we supposed to go for drinks?

Some doors are best left closed, I guess
But that notion keeps my anxiety worse
Like playing a grandmaster in chess
Oh, emotions and you pretty ugly mess.

Love's gone, and regret pays the rent
Talk about an ending that's nonchalant.
Aditya Roy Apr 2019
Asteroid O’Belt Sydney Junction (Beer in Bar-Alley)
With the right words, you can make music on any planet of spatial arrangement. Dark matter keeps the balance of eccentric space, where a blue-suited handsome man, shines; however blackholes lurk to turn Spike Spiegel into a dream where he lives. Is it a dream or has he ever felt more alive than being back in the action with the moral courage that threatens his very existence Don’t forget he has a gun strictly for assurance. With warships, there lurks a year in 4050. 2000 years in progress, we may have evolved in terms of interactions. Fast forward, there are different people in whole new worlds. Like epiphanies, these characters take their place in the chatter of a celestial crowded cinema in downtown Shinichiro street.
The doctors chatter with dark undertones and hushed intentions:
“Well, it’s not like the phones are cheaper. Ever since we got their first. The phones have come sooner than virtual intelligence take place in this ghost.”
“The ghost seems to work actively.”
“Seems to be shutting down in fact.”
Shadows cast on the processes of entropy there many optimistic pursuits for the present.
But, in this modern civilization, what do we have the battles and gambles among the bounty hunters interested in staying in the loop of where the money flows. But, the real artists are the creators in this desert of opportunity.

“Woah, Spike.” – Spike hynogogically resuscitates from his cybernetic sphere
“Wake Up.”- Jet
Presentation matters but, the old technology rumbles in the cosmos among the old cosmopolitans you’ve had in your fruitful day at a casino of blackjack and bounty hunting. Somehow, Faye Valentine comes with a bang and a bad gun in the back. Holstered but focused on the game.
“Fold the chips, for you?”- bent slightly over the steep end of gambling. Mrs Valentine can’t seem to get out her mind her job as dealer for Table 2 in a hexagonal room of full-scale gambling operations.
Clearly, absorbed in the rattling crowds of these snakes in the rabble. Or maybe there are actually snakes. ***** it.
“Raise.”- Dewey Striker
“See that’s a million.”- Faye Valentine
“Let’s hand it to the strong gentleman for his courage, but, exciting game of Woolong and Woes or simply Poker”- Table 1
“Nowhere as good as these drinks are in Jupiter. If I win, I’ll write it all down in my journal.”- Table 2
“Probably, better to put myself out there at the right time. You raise too.”
“Earth’s building itself. Well, people are the same.” – Table 1
“Oh imagine, if we had more planets to destroy.” – Dewey Striker
“With that, money? Yeah, baby. Write down a cheque next time.” – Faye on Table 2
“To **** the one among us, who has whereabouts about a notebook that had all the people who have been linked to the death of Spike Spiegel killed would take us years.” - Faye
“What!” – Table 2, someone wins
“Nice try, but, that book’s all the history remaining of someone I knew.” – Faye Valentine says daringly.
“The notebook stays with me, until you have enough to buy off the notebook. I’ll start with 100,000 woolongs. How about that, missey? You know the notebook of all the accomplices that ever worked with a Doohan.”
“Do right honey, you’re lucky you’re in the right room. I need the information and I’m a rich gal.” - Faye
Spike and Jet in Discussion:
“Apparently, Vicious had barely managed to finish him off.”
“Do the others know?”
“Faye remembered, but, let it go.”
Recluse in Exclusive Reminiscences (Part I)
Jet & Spike completely lost in the intricateness of the bounty-hunting. Might be a terrible idea to eat bell peppers and beef. But, if you’ve got an aching stomach from ton of drinking and stairwell trips, you’re gonna have a hangover. If the Prairie Oysters were still not his thing, only thing that changed is that the more he drank, the less he liked the planet. For his favorite there had to be a special occasion like a bottle of the finest whiskey that the joint would serve from the golden days of heart-warming company in the heart of this Japanese place.
“Oh but there was one time. When I ate…”
“That was long back 4001,
Commandeer and imagine my surprise when the ole Siren, Jet. That’s his name; there was a need to rename Spike Spiegel to the old school be-bop that pretty much enriched the video star. There was a bomb, I don’t know what happened; there are piles of rubble and pretty much every bounty hunter missed it.
“Says, he wants to destroy a planet. Somehow, there’s some secret stone interwoven with the need of the hydrogen-powered machinery to change the deuterium in the accelerator.”
“Well, we could use the quantized possibilities and run an algorithm with the specific plasma type.”
“But, that would mean we would have to bypass the gravity field blockers.”
Simply put, there was some riff-raff about the bags in the first place. Kept them off the scheme of people who were idiomatic in their habits, and that seemed to do the trick.
“Well, the Francium is resonant with the cell rejuvenation heuristics.”
"So, go to Pluto. Where do I find the little kid? After since I got to you. The dog."
"Spike, Faye's not welcome. Leave her out of this business."
"We made it clear, but, no parting ways unless we find the guy who erased her memories."
"Yeah, maybe you could contact her. But, let's keep it straight."
"Fade into the television; before the victory is yours. Television is on an old couple of people who have coffee and beans; saying them both remind me of all the people I owed at the hot-dog store we just passed by."
"Might be a good idea, right?"
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
"What about Faye and the little kid."
"One of the most annoying kids. He'll find us if we surface on this awful map of nowhere."
"Well, we are on Jupiter. Everywhere is nowhere here."
"You've been here a while."
"The days get longer, each time."
"Yeah, what about the weather? Always turbulence in the skies. ****, it’s cold."
“We’re on the moons, Spike. We have air-heaters in our lousy, ******* spaceship.”
Jet, do you ever maybe wonder giving us a visit, here on Pluto. It was the farthest planet I could think of. Changing my life was great. I won't meet, and I'll remember you as a person, a stranger now in my own paralyzed heart beat. I can't feel my jobs get any more exciting. Vicious happened long back. God knows. Now, we steal back from society."
"God only knows." - Jet, baffled by no name of the planet
No name was given; however, that made Spike rather elated with the heightened discussions happening on Mars. There the assumption they made about their friend had concluded on Pluto. Here on Jupiter, you are always working with the better people to make a living. Too many moons, and further than the Asteroid Belt still lies the interstellar galaxy all beyond our amazing stipends. All of them, owe it to themselves, bounties are perfect to fill your midnight blues. And nothing to snack gives you the existential jeepers. Better smoke before evening kung fu time before you flow like water into the background of the Bounty-Hunting business. Once you're dead, you can't come back alive, but, freedom is a specious young kid floating in space and hacking your whereabouts. He’s about 19 years old.
“Your friends would be proud of you.” – Edward seems to have beat a chess grandmaster. The same old adversary from the blues of the old loss. Edward, you’re smart. Figure out, where’s Spike.
“Spike, where are you?” – Dewey Striker
“Can I help you?”- Faye Valentine
I suppose we must have misread the situation, but, the cross and frowning kid is not your f
Holding up a picture of Spike at the beahc.
“I wonder I should go back.” – Faye hurrying to her Casino table
Pack your bags and umph
You’re leaning into yourself, and the legs feel fine and the peak of my appeal seems to be, my whole package. But, even a gun couldn’t save him from someone she thought she lost forever. Spike was the only person in the galaxy who she knew was dead for sure. You can never tell in such a large galaxy, but, there are better views of sunsets in Venus. Did I want to die? When I knew he died in the fire of bullets and completely riddled by a long series of hovering flashbacks.
Story Part II (Continued Clueless And Moving)
The windows must open to a better life. Spike’s hungry.
“Well, your smokes are in the bag you carried. Didn’t bother stealing a single one of those Macintoshes you got from that place on Earth.”
“Jesus, man what part not touching other people’s stuff, don’t you get?”
“The part where it concerns us paying for the food stamps.”
Spike quizzically asks “Do they still do that?”
“Jet, don’t tell me we’re living off the previous million we had in woolongs. Not some ****’s mushrooms this time.”
“By the way, forgot to tell you. The recorder is on, I decided to get one of those VHS tapes.”
“Yeah, about that?”
“Hmm.” –Jet
“Faye got kind of emotional on the “day.”” – Spike
Government data shows that you two are bounty hunters. Those passing wormhole customs need to pay a price. See the sign.”Await your turn. Or pay up your woolongs.”
Jet yells at Spike, and seemingly hastened,” Seems like we have to pay up.You guys charge a grand for this?”
“You mean we didn’t come for more questioning?”- Spike
“Well, Spike we have to stick to what the customs say. And sure every single woolong counts as a bit of developed product. How about Mr. Agent? Do we get a free pass for a good ole’ blues gig?”
“Mr. Spiegel, please explain to your friend over here. You cannot go without the code for the customs department.”
“Spike, Faye gave us some sort of code in the back of the letters.”
“Seriously?”
“How did she know I was alive at the time?”
“Well, I told her you wouldn’t have survived the bullets. But, you could escape from the bloodiest gunfights in the history of this team.”
“Mr. Spiegel, I wonder if you would be caring to ask the services of our executives at your cryogenic storage?”
“How do they know, Jet?”- Spike
Turns out, the cryogenic patients are monitored. This is a sacred bond of servility to a life beyond the mortality of humanity and immorality of society. IN the end the immortality and the authenticity of your identity lives on. They called it the “Ghost.”
“Do they know about G.H.O.S.T?”
“Mr. Spiegel, we are getting late. Can we please finish this easily without involving organizations of vast power and affluence.”
“Growth of Hyper Oscillating Specimen Testing”
“Wait, what?”
“I mean we have to get out of here fast and we do not have time before Vicious comes and kills us.”
How We Escaped?
Basically, we turned to our best instincts as to whether a secret lurked behind the planet’s corrupt system. Jupiter had become a place of leisure, but, the alcohol was getting to our minds.
“Yeah, we checked names.”
“We checked faces, and no sign of those doctors.”
“The dream doctors seem like real nightmares.” – Jet
“Good one, Jet. But, having the nerve to ask the customs agent about Vicious really put him off.” - Spike
“Oh, man. That scared him.” - Jet
A cold beer was opened, and what happened afterwards is unreal; and as we approach our planet Pluto. We follow the invite, and the code is some sort of invite. If it was going down, me and Spike were gonna be there for sure.
This is my book. It is about how Spika and Jet encounter some doctors involved in the past. And Faye tries to reach out, but, they can't get past customs to catch her before it is too late.
Mohamed Nasir Nov 2017
The pawns are lining abreast shoulder to shoulder.                     The King the queen rooks knights and bishops are ready and both side are ready awaiting for the mysterious hands to lift them up from their spots. The ancient game can commence.
The papers neatly stacked. The pen in the olden days is inked poised for a poet's hand to place it onto the blank piece of paper to begin its journey.
The pieces are moved in turn one after the other until a player concedes and defeated.
The poet placed words one followed by another until the work is completed.
Whether one play like a patzer or grandmaster depends on one's knowledge and mental capacity.
Similarly a poet through experience will write according to the level to a given technical know how foresight and mental ability.
Poetry is the art of expression of mind with words through every known emotional state. The art of crafting words with awe.
Chess the art of intellectual intelligence of territorial *******. The art of war.
Poetry and chess are like art mathematics science and music and both are life.
The attitude in chess is to play well and mine is a quest to write my best. To write what I like and to like what I wrote.
And to write till my pen ends its traveling
The King is checkmated the game is over
I won't be a Hardy a Frost or a Browning
I am but a pawn and an incorrigible rhymer.
Poetry and chess needs the faculty of the human brain to manifest a desire to create something beautifully tangible.
Jester Mar 2020
Duality,

I'm the Jekyll to my Hyde, I'm the Poet, the Prophet, the Monster and Man.

Exist in both places, bring the shadow to the show, shine a light and work behind the scenes.

Balance, I maintain the performance. Everday the lines blur, I wave my hand and a trick, I speak out of both sides of my mouth, Edward Mordrake  and Phantom of the Page, written words are my tool, they serve in action of lies and truths that would normally be spat on.

When the light shines I step up and perform, take a bow, tap the mask, a nod to you!

A joy for me is a joy for you, I play the part of victim and villain, I am actor and professional, novice level grandmaster.

A Jester of all trades, every word calculated, every action a movement of stagework.

Masked and unmasked, raw and hyding in plain sight.

I perform for you and when the lights go out, I work in shadow and orchestrate the light.
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Some people are born blessed
yet always stressed
Others have less
but are happy nevertheless.

Some people are bystanders
having nothing to do with things
And some are mere followers
Getting on every bandwagon's wings.

Some people are born leaders
Persuasive, charismatic and zealous
And some are just whistleblowers
Loud, insensitive and callous.

Some people are so weak
Unable to do a thing
Some are just meek
Able to bear anything.

Some are bright
Some love to fight
because they love to be right
Some are strong
and never want to be wrong.

Some people are slow
and love to lay low
Some are lucky
and have everything okay...

Some are frisky
Some are *****
Some are risky
Some are very cold
Some are old
And some are bold
Some are very casual
And others are ******
Some people are wise
And others are very nice
Some are real
Some are cruel
Some are sad
Some are bad
Some are lazy
Some are crazy
Some are intelligent
Some are insolent
Some are consistent
Some are insistent
Some are resilient
Some are proud
Some are loud
Some are useful
Some are wasteful
Some are playful
Some are careful
Some are powerful
Some are thoughtful
Some are hateful
Some are prayerful
Some are beautiful
Some are sinful
Some are creative
Some are sportive
Some are positive
Some are supportive
Some are destructive
Some are selective
Some are talkative
Some are argumentative
Some are competitive
Some are combative
Some are abusive
Some are active
Some are loquacious
Some are disastrous
Some are malicious
Some are boisterous
Some are industrious
Some are adventurous
Some are religious
Some curious
Some gracious
Some are serious
Some are moderate
Some are considerate
Some are blessed
Some are cursed
Some are alcoholic
Some are workaholic
Some are visionaries
Some are missionaries
Some are radicals
Some are rascals
Some people are sweet
Some love the streets
Some are hustlers
Some are smugglers
Some are wealthy
Some are healthy
Some love the pills
Some love to chill.

Some are black
Some are white

Some people are ugly
some are pretty
But it's ok
Some were born that way

Some people are well traveled
Some are just locals

Some people are gays
Others are straight

Some are short
Some are tall

Some are social
and some aren't

Some are educated
Some are illiterate

Some are from the north
Some are from the south

Some are born writers
Some are avid readers

Many will like this
and many will hate it.

We are all children of a God
Who prefers peace as His byword.
God, the grandmaster of creation,
Who specializes in perfection,
Designed this beautiful universal community
Using the blueprint of diversity.
One thing is certain
Even though we are different people
from different places
and different races,
we will all die someday
Such is life
One world!
One world different people
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
Words were used in the creation of the world by the grandmaster of creation.

Words are essential, probably the greatest means of communication amongst people since we emerged from the caves.

Words can be used to communicate and express ourselves, our feelings, our emotions.

Words can also be used for the formulation of plans and evil that will cause potential destructions.

Words can be properly utilized to convey messages of hope and love, reconciliation and peace.

Words have often been used to express our genuine discontents about issues regarding human rights, moral justice, and equality.

Words can be used to write great stories and words can be tools when we write a beautiful poetry.

Words are often used as silent weapons in the dissimilation of lies propaganda and malicious gossips.

Words can start a war and words can stop a war.

Words can uplight or downgrade, Whether used to the console or motivate, inspire or cast a spell, manipulate or mislead.

Words can be the caveat for the downfall of a great nation because one idiotic leader uses it to disparage, negate and see others as shitholes.


IvanBrooksPoetry©️
Human interactions revolve around words.
See the little boy, george looking for joy, had heart, but no toys,
Coys, lays out his mental doubt, had to change up his route,
Caught the early daze, of crime wayz, saw a wicked blaze,
Didnt get the message, but shocked by the, grandmaster,
Five stages of death, he thinking, like what's left, but theft,
Grew up a ***** up, only to feed his soul, full of corrupt,
And now the drugs up, guns is up, on stake out clutch,
Watching the five o's, dont matter the taste scenarios,
Caught a stiff case, cold blows, nose  grows, addiction chose,
The paths of demons, raging with wrath, burnt from the aftermath,
We used to laugh, but now all he has,  Is dead memories, sad
Mother and dad, gone not too long, before he break the gong,
Suicidal thoughts, from images brought, paying attention,
Listen, flashes of nine millie ticking, instincts, is just tricking,
Out the pain, inferred dotted pain, waiting, to season his brain,
Will he ever recover again, drugs taking, over his domain,
Motherless child, across the mile, worlds gone senile, style,
Pass a nile, tell me how can I smile, shank the joker, mental,
Wild and how, every where I see is foul, and oh how, blaow,
Streets gone wild, the little boy, stuck in dead mans, pile,
Late night, blew his fuse, early morning 6 o'clock news,
Who knew, the same ****, keeps happening, rapping,
Another cold sheets, soon to meet, at the crossroads,
With many bones, and thugs, with pieces of slugs, of souls dug,
Let's break this recipe, for the disaster, peace is the master,
Over war, soar, ya feelings to the ceilings, by pass deaths billings
gravity
homeboy got capped in the knee
out in the streets
let the truth be told
where as years ago
with Grandmaster P
he was born in the gutter
his momma was a *****
selling her junk in the trunk
in back of the liquor store
screaming more more more
raised my his aunt named Mable
feeding her dog Rex underneath the table
as time went by so very fast
having every reason to ask
the spin off the hook was the great ******

in time he learned to relax
to bask in the vast expanse
cause he got the hook up
two turn tables with a mic
sold a lot of  **** to get that sweet
getting he *** kicked in a neighborhood bar
still spinning records the best he can
"Step off" with his reply whenever he was tested
his life reflected a reason to believe in rap
a willingness to achieve
that was until a gang banger put a bullet through his head
shot him dead so they thought
now he was in a hospital bed face full of lead
there he suffered in complete silence
amidst all the pain & violence
tubes in his veins lying there dead
then came a pulse
next a heart beat
his eyes suddenly opened
folks thought he was only joking
came fully to his senses
with eyes twitching

spoke his first words, "Step Off"
then we all knew he was alive and kicking
then he gazed at the streets looking for the one that did this
instead of violence he sought forgiveness even to the **** that struck him down
Master B was right back in the studio
rapping & capping
he found love as a sure fire way to go
that was years ago so today he still preaches to the masses
always teaching on love and his free passes
"Step Off" is still his slogan but he's got a new boss now
can't turn back when your hands on the plow
KV Srikanth Jun 2021
Formed his own style
Fighting and for living
Philosophy through seeking
Answers expressed through feeling

A great Philosopher
Who said be water
Using no way as way
Having no limitation as limitation
The slogan from his self exploration

Greatest Martial Artist
Of all time
Founded Jeet kune do
Never lost a fight
In exhibitions showed his might
The One inch punch
An example of his uniqueness
Could close your eyelids for you
Non telegraphic movements help him do

Bridge between various cultures
East and West both he nurtured
Oneness of human beings
Was the core of his teaching

Made Martial Arts global
Single handedly due to his mettle
Spread it far and wide
In it took a lot of pride

Many roles he played
Integrity in all displayed
Nothing ever half baked
In every aspect carved his name

Acted in movies
As a newborn till his late teens
Twenty films in 2 decades
The  camera loved his face
A child artist before evolving into a martial artist

Was a celebrated dancer
Cha cha dancing Champion
Of Hongkong in 1957
Showcased his phenomenon

Statues across continents
As a sign of peace and contentment
All cultures embrace him
For he was simply him

Learnt from the Grandmaster
Who thought him everything he had to offer
Went with an empty cup
Filled it up with all he could


Ip man his teacher
Wing Chun practitioner
5 years his tutor
The Master's Master

Worlds fittest man
Another jewel on his crown
Worlds quickest man
No more place in his crown

Shined as a lead actor
Was also a fine script writer
Trendsetting fight choreographed
Sensible Movie Producer
And performed duties as a director

Died at age 32
Completed all that he was sent to do
Led life as an example
His life was his message

Many facets in a person
A very rare occurrence
Defenitely the chosen
Cannot measure his contribution

100 most influential
People of the century
Time Magazine's list
He naturally fit

An inspiration to many
Worshipped by as many
Day to day life made easy
If you follow his philosophy

Enduringly popular people
Includes gods and religious heads
Finds a place besides
In every heart he resides
Mine offset fooey zook equilibrium
translated into at least one raw bit
(hmm...maybe the naughty one) being askew,
which nearly (worse case scenario) critically
could burn up every hair strand fiber optic wired conduit

sans, and destroy the primary, secondary, tertiary...
connection of this (motherf**) circuit
board, which (sorry tubby explicit),
whew close call offset (viz skin of
"FAKE" teeth), in NIC of time avoided major deficit

thankfully technical glitch
bit dust courtesy re: micro
processor faux wall thwarted,
toppling scaffolding upholding democracy forfeit
sure would totally wreck global functionality luckily

ace craftsman ma papa with keen insight
anticipated built-in catastrophic fail/
safe under soldering gun,
preemptively incorporated chess
grandmaster measured gambit,

hence avoiding future government
shutdowns since implicit
within migrant manufactured mesh
of webbed components houses white lie
sense to circumvent, via automatic
nanobyte size trigger

comprising a binary coded buffered kilobyte,
yours truly able to attune
consciousness to any slight
fluctuation, perturbation, variation, et cetera
imperceptible to nobody but me,

a "smart" sensor, that doubles as infrared light,
whereby coded instructions encrypted airtight
bequeathed to this artificial intelligence
as digitally patented birthright
also linkedin virtual reality appurtenances

portray futuristic bombsight
of World War III a minuscule,
yet not improbable chance event, some bright
eyed and bushy tailed hacker infringes copyright

gleefully launching atomic missiles,
which thermonuclear midnight
leaving Earth a lifeless burnt offering,
where scant bands escape by spaceflight,
whence this garden variety
will no longer be able to write!
KV Srikanth Jun 2021
Speed of lightning
Philosophical in thinking
Put it down in writing
Life saving for generations

Father from the Opera
Placed him before the camera
Acted in 20 films
From new born to adolescent

American by birth
Hongkong nurtured his growth
Street fights in his daily route
On his way to studying in school

Grandmaster Ip Man
Martial arts legend
Teacher of Wing Chun
Took him under his wing

Enrolled for a study
His favorite subject philosophy
At Washington University
Met Linda lee


Founded a new system
Called it no system
Jeet Kune Do just a name to list
The art of the intercepting fist

Ed Parkers Tournament
Performed in front of an audience
Showcased his talent
Greatest Martial Artist of all time title given

One inch punch
Sent other masters flying
Mastery and dexterity of Martial Arts
Capability and Competence
He imparted

Different styles should compete
Only then the real test of a fighter complete
Deservingly called the the Father of Mixed Martial art
Its founder Dana White swears that he is god

Cast as Kato
Second lead in a series
Green hornet had a short run
He was so quick his scenes had to be shot in slow motion

Small parts in Marlowe
Followed by Longstreet
Espoused his theories
He had discovered through his practice

Started Martial Arts schools
Superstars as his pupils
James Coburn Steve McQueen to name a few
Kareem Abdul jabbar and Stirling Silliphant joined the queue

Had written scripts
His pet projects
Studios Didn't allow him to star
Could not get a star to star

Fought many battles
Couldn't break through prejudice
Humiliated and insulted
He would never be accepted

Career threatening injury
His entire back in jeopardy
On the road to recovery
Will never be the same opined the medical fraternity

Brandon & Shannon his progeny
Son & daughter completed his family
During the time of the back injury
They helped him overcome his adversity

Hollywood closed its doors
Wanting a movie career
He left for Hong Kong
The rest as they say is history
KV Srikanth Aug 2021
Child actor in the movies
Something I never got to be
Number of   films 20
Happy that I could just see
Part of gang wars
Get beaten till the body hit the floor
Was too timid that I looked for the door
Learning Martial Arts to counter the attacker
Was not even an option for me to consider

Learnt  Foshan Wing Chun
I was keen on only having fun
With an aim to master
Something I never could gather
From IP Man the grandmaster
Didn't know of him till the 4 part movie released 4 decades later
Studied with integrity and hours didn't matter
Lacked the discipline life was in tatters

Enrolled to study philosophy
I lacked the basic curiosity
Started teaching his art
I didn't know anything to impart
Fell in love and married
I got married and divoced

Worked as a stuntman
Farthest from that I remained
Acting in television and doing karate exhibitions
Couple of things in life I never came in contact

Back to Hong Kong
To revive a film career gone wrong
I didn't know right from wrong
Was just floating along
Became a global icon
I'm still figuring out mobile phone icons

Born a seeker
Created his own method
Fighting and realising
Looking for a mentor
I was a day dreamer

Martial Artist Actor Philosopher
Stunt Coordinator Director Writer
Producer Teacher and Father
I am none of the above
Except that am his keen follower

Died at 32
In the hearts forever
5 th most enduringly popular of all time
Nothing more to conquer
I am 52 and alive
I'm the 4th most popular in a house
Where there are 5
Still trying to get that drive
Following nade me feel
Its ok just to be

Jeet Kune do s founder and master
Jeet Kune do s follower and learner
I am not Bruce Lee
But am trying to be
Yenson Apr 2022
your leader at red square
that of the long table lies and reptile eyes
also has the toxic propaganda and bottled death
at least his madness boasts billions and a super yacht
despite all the mighty fall in contempt and condemnation
a grotesque paranoid joke wafting delusions in an ivory bunker
you crawl about in one of two cheap worn denims you own
the self styled grandmaster funk of street garbage
crypto information tsar of two-bit gang punk
issuing threats from continuous-back *******
if you know about tests please show your degree
our doyen of second rate amidst half-wits men
the bovver boy with the Sinclair computer brain
and eats shredded reputations for breakfast
please come Mr ***** von Thimble
come compensate your shortcomings
leave your screen and join the long table
we dare you to make good your threats
did your leader not say the special operation
will be for just a matter of weeks
your loony gangs have been at it since eighty five
Yenson Oct 2020
grandmaster of funk is called Ern
learnt his jive at the big losers cafe
Ern is full of ******* to no **** end
talk of bedding the ladies but he's so fey
he's been to china and bulgaria to learn Zen
but we know he takes rentboys to loos for some affray
disguised in pouncy ray-bans he poses saying call me Ken
am a Mentalist specialist so come **** me at the madhouse bay
hes a liar and a bully and a proser of disrepute with a three inch pen
exuding suave debonair air
plus head and shoulders taller
(than the empire state building -
hey what's a little hyperbole, eh?)
since September eleventh
two thousand and twenty four,
which date marked a major change
(yes folks - more important
than getting married)

during threescore and two years
incorporating mein kampf
voluntarily (and without bribery,
but with liberty and justice for all)
to maintain a scheduled appointment
at Salon Nova,
an upscale hair cutting/styling boutique
located at 377 W Ridge Pike A,
Limerick, Pennsylvania 19468.

This recently unkempt
aging married sexagenarian
and solitudinarian sultan of swing
long haired pencil neck geek
self adopted behavior modification
particularly regarding maintaining
personal hygiene of mine
woke as if from somnambulant state
and kept promise to himself.

About twelve inches of brown tresses
got cut off courtesy in a small number
of fell swoops videre licet,
whereby the beautician
amazingly gracefully brandished scissors and brush
immediately creating lightness of being
which locks of brunette strands
tinged with gray
got donated to a charity
that repurposes hair

into wigs for various
and sundry purposes,
thus empowered
to contribute a part of myself
that will grow back -
(yet... I WILL NOT GO BACK
thank you Kamala Harris for birthing phrase
TO PRESENTING SLOVENLY APPEARANCE)
in gentle waves
cascading down to my knees
as happened umpteen times

during mein kampf,
the first instance
of revolutionary physical transformation
occurred when yours truly
a mere stripling of a pubescent teen
receiving psychiatric treatment
from Ted Goldberg,
(who prescribed both mellaril and elavil),
and he patiently nursed psyche of mine
severely afflicted with anorexia nervosa

in tandem with
obsessive compulsive disorder
tied with exaggerated fixation with hair,
which characteristic donning my noggin
became the most important reason for living,
I would sooner have died than get a haircut,
(spoiler alert, I did not die nor **** myself),
yet interestingly enough
he accompanied me
to a local barber in Collegeville,

who did the deed done dirt cheap,
yet I invariably returned to being
a long haired pencil neck geek
plodding along the boulevard of broken dreams,
where according to Fiona Apple
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
Than the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More Than Ropes Will Ever Do.

All kidding aside,
said voluntary makeover undertaken
cause unnecessary emotional energy
and quite a chunk of time
invested lavishly shampooing hirsute pate,
and subsequently applying blow dryer
to fluff up ample mane,
that gnarly retched ma tailbone - ha!

Another significant reason
spurring long overdue decision
to present a handsome chap,
albeit modesty prevents excessive
self adulation, ******* (not premature),
ego inflation, amplitude
and attitude modulation of same
to disallow being snickered at
as if I happen to be from Mars.

Sorry keeping a figurative straight face
impossible mission for this word punster,
jokester, and grandmaster without a super plan.

Yours truly (me) made long overdue transition
from schlep to mensch

— The End —