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The screaming
children of Gaza
torment the sleep
of a troubled world,
and remain a real-time
unending nightmare;
anointing The Levant’s
fevered brow
with a diadem of
incessant grief.

Gaza is a burning
ankh that sears the
madness of sorrow
upon Egypt’s skull.

Gaza,
an unblinking
third eye
of shame,
peers into
Lower Egypt’s
closed window
ever reproaching
it’s turbulent
conscience;
chiding fellow
Muslims with
the ugly memory
of abject affliction,
the endless images
of a living Guernica
suspended in the hell
of indefinite imprisonment
all Palestinians are forced
to suffer.

As Zionists ***** the
steep walls of Apartheid to
extend its occupation
of Palestine, it
condemns the youth
of Gaza to a life of
incarceration with no
possibility of parole;
hardening the hearts
and steeling the resolve
of a new generation of
militants to demolish the
walls and the wardens
that imprison them.

The Zionist jailers
bestow upon
Ishmael’s Children
phylacteries of shame,
wearing the rolled
prayers of wailing pain
scribed with bits of
dust from the
the broken walls of
demolished buildings
and desolate homes
beyond habitation,
now housing grief
of trampled souls,
forcing recitations
of deliverance
to Allah while
davening an
incessant drone
of anguish at
the Wailing Wall
of Resentment;
decrying the
blood lust of
undying acrimony,
victimization and
the slaughter of
innocents, carried on
with the imperial license
of state sanctioned impunity.


Father Ibrahim's
feuding children may
share a sacred paternity
but remain the
divided brothers
of different mothers;
stoking a sibling rivalry
more bitter then
Cain and Abel.

Our anguish
never dissipates,
the gnawing
impulse of empathy
to assist the distressed
of Gaza is dashed
by omnipotent
powers recusing
the ability to act.

Sympathy is
embargoed
in the black
obfuscation
of religious
partisanship
while timely
assistance
to aid the
distressed
lie netted in
blockades of
realpolitik
affinities.

Gaza, where
Hashim is granted
his eternal rest,
restlessly inhabits
his unknown grave
from the destitution of
his profaned homeland.

Ghazzat,  “the stronghold”
countlessly conquered,
falling to Roman Emperors,
Lionhearted Crusaders
Ottoman Caliphates,
and British Mandates;
slipping from Egypt’s
geopolitical grasp as
as a casualty of
The Six Day War.

Gaza is now a stronghold of
resent and desperation for a
desperate conquered people.

Ghazzat, the prized city of
the western Mediterranean,
a four star Phoenician port of
caravansaries now unable
to trade with any partners
due to ungodly blockades.

Gaza, has grown wholly
dependent on the largess
of UN aid and meager
subsistence portions
doled out by well
meaning NGO’s.

Gaza, the foot stool of
the Levant and surely
the pathway Father
Ibrahim, Jacob,
Joseph and Jeremiah
traveled to escape
Canaan's famine;
finding at the close
of their sojourn
a table set with the
plenteous bounty
the Blue Nile
unconditionally offered;
the veritable feast
of abundance,
the generous yields
of the blessed delta
that sustained the
Prophets of Judah
and a thousand
generations of the
Nile’s Children.

Gaza, the Achilles
heal of Middle East
peace, land of the
Canaanites, Philistines
and Old Testament
heroes.

Gaza, a fortress for
Philistines who
imprisoned the storied
Sampson, revered for
breaking the chains of
imprisonment and righteously
destroying a pagan temple
in a suicidal act of heroism.

Gaza, where the myths and
legends of rapacious
holy crusaders captured
the western imagination
with the chivalrous gallantry
of religious warfare and
valiant last stands of
Templar Knights employing
the tactical imperatives
of terrorism in service to their
higher God.

Gaza, an oasis
by the sea now
lies dry and brittle
as the precious Hebron
waters of Wadi Ghazza
are diverted to serve
the agriculture of
Judah; condemning
a dehydrated Gaza
panting of thirst
to an imposed drought
and a war of
self preservation
to remove
the dammed rivers
of justice controlled
by intractable powers
laying upstream beyond
Gaza’s mean borders.

The Qassams
lunched by Hamas
are desperate
expressions of
exasperated people,
eager to call
world attention
to the growing
insufferable plight
of a people living
in a perpetual
state of siege.

Its a modern day
David slinging rocks
against an armor
clad Goliath.

Each Katusha
serves as
a justification
for Zionist
intransigence
and condemns
any possibility
for peaceful
coexistence
of a Two State
Solution.

The pointless attacks
invite massive
disproportionate
retaliation and succeed
in prolonging and
increasing the
measure of Gaza’s
agony.

The mystic grace,
the divine power
of satyagraha
-a non-violent
response to the
cruel enforcement of
Apartheid- is Allah’s
way to secure the
moral high-ground
and the surest way
for Palestinians to
expose it’s unholy
adversaries innate
contempt for civil rights
and a refusal to
recognized the
shared humanity of
all of Father Ibrahim’s
wayward progeny and
recalcitrant prodigal sons.

Mubarak’s fall
has allowed the
Rafah Gate
to swing open again.

The concertina
wire that separates
Gaza and Egypt
has been removed.

The prisoners
of Gaza have
an open portal
of freedom.

It is a Day of
Jubilee, a day
of pardon for
for the inmates
of prisons built
for victims.  

It is a day of
possibility for peace.  

It is a day to declare an
Exodus from the land
of bitterness.

Humanity is
offered the hope
of escape from
the prisons of
acrimony, to
freely move across
the staid borders
of intractability
and exclusion.

The hearts and
minds of Palestinians
and Egyptians
are free to connect
and unite once again.

Liberation is
possible only
when we uphold
and honor the
affirmation
of all humanity.

Music Video:

Silk Road
We Will Not Go Down

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm
a poem from the epilogue section of Tahrir Square Voices
1.

From our
safe windows,
we crane our necks,
rubbernecking
past the slow
motion wreckage
unfolding in Homs.

We remain
perfectly
perched
to marvel at
the elegant arc of
a mortar shell
framing tomorrows
deep horizon,
whistling through
the twilight to
find its fruitful
mark.

In the now
we keep
complicit time,
to the arrest
of beating hearts,
snapping fingers
to the pop
of rifle cracks,
swooning to
the delicious
intoxication of
curling smoke
lofting ever
upward;
yet
thankfully
remain
distant
enough to
recuse any
possibility
of an
intimate
nexus
with the
besieged.

2.

From our
safe windows,
we behold the
urgent arrivals of
The Friends of Syria
demanding
clean sheets
and 4 Star
room service at a
Tunisian Palace
recently cleaned
and under new
management
promising a
much needed
refurbishment.

The gathered,
a clique of
this epochs
movers and shakers,
a veritable
rouges gallery of
ambassadorial
prelates, Emirs and
state department
bureaucrats
summoned
with portfolio
from the
darkest corners
of the globe.

They are
eager to
sanctify
the misery
of Homs,
deflect and
lay blame
with realpolitik
rationalizations,
commencing
official commissions
of inquiry,
deliberating
grave considerations,
issuing indictments
of formal charges for
Crimes Against
Humanity
while
remaining
urgently
engrossed
in the fascination
of interviewing
potential
process servers
to deliver the bad news
to Bashar al-Assad
and his soulless
Baathist
confederates,
if papers
are to be
served.

Yes, the diplomats
are busy meeting
in closed rooms.

In hushed circles
they whisper
into aroused ears,
railing against
Russia’s
gun running
intransigence
and China’s
geopolitical
chess moves.

Statesmen
boast of the
intrepid justice
of tipping points
and the moving poetry
of self serving tales,
weighing the impact
of stern sanctions
amidst the historical
confusion of the
asymmetrical
symmetries
of civil war.

Caravans
of Arab League
envoys roll up
in silver Bentleys,
crossing deserts
of contradictory
obfuscations,
navigating the
endless dunes
with hand held
sextants of
hidden agendas.

The heroic
Bedouins are
eager to offload
their baggage
and share
on the ground
intelligence from
their recent soirées
across Syria.

They beg
a quick fix,
the triage of a
critical catharsis
to bleed their
brains dry
of heinous
recollections,
pleading
release from a
troubled conscience
victimized by
the unnerving paradox
of reconciling
discoveries of
perverse voyeurism
with the sanctioned
explanations
of their respective
ruling elites.

The bellies
of these
scopophiliacs
are distended;
grown queasy
from a steady diet
of malfeasance
an ulcerated
world parades
in continuous loop;
spewing the raw feeds
of real time misery;
forcibly fed
the grim
visions of
frantic
fathers
rushing
the mangled
carcases
of mortally
wounded
children
to crumpled
piles of smashed
concrete that were
once hospitals.

We despondently
ask how
much longer
must we
look into
the eyes
of starving
children
emaciated from
the wanton
indifference
of the world?


3.

From our
safe windows
we wonder
how much
longer can
the urgent
burning
ambivalence
continue
before it
consumes
our common
humanity in
a final
conflagration?

My hair already
singed by the
endless firestorms
sweeping the prairies
of the world.

How can we survive
the trampling hoards,
the marauding
plagues of acrimony
fed by a voracious
blood lust aspiring to
victimize the people
of Homs and a
thousand cities
like it?


4.

From my safe
window I stand in witness
to the state execution of
refugees fleeing the
living nightmare
of Baba Amr.

The ****** of innocents,
today's newly minted martyrs,
women and children
cornered, trapped
on treacherous roads,
mercilessly
slaughtered and
defiled in death
to mark the lesson
of a ruthless master
enthralled with the
power of his
sadistic fascist
lordship.

I cannot avert my eyes
marking sights
of pleading women
begging for the
lives of their children
in exchange for
the gratification
of a sadists
lust.

My heart
is impaled
on the sharp
spear of
outrage
beholding
careening
children mowed
down with the
serrated blades
protruding
from marauding
jeeps of laughing
soldiers.

I drop
to my knees
in lakes of
tears
reflecting
a grotesque
horror stricken
image of myself.

My eyes have
murdered my soul.

The ghastly images
of Homs have chased
away my Holy Ghost
to the safety of a child's
sandbox hidden away
in a long forgotten
revered memory.


5.

From my safe window
I seethe with anger
demanding vengeance,
debating how to rise
to meet the obscenity of
the Butcher of Damascus.

The sword of Damocles
dangles so tantalizingly close
to this tyrants throat.  

The covered women
of Homs scream prayers
“may Allah bring Bashar to ruin”

Dare I pray
that Allah trip the
horsehair trigger
that holds the
sword at bay?

Do I pick up
the sword
a wield it
as an
avenging
angel?

Am I the
John Brown
of our time?

Do I organize
a Lincoln Brigade
and join the growing
leagues of jihadists
amassing at the
Gates of Damascus?

Will my righteous
indignation fit well
in a confederacy
with Hamas and
al-Qaeda as my
comrades in arms?

Do I succumb to
the passion of hate
and become just
another murderous
partisan, or do I
commend the power
of love and marshal
truth to speak with
the force of
satyagraha?

I lift a fervent prayer
to claim the justice
of Allah’s ear,
“may the knowing one
lift the veil of foolishness
that covers my heart in
cloaks of resent, cure
my blindness that ignores
my raging disease of
plausible deniability
ravaging the body politic
of humanity.”

6.

Indeed,
physician heal thyself.

I run to embrace my
illness.

I pine to understand it.

I undertake the
difficult regimen
of a cure to eradicate
the terrible affliction.

This
pernicious
plague,
subverting
the notion
of a shared
humanness
is a cunning
sedition that
undermines
the unity of
the holy spirit.  

The bell from
the toppled steeples
still tolls, echoing
across the space of
continents and eons
of temporal time.

The faithful chimes
gently chides us
to remove the wedge
of perception that
separates, divides
and undermines.

Time has come
to liberally
apply the balm
that salves the
open wounds
so common to
our common
human condition.

The power of prayer
is the joining of hands
with others racked
with the common
affliction of humanness.

Allah,  
My eyes are wide open,
my sacred heart revealed,
my sleeves are rolled up,
my memory is stocked,
my soul filled with resolve,
my hand is lifted
extended to all
brothers and sisters.
Lift us,
gather us
into one
loving embrace.

Selah


7.

From the safe
windows of
our palaces
we live within
earshot of
the trilling
zaghroutas
of exasperation
flowing from
the besieged
city smouldering
under Bashar’s
symphony of terror.

Our nostrils
fill with the
acrid plumes
of unrequited
lamentations
lifting from the
the burning
destruction
of shelled
buildings.

Our eyes spark
from the night
tracers
of sleeking
snipers
flitting along
the city’s
rooftops.

The deadly jinn
indiscriminately
inject the
paralysis of
random fear
into the veins
of the city
with each
skillful
head shot.

These
ghoulish
assassins
lavish in their
macabre work;
like vultures
they eagerly
feast on the
corpses of their ****,
the stench of bloated
bodies drying in the
sun is the perfume
that fills their nostrils.


8.

From our
safe window
we discern the
silhouettes of militants
still boldly standing
amidst the
mounting rubble of an
unbowed Homs
shouting;

Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!

raising pumped fists,
singing songs
of resistance,
dancing to
the revelation of
freedom,
refusing to
be coward by
the slashing
whips of a
butchers
terrible
sword.


9.

From my
safe window
my tongue laps
the pap
of infants
suckling from
the depleted
teats of mothers
who cannot cry
for their dying
children;
tears fail
to well from
the exhaustion
of dehydrated
pools.

10.

From my
safe window
my heart stirs
to the muezzin
calling the
desperate faithful
from the toppled
rubble of dashed
minarets.

We can
no longer
shut our ears
to the adhan
of screams
the silent
voices that echo
the blatant injustice
of a people under siege.


11.

From my
safe window,
I pay
Homage to Homs
and call brothers
and sisters to rise
with vigilant
insistence
that hostilities
cease and
humanity be
upheld,
respected and
protected.


12.

From my safe
window
I perceive
the zagroutas
of sorrow
manifest as a
whiling hum,
a sweeping
blue mist,
levitating
the coffins
from the rubble
of ravaged streets.

The swirling
chorus of
mourning
joins my
desperate
prayers;
rising in
concert
with the
black billows
of smoke
dancing
away
from the
flaming
embers
of scorched
neighborhoods.


13.

From my
safe window
I heed
the fluttering
wings
of avenging
angels
furiously
batting
as they
climb
the black
plumes,
lifting from
the scattered bricks
of the desecrated
city.

It is the
Jacob’s
Ladder
for our
time;
marking
a new
consecrated
place
where
a New Adam
is destined
to be formed
from the
pulverized
stones of
desolation.

14.

From our
safe windows
we peer into
resplendent
mirrors
beholding
the perfect image of
ourselves
eying
falling tears
dripping blood,
coloring death
onto the
blanched sheets
of disheveled beds.


15.

From our
safe windows
our voices are silenced,
our words mock urgency
our thoughts betray comprehension
our senses fail to illicit empathy
our action is the only worthy prayer


16.

From my
safe window
I hear the
mortar shells
walking toward
my little palace,
the crack
of a ******
shot
precedes
the wiz of a
passing bullet
whispering
its presence
into my
waxen
ear.


17.

From my
safe window,
my palms scoop
the rich soil
of the flower boxes
perched on my sill.
I anoint the tender
green shoots of  the
Arab Spring
with an incessant flow
of bittersweet tears.

Music selection:
John Coltrane
A Love Supreme
Acknowledgment

Oakland
2/28/12
jbm
JGuberman Sep 2016
1.

The peace of the brave
gave way to the war of allegories
illuminating our world
like a medieval manuscript
with a confusing colophon
of indecision.

2.

Unstable religious fuels
and volatile political compounds
energize the endless human wicks,
that light many an unsuspecting
yahrzeit candle.

3.

And love which may have
been 'stronger than death'
is not so strong lately
as an army that's already dead
cannot be defeated
as easily.

4.

"the children come right home from school"
Yossi said,
'perhaps they've already learned too much as it is?'
I think....
Our home is our castle
and like a missile defense
in American mythology
its walls are semipermeable membranes
of security.
Arur Hamas is a play on 'Arur Haman' which means "cursed or ****** Haman" and is said during the holiday of Purim. This piece was written during a particularly ugly period between Hamas and Israel in 2002. It was published in 2002 in MATRIX 1:2 pp 6-7 (Hamilton, New Zealand).
“My MAMA is the REASON
why I haven’t moved the chopper, filled
a couple of GRAVES and sent some off to the DOCTOR.
When her TIME comes to pass my HEART may be a lot DARKER,
no MORE, Mr. Nice Guy,MILITANT like HAMAS.
Going with the flow like the TROOPS in IRAQ.
Dismantling a constitution HISTORY says THAT,
we in a SITUATION moving forward going BACK,
and IT'LL never be the SAME
WE will see some go INSANE.
DID someone CONTROL their brain?…QUESTIONS still REMAIN,
while CIVILIANS grow UNTAMED…maybe Martial Laws DECLARED,
We KNOW every BATTLES SCRIPTED.
They practice WAR GAMES, and all my WRITINGS are PROLIFIC.
I’m lyrically GIFTED, TWISTING MEDICAL strands with a doctors PRESCRIPTION,
I’m SPIRITUALLY LIFTED, having VISIONS of DECISIONS war DECLARED on CITIZENS,
NO trial, just SENTENCING. We’re WITNESSING the BEGINNING,
POLAR CAPS THINNING, the Earth is constantly SPINNING,
while MANKIND steady SINNING, No one is REPENTING,
seems SATAN is WINNING.
Hope is ABANDONED, arrest are COMMON, but JUSTICE is RANDOM.
I’m a shy guy in the SHADOWS like a PHANTOM held for RANSOM, Sweet and Handsome,
my hands ARE the ARTIST and your BODY is the CANVAS,
into all that ROMANCING.
My HANDS make a MASTER piece, my TONGUE have a MASSIVE
feast, that’ll have ME on YOUR MIND when you lie down & go to SLEEP, I Never been a SHALLOW guy cause
I
can
GO
all
KINDS
of
DEEP.”
- Sean Antonio Tyson/follow me
©
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2014
"The global bull market has continued its seemingly relentless advance, unchanged by geopolitical concerns…….."

• The Israeli-Hamas conflict now blazing in Gaza, Palestine, two military forces locked in a deadly struggle to the end, killing and maiming thousands of ordinary citizens.

• Malaysia Airlines flight 17 blasted out of a clear blue Ukraine sky by the Bus surface to air missile
             unleashed by the Pro-Russian Separatists killing 298 unsuspecting, innocent, international travellers.
             Culpability denied by all.

• Anwar Al Awlaki, the American born Cleric, directing clandestine terror attacks and assassination by Al Qaeda beyond the Middle east into Asia and Europe.

• Deposed President, Mohammed Morsi’s Muslim Brotherhood, responsible for terrorist activities including multiple car bombings throughout Egypt.

• President Bashar Assad of the Alawite minority, an offshoot of Syria’s Shiite religion, waging religious genocide against his own nations people
             and now in open conflict with the Muslim uprising Sunni forces of the new Isis Caliphate.

• The beheadings, slaughter and terror unleashed by the Sunni, Isis Caliphate uprising rampaging through Iraq.

• Russia’s sudden invasion and forceful annexation of the Crimea.

• Russia’s brutal pressure on the sovereignty of the Ukraine through its clandestine weaponry supply and sponsorship of the Pro-Russian Separatist Forces occupying the nations East.

The Middle East is now…an Apocalypse.

This epoch of cruel waste
Where man kills man
For God and gold,
For power’s lust.
Where the Sword of Calamity
Wields destruction and death
On those who can least afford it
By they who should never impose it.

In the face of all this …..an unbelievable prioritization with this headline quote from today’s NZ Herald….

“There are financial risks to be endlessly jumping at shadows…to overreact to market noise!"

UNBELIEVABLE!!!!**

M.
Auckland,
NEW ZEALAND
31 July 2014
Jeannette Chin Jul 2011
Gauge Symmetry


It was an eminent arrival: to awake in a definite
location in time and space, involving the single
***** with more zeal than the rest. But where
am I really? Staring at these thorny lines engraved
in my palm during an hour I should be asleep.
I can’t help but think that the love of a life
should have spared me.

A caption below the photograph in the times reads
It’s an illustration of a tactic employed by Hezbollah
and Hamas to use their own civilians as human shields.
And somewhere else laying on rubble, once road, a blood
smeared newspaper ruffles in the breeze, then violently
unfolds from a burst of wind, never to be read, a stray dog
licking a wound pauses and perks it’s ear.

Earlier, in the library I walked the spiral staircase
and traced my fingers down a dusty spine:
“How
we
became
Post-Human”.

It must have been an artificial insemination.

My skull throbs from an inoperable legion
of fractal thoughts which I developed upon listening
to the sounding tremble in Pathetique, too immature
to know the power of what it heard like that time
I foolishly laid my eyes on a carnivorous
tulip, it spat me out alive.

Moon is no comfort, only an aperture. The day
is overexposed and my eyelids clasp
down like a shutter, I try to fall asleep
to remember where I really am and where
I've always been.
Karijinbba Jan 26
Repost; Various countries.
These Double standards.

With Gaza terror
resounding screams
of babes mothers fathers
sons grandparents all
shot by devils army
of cobras hiding
in plain sight
as the chosen ones
of their horned
adversary type God.

Constrictive pythons
Suffocating for decades
every child born where
no peace can ever exist
as long as unarmed
civilians cannot fight back;

He who burns innocent
souls by an old weapon
of his ancient genetic
deviated cruel make
up will again
die by greater deadly
weapons raising
for justice right now,
faster then the last.

And then only then
these primitive demons
Will be no more.
Neither their demonic
witchcraft invocations
Nor by any heavy
outwardly weaponry
against humanity
unarmed civilians

Never those komodo
Culprit ever will breathe
to smoother precious
innocent life again.

The tyrant regime rising
shamelessly orders to not
do nothing to aid
Palestinians
But only Ukrainian.

Our quest is to
unite find and stop
whoever of us all
will be targeted
for demolition next.

We all already know;
may we invoqie the main aider narcissistic culprit USA and its other puppeteer number two sadist sadist  Sinister.
Satanyshu.
"Over the top Biden" 100.000 civilians mothers children fathers. And over 10 thousand Palestinian young boys kept in prisons deplorable degrading humiliating pipe beaten, injected sterilized Gestapo headquarters number two Israel pruning human Palestinian, eating grass people!
For all if us to witness
hellish army of malice, greed, blood thirsty human genocidal lying garbage Israel.
Trashing Palestinian indigenous beautiful people to the eleven winds assassination of character Hamas' fighters  are not terrorists, Hamas is hero defender of peoples civil rights violated since fays if yore. 
The suffering three generation parents, for three decades in Gaza concentration death camps forbidden into their holy lands.
As we all boycott Nasi agenda, without end. Demonstrating worldwide, roaring for Israel, USA and England to "stop fire, to free Palestine" free civilians and allow humanitarian aid trucks in to feed children left alive to no avaid"

Now Palestinians civilians starved famined for over a month!
The only sound now israel understands is of bomb falling as if by copycat **** regime id israel brewing in waiting for decades against humanity.

Our quest now is evident, many promise to chop Israel's brutal grass cutting machine and its head snake.
~~~
https://youtube.com/shorts/wI7bqmgTcrM?si=FGNgncJE7VyqsEMr
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
National mindsets self interested suffer
forms of dementia as the order all confessed,
demands of each a concentration of self worth,
you bet your soul, but only in the spirit,
step into the fray, say, let me lead you,
say let me take elected office,
democratic to the edges, being your voice
in a popularity contest, not an intellectual joust.
Tutelary deontology 101.
Governing is managing the labor. Ask the king.
Any flock in the system, governs itself.
Business is business.
Some arrangements are always secret. All
grown ups are in the business of war supplies.
Let your children's minds be at ease.
Trust the checks and balances history proves,
have never worked on balance, for the poor.
Get rich quick as one can imagine, on a bet.
War meets Peace, like it is the storm
that left Greenland, a legend until now.

Easily intreated innocense, who could know.
Prosaic first morning pizz to prime the pump.

How deep is the generational debt due to war?
How many bonds have been sold to pay interest?
How many times has the national debt ceiling failed?
You know.
Every time.
"Each major conflict in U.S. history
has been accompanied
by a sharp rise
in debt as the government raises funds
to pay for the fighting."

But laws do exist…
"Without a declaration of war
to put the country on a wartime economy,
Congress paid for Vietnam
by increasing the national debt.
Over the course of the conflict,
America's debt nearly doubled, growing
from approximately $317 billion in 1965
to $620 billion in 1976."

Now the debt is rising
on interest alone. No need for another war.

And America's trade balance is hinged,
on the point of war.
The ideal centermost irritant, war's hate pump,
pain expanded by generational trespass acts
likened unto the pea
under the stack of feathered beds,
or the bit of grit forcing oyster stress
that has made the misshapen pearl sold
to sovreign entities, those colors on the map,
these mental aggregations called nations,
by nationalist mind frame riveters,
foundational eye beams, remove before demoting,
ah, slow, riveted beams spanning ferro-concrete tech- think.
Building a reasoning trap, children,
ask your fathers to whom we owe our national debt.
Ask also who sells the weapons to the world at war.
Semper fi,
no offence, but… holy hate is as crazy as hungry hate.

A voice from a song, from nowhere,
you just could rethink, or did, that first time think
a bridge over troubled waters being a truly old good idea,
come to rescue you,

in the early days of Boomer parenthood… being grown ups,
we never missed a Disney Movie, though by then,
they were losing the gnostalgia, old knowns to be like so,
were no longer even imaginably so.
Old Yeller,
Childhood's end, the separation
from hearth felt comfort,
to the class rooms and hallways
of massive cold concrete schools… where on day one,
the child pledges with its cohort of coeducatables,
the ancient bond of aliegiance...
I pledged mine first in 1954, the year "under God" was added.

In the just now settling down towns along the great freeways,
there has been no peace on earth in my generation,
at the level of military minds in conflict caused by stories,
boys bred with old hates just waiting for a sigh-psignal
sci-revealed to those willing to become Jason Bourne,
to the best of your abilities, ring the bell, any time.  

Welcome to the front. Sanity is on the line.
There is no conspiracy, we sell our souls for what money
can be demonstratively proven to allow and even augment.

War is all we sell. There is another game, it's a liar's game.
Many famous authorities have filled the space at the table.

Take your hat off, Bartholowmew, she does not understand you.

------------
Daily communication with myself,
one person, with no power to use
save the early cultural confidence;
sworn to tell the whole truth,
so help me, God. Yes, your honor.

Except we reactivate the curious why,
functionally suppressed during the standard
test taking by the proximate others
diligently filling in the blanks,
with graphite rounded just right, one swipe.

Except we see that hanging senselessly realized.
Each problem, one answer, not one option.
Only select correct answer.
Tell the child learning the pledge,
God is on our side, emphasize
how exceptional those who know so are,
extremely discriminatingly,
arranging the economy around
the great decussation at the air gap,
at the back of our national neck.

In this time,
thoughts and prayers, we hear
spoken of as easily done,
almost without thoughts, who
responds?, who, has ever responded
to the said to be going out constantly
thoughts and prayers, asking truth
to intervene and call the liars liars?

God is not angry, nor without resources,
according to the cultures now at war--
¿
Whose mortgage was not paid with earnings
from war readiness industrial complexes?

Whose talent was left with the userers,
because the Bible says y'sposed to earn interest?

Whose 401K deflated to oops?

Business begins with informed agreements.
Let's make a deal.
No killing, stealing nor needless destruction.

Minds join eye to eye, one mindwise agreed,
we become an entity, a being essential
to the parts, a mind in harmony, rank and file.

Greedy men with no agreement. Hmm, who loses?

Line up, not by rank, single file, fall in,
first and following, get in on the end,
and wait for the circle to close,
re done dances, life going wild as
we celebrate our circle, we sing of it
being unbroken in the sweet by and by…

The land of those who talk back to El,
yes, yes, we do, to honor Iyobe,
who first called for the Daysman,
who first
told reality, with all it's evil potential,
you cannot not be true, you know, in form
as spirit and truth containable in words, logos,
logos of all o-logies,
so powerful as to allow, in fact, cause, new mindforms,
species of thoughts that function as a system to make
sense, discernible, bits of valuation determinable in agreement.
--------------
Contractual obligations religiously adhered to
just between us, we take advantage for the nation's sake.
Madrassahs and aliegiance pledges set habits hard to break.

Set the cost of goods, lower than replacement cost of the price.
What does it cost a state to rear a warrior class individual
that self replenishes?

What does it cost me to scatter confusion in profuse create-ifity?
So, add a proper tip,
and pay the cost to ride this line to the next re-entering angle.
Middle east,
cauldron of all the holy empires thus far into the age
of entertainment so vast,
wise men can imagine, some day
there will be a war, and no parents will have
offered children to the infantry or made
righteous indignation acceptable national pride to k-ill for.

There Hamas, holy brainwashed haters of hatefulness.
Repents and perishes the very thought of peace.
Repay in kind, here, swear undying obediance,
fear not death, this is Allah's Promise, die killing Jews,
turns on the monstrous virgins awaiting you…
in post mortal walled places,
where the oldest civilizations occurred,
as God's great idea, I'll
empty the center of me, and seep
back in through fractured rationality
along trade routes between Africa and
the forested north above the desert.

Me, there, in mental efforting, thinking
thoughts, not prayers, but wishes, hopes,
thoughts that prayers attach to, as evidence.

"Ask and ye shall receive."
Love those who call you enemy, can you?

Face me, Mr. Nobody, the essence of other,
I declare peace, where none is, and you laugh.

No ritual, no enchantments with promise,
no sacred making of secular deaths, just
just just adjust the justice aspect, blame
the holy haters whose God dispenses vengeance,
at the behest of warriors fitted with military minds.

As when holy Americans gather to offer military aid,
blessed by the congregations alerted to intercede,
on the side that denies Jesus was God,--- ah, both sides,
in this case…
whither turn we, do we face Mecca, or Jerusalem,
or Petra or … Sol or Luna, all our enculturated faith,

blinks, a lense clarifying effort, rub the crust
of sleep fallen into while mourning, unsealing eyes
to see again, a war between two national identities,
both with warrior glory emulation traditions,
one with money as first de-fence, the other with hate,
nothing less than pure hatred, Cain to Able, sorry bro.

Old mean spirits.
If the hate can live in any man, wombed or un, it will.

Willingness to hate enough to k-ill a stranger, will
manifest as holy terror… enough to make Jesus weep.

--- and those were a few of the local thoughts made prayer,
seemingly automatically, as mysterious as most final secrets.

Part three, deeper, faster, harder… or not

Doings in the dark, are done by feel.
One, you or I, or some other sapien
augmented with the messiah's mind, feels the need for the deed.
Take the message from Garcia.

Mystic experience in story realms,
holding all the visions taken raw,
as revealed… as when a curtained
entry way is opened for inspection,

are we ideas in bodies?
are all ideas spirit in form?

Inhale an intuited absence of evil,
breathe the air of answered prayer.

Imagine that, let fly the idea of you,
beloved individuated potential saint.

Here is your sentimental inner edge,
your gnosis pressed flat as you see in.

The edge of this bubble, is distant
only to the holy cloaked in asceticism,
twisting wicks
for someday light in someday night,
circulate one way then the other,
rethinking perfected emptiness,
there are no others, up or down,
to and fro, vectors tie targeted states,
spider kites form single ray classic webbing,
slim banner, a flag unraveled long since.

Follow me, I say to me, follow me,
I say to you, saying back, I am not you.

My option.
Turn on, sit back and watch,
evolving cave wall interesting hooks,

look around, nothing interesting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during peak-info preservation history,
when men like Franklin and Voltaire,
met to share secret meanings of things.

Previous to any whole story
that remains, as when any mind mistakes
tzimtzum inside as first occurrence,

total emptiness, pre space, one time
this instant accepted as audience

in true gaseous we form, auto informing
the vegetable phaze passed eons ago, life
tells tales too esoteric for novices
to notice, in the ideal state, active
imagining, as with a child's mind, yours
since ever was, so far as you may wish
to remember,
a time when the state was deemed
comforting and beauty filled, chaotic
process of floating lipids, in form of air,
light has not dawned on us, we are
night scene setters of settings, nodes
of potential anything you can imagine,

level with me, even, straight, right… yes it
is the optional meandering mind engine,
an idol, or a daimon, madness of sorted
degrees, a little bit off the charts, sorted
out.
Not in, the bubble being becomes,
when one emerges in a self…

subtle is good, right, we agree?
Jesus, before Christianity, as a kid,
instructed with his cousin John,
likely by his temple servant uncle.

That can be imagined, projected
on the outerwall
of this bubble we be in.
At the moment,
on an Earth wired

for sound, elephants agreeing to meet,
to follow the pilgrimage, pilgrim beings
activated by stark necessity successful
to this degree…

by the reader's time's
at tension, pull
release
snap back, at what ifery, at once, push

most bottom centered point once sitting
in raw time thought processing, in
and out, efforting
- slightly off, not fully on
uncomfortable impression of holy
you better get better or else. Holy

blank slate, bubble pop, soft wow

Now, we're in the swirl, in the spin
toward, froward lips sealed, golden
silence,
subtler than any beast, creature,
living thing in the ruliad, am I? No.

BUT, you know, those penance prayers,
given you as a child, enchantments,
as with all your renouncements of evil
and pledges under God, in your child mind.

Look. To your own self, be true.
You still have private interpretation access
to your child mind.

If you put your worried mind to work
on some thought too deep to ponder then,

The idea of punishment by the Creator
of all that is not God, but was deemed good,
by God, because I said so, said the father,
in the child mind.

To know good and evil knowledge,
that talent, initial mark on our blank slate,
to know, not what you know, but ask
your child mind, how does it feel,

flat on your back gasping as others laugh,
and your child mind blooms an entire eon
- just to catch a breath takes for ever
and there were others, the whole family
of mankind of your kind, to your child mind,
stood laughing at your attempt to perform

a first flight, from an edged bet with an
I think I can virus perpetuated in ever after,

since mind made time make sense in chaos.
Instantly, things start to take shapes, in mind.
Non sense. Since. Processing time. Go.
Instants out of mind, in atari.
Fog of unknowns. I used to play the game.
Not really, only, one off thought forms,
cloudlike in symmetry, no clear tongue
and groove, fitting our pro-posed… pose

supposed, to listen and while listening,
learn the use of any knowing, can be
taken as granted possibility by your self.
- distant sound of light sabers actuation
Your blame and shame catcher, out front,
as we steam ahead across the gap,
thoughts made prayers must leap.

Keep your eyes on the prize, three
walnuts and a split pea with a hair, fine
infant hair, see it there, your old minds eye.

The unveiling of an artifice, an angle
greater than straight, from this point…
a re-entrant angle, like a point, banked shot.

in
Thanks, I needed you to ready become... said the little blue man... whatsoever we agree... indeed. Let us see...
Sean Hunt Dec 2015
Good Fences

Oxymoronic mania
Infecting ordinary beings!
Through the ages.
“Good fences make good neighbours”
They say
So they say

Israel, one day
Will be the best
Of neighbours
With the wall all around them
From east to west

Buddies to Bedouins
Touted by Saudis
Lebanese unfreeze
Hamas 'no mas'!

We should all build
A wall!

Sean Hunt
Windermere  Jan 30 2015
Today
Hamas terrorists let rockets rain on Israel

Today
Israeli soldiers shattered Palestinian dreams with shrapnel

Today
I learned that cancer killed, again! Shyra this time. RIP

Today
Gray, rain, pouring down depressing large tears, non-stop! Just weather, or is it?

Today
Bleak reality, Ina got diagnosed. Hello cancer my old fiend!

Today
Pandemic work from home blues, lonely stares at screens, empty flat, inward screams, ahuman void.

Today
The world would’ve been less brutal without your malevolence. I hope, you do better, tomorrow. I really do hope so!

Today
Just now! News: it’s a boy, Tomme! Lungs inflated, first screams, first breath. Hope a tad elated.

Today
Death and life, a full circle
Bad days come and go. Take life one day at a time. Sometimes bad days end good! So today was still a good bad day!
Alan Black Feb 2015
"Palestinian boy chucks rock at Israeli soldier.
Sixty-seven unarmed civilians killed in self defense,
against these evil terrorists. Prime Minister Netanyahu declares
'These continuos violent aggresive terrorist attacks against
the kind, freedom loving, law abiding people will not be tolerated.
If necessary we will **** countless more, until these monsters cease their terrorist attacks.' Senator Mccain, when asked about what he thinks about the situation said, 'I think Israel has every right to take justifiable military action against the terrorist government of Syria.'
Man on the street wearing a **** all ragheads tshirt says, 'All these heathen moslems are all the same. We don't need any reason to **** them, other than the fact that they hate us, and want us and Israel to be wiped off the map. These sandn*#@ers, are all irrational, racist, anti-semite, violent, camel ****** savages. I hate them, and if it wasn't for my extreme cowardice, I'd go over there and wipe them off the map myself.'  This is the thousandth case of Hamas terrorist aggression in the last year, and many experts believe that war against Iran will be necessary to stop the violence. Coming up after the commercial
'Are Prince Harry and Emma Watson seriously dating!?'
Graff1980 Jul 2018
Palestinian
children
and women
attempt to
protest apartheid,
fighting against
those borders and walls,
walking towards boundaries
where snipers sit
settled in
to shoot the innocent,
and continue
freedom's infringement.

Soldiers fire to take
the lives of those
they dehumanize.
Two thousand
are wounded
and fifty plus
dead.

My government is complicit
in these illicit
acts of violence.
We support and supply
the horrible ordinance
used to brutalize
and end those unfortunate lives.
Our politicians
spin blood red threads
into golden ***** lies
and celebrate the bad guys
who have no intention
of compromising,
the ones who
go on occupying
and terrorizing the Palestinian people.

Meanwhile,
state supported
media guys,
are televised
to tell us lies,
go on air
to share a side
that shames
and blames
the victims of
new atrocities,
by their favorite
allies,
repeating
reports of agitation
incited by
Hamas,
but no one on
the Israeli side
was wounded
or died.
I don't understand why it's different for you.
Why it's different for you,
a people who have suffered,
a people who are Jew.  
To **** in your name,
a child who's turned blue.
In the dust from the home that once they held proud,
on land that you stole and then that you blew
to bits that are small
now smothered in blue
with sharp shrapnel that you
spread in the name of the few.

Why is it different?
Why, for the child who walked slowly through,
through the gates from the train,
on a ticket you knew
was only ever one way.
Did the mothers at Treblinka
deserve to go through,
the gates or the hurt
to watch their child torn
from a heart where they grew
to gasp a long breath
a gassed breath to the last,
smothered to blue.

Has nothing been learned by you, who cry true
from the past and the hurt, by
a people who are Jew.
The few who survived and echoed the cry,
a cry undisturbed by the thousands who died
a crime of our times, denied by the few,

I don't understand why it's different for you.
Why it's different for you,
a people who are Jew.  
In Gaza or Auschwitz,
the cry of a child
echoes eerily the same.
whether dying from gas
or bombs that you blame
on Hamas or God
the result is the same
the mother's heart ripped
and torn in two.

I don't understand why it's different for you.
To ****  the thousands
to get at the few.
I wonder if those who died for being Jew
would welcome the children of Gaza
the children who knew
they'd died just like them,
innocent and blue.
Alejandro O Jun 2015
Como quisiera sentir la sensacion de tu corazon, y saber la razon que siempre me rechasas a mi.
El mejor beso que ella me dio, fueron los que mis lavios hamas toco.

Como quisiera saber de ti, y que me mostraras Amor a mi.  
El tiempo siempre me enseño, a nunca perder la illucion.  

Como quisiera disirte que te quiero, y si me amas ya sabes que aqui te espero.
Pero tambien la edad me arbitro, a no confiar en ti tanto ya no.

Para mi si eras especial, y todo lo que siento por ti es real.
Yo confiezo que me enamore, entonses poreso mia la culpa es.

                                                Como Quisiera.
wordvango Sep 2014
Take us a tumble into arms of another countries rubble while we tweet about a Kardashian wearing some revealing dress on a red carpet while massacres go on around this land, on minimum wage we air again Wal-mart's latest offerings a chartreuse meandering, I think I'll get my nose pierced. Buy the newest I-phone.  Hope it comes in yellow.
Jews **** Hamas and Iraqi's again are opposed by ISIS or Saddam?
Let us arm the cops with video. So the next time a black man runs, all will be exposed. Let us show on Your tube and mine on you tube or time the next one to die and be left four and a half hours dead. In the middle of the ******* road.
John F McCullagh Jul 2014
Pet Meds are expensive!
Chuck Schumer says it’s so!
So He’ll co-sponsor legislation
To make sure costs are low.
If kitty needs some birth control
before her nightly prowl,
the taxpayers will gladly pay.
If not then Chuck will scowl.
Why shouldn’t people without pets
Pay for those who do?
He’ll make them pay for strays as well-
It’s a Democrat’s World view.
You may think the world has gone to hell
as our border teems with trash.
The Ukraine is on fire.
Jews are fighting with Hamas.
Yet none of these disasters
has made Chuck’s passion burn.
Even Vets who fought our wars
are not Chuck’s main concern.
It’s Vets, who deal with cats and dogs.
It’s far too much they earn.
Why is this his main concern?
Why does he want it passed?
Because it deals with animal rights
And he’s a horse’s a
New York Senator Chuck Schumer is cosponsoring Federal legislation to regulate Pet Meds.   It's the affordable care act for fluffy and Fido
Ryan O'Leary Jan 5
Ripples

Aquatic vibrations, even a fish

fight can produce what can be

felt the other side of the world

when a butterfly ***** its wings.

Waves

Rising tides ebbing and flowing

of water are relayed like a ball

in a tennis court day and night

at the whim of a gibbous moon.

Floods

Just as tsunami’s they are not

predicable or governed by the

physics of any meteorological

rules as was the Al Aqsa Flood.





The Proscribed Poet.

For Hamas Houthis

and Hezbollah, Bravo.
Trefild Nov 2023
a[ɛ]m I going psychotic in my dA̲[ɛ]mn mind
or ma[ɛ]nkind is on a deranged ride
[in fact, I prefer the word "humankind", but it doesn't fit with the rhyme pattern]
on an armored train? like that power-cray
North Korean son of a bo[ɑ]mb afraid
of his own go[ɑ]ddamn shadow, for it, ju[ɪ]st like
this *****#cking fatso's order, is quite
terrible; on a reckless ride that's
go[ʌ]nna take
the highly developed kind back
fro[ʌ]m the age
of reason to the uncivilized past's
darksome days
["dark somedays"]
(probably the latter)
————————————————————————————————
should be in a mental asylum watched over (why?)
off my "meds" like some iron-grip jE̲rkwad
[the meds were mostly video games]
in power striking a wA̲r up
an indescribable U̲rge to wreak destruction & ******
[mostly lyrically]
as if I were a horse-riding enforcer of the Apo[ɑ]calypse or a
jihadist supporter of the IslA̲mist new order
heading to a spot with the public galO̲re to
turn up at; I'm highly avE̲rse to
autocracy, but tyrant-like to[—]ward a kindergartner-like verser
half-a## writers, conformers, & allies of usurpers
better put on something fire-sound or go underground
like the Camorra or Johaness Arnesson, fO̲r I
["for I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "fora"]
[Camorra is a part of the underworld]
[Johannes Arnesson (Owl Vision) makes underground type of electronic music]
am, like when a living victim's hide's being bU̲rned to
muscles by a hob O̲r a cutting blowpipe, a fierce torcher
["torture"]
and if there were, like Ivan the Fourth, a
terrible tsar & a murker, like a hitman satisfying hit orders
[the reign of Ivan the Terrible is infamous for, inter alia, tortures]
for me to take my pick like a **** 𝑓𝑜[ɔ]𝑡𝑘𝑎
["pic."]
I'd, like the wight-like equine rider
direct my sight on the former (scythe); you hardly can stI̲r up
[Death, the pale one of the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse]
a spark, I've come to the taiga & stI̲rred up
a violent inferno; while in the wilds, I've discerned a
couple of male old-timers encircled
by some guards & cam workers; a fire fiend, for the
restless mind is like a flamethrower
which this corruption-plagued world su—
—pplies with fuel like a "Flying J" servo
don't get this wrong, I can't be bothered re[eɪ]
which kai is fave by which state, but I'm afraid
autocracy is, in the China vein, on the rise today (on the rice)
but, for the sake of a fighter plane
laying f#cking waste to a ride or train
with an autocratic ******* aboard
what is a singular someO̲ne that ain't
a well-savvy hacktivist nor
a sick gunfighter, like Max Payne
to do when the disbalance between a civil society
and a regime in some abysmal auto[ɑ]cracy
is so grave there's nothing safe
and rock-solid, like a tungsten *****
to do to undermine this state
of affairs? apply the cre[i]do of yours
to whatever at which you are versed
that's why I'm engaged in my anti-autocratic rhyme crusade
[previously to this one: "punishment of an autocrat"; "надвигался 2022-ой" ➔]
[➔ "a couple of words for dictators" & anti-authoritarian fragments ➔]
[➔ of some other rhyme pieces published by me]
I might lO̲O̲k to be an evil-minded skate
now, but, seizing the opportunity
like some viced ***** gained
a role O̲f a rU̲ler with
an unchecked political might & aimed
at establishing a tight-grip reign inside the state
there's something I'd like to say
I hhhooock... thooo... spit on tyrants' graves
and graves of their compliant aides
without the slightest shame, I, like a crane for construction, raze
["raise"]
their heads—tones by a mace from the knightly age
bet taphophiles ain't gonna like the way
in which I behave; ones who're enviro-cray
better get fire squa[ɑ]ds awake like a rite that takes
place after someone's life has waned
wholly (a wake), 'cause I get mY̲ hands laid
on a pulverizer with spirits of wine & spray
it on those scheissers' grave—yards, then make
'em go, like the face of someone laughing so wildly they
are about to split their sides, ablaze
and I've barely gotten underway
lyrics-wise, I'm gonna give a harsh time
to a power-blinded, nazissistic go[ɑ]bshite
a sort of tea party which you'll no[ɑ]t like
'cause there's a billypo[ɑ]t rife with steaming splo[ɑ]sh I've
got in the pipeline, like oil, & will be pleased to slo[ɑ]sh right
into your filthy mug, swine, so here's a piece of a[ɑ]dvice
better get equipped with some wipes
and something chilling, much like
a horror game when you sit without lights
and with earphones on in the middle o[ʌ]f night
it may seem now as if I'm a kitchen cart guy
and you're at an eating spo[ɑ]t (why?)
'cause you're about to get served
scuzz, I'ma strike
a lyrical skewer through your mouth & your stern
just like a swine
————————————————————————————————
it is night-time, like the pre-enlightenment E̲[i]poch, but I'm
["knight time"]
like a ballista sho[ɑ]t flyi[—]ng
the target's way, in the open air & quite away
like an anthracite aflame/ablaze
["(a) vay" (Malagasy) - "(a) glowing coal"]
nearby the gates of your sublime estate
a mite ashamed to say this, but I might be ta'en
for the Russian state or the "Hamas" brigade (why?)
these premises are like Ukraine
or Israel, respectively, inasmuch as they
are gonna be violated sI̲m. to a victim of a ******; finna
penetrate your villa like the agent Fisher
[Sam Fisher from the "Splintel Cell" videogame series]
which is gonna be made much quicker
than you, a[ɛ]nxious geezer, would make a lady stimu—lated I̲nto
the ****** state; your security system & lights are way
like a surgeon who's armless, they no longer o[ɑ]perate (ha-ha)
'cause I have an EMP device in play; the weather, by the way
is trash, raining, just like Hussein in his presiding days (trash, reigning)
but your cap-cladded daw[ɑ]gs remain
outside despite that & an adage Russians say
that a dog keeper that is mindful ain't
gonna let his dogs be outside at the time it rains
or when some other weather that's bad becomes the case
but thA̲t's, un—like the sign that's made
of metal & acts A̲s an
indication that it's a co[ɑ]p you face
not a bother; like a register that has an
["buzzer", in the sense of "police badge"]
abundant range
of info about a vile regime's pieces of crap having
rank slides, such as their addies, mug sho[ɑ]ts, & names
a specialist, the black-cladded
["special list"]
crusader from the Norsefire-tyrannized UK
in the Guy Fawkes mask strapped with
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
a blowgun with darts, like the pirate claimed
the title of an assassin
[Edward Kenway from "Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag"]
by which I sedate those diletta[ɑ]nte[—]s ordained
to guard your place as I slyly make my go[ɑ]ddamn way
forth like a farcE̲U̲r coming out
of behind the stage
lock pick the door of your house
then walk inside like a pro[ɑ]mena[eɪ]de (walking site)
while touring around
the pretty so[ɑ]lid place
of yours, I encoun—
—ter your do[ɑ]xy draped
with a corse[—]let-like towel
not far away from the room in which you shower, bathe
with her bo[ɑ]dy shape, to one whose mind's unchaste
she's like a va—cant front seat to one whose sight's debased
hard not to try & take; but, given the time & place, I try to stay
away from these broad thoughts like an ex-****-bawd (thots)
besides your inviting bae
like a ship-parking space nearby a pirate-obliging place
["inviting bay"]
I descry your maid nearby the kitchen-dinette; they
both get tranquilized, like someO̲ne who came
for a massage, & chained to pillars of a ba[ɑ]lustrade
with their gobs sealed with parcel tape
arrived a mite hungry, so I knife a slice
off of an icebox pie I came bY̲ inside
the fridge of yours, then eat it sE̲rved on
your high-cost plate
using your silver fork &
your table knife engraved
with a rhomb grid adornment
(some would think you're a perfectionist, like me when I undertake)
(rhyming like an Eastern person)
["ramen"]
(but, in accordance with what my mindset says)
(it's more likely you're just pretty corny)
(like rappers whose lines display their consumerism-governed brains)
(and whose body of rhymes is shaped in an unenticing way)
once the meal's finished, like a rival/fighter slain
in a "Mortal Ko[ɑ]mbat" fray, I leave your tableware defiled, same
as that pious place, in which ***** Riot made
a protest performance
pU̲t on, like that unashamed
co[ɑ]cky, a la desert soldiers
["khaki"]
autocratic swine that reigns in the north-east mo[ɑ]bster state
some high-octane tunes fro[ʌ]m a play—
—list of mine, then start to make your hideaway
[it's supposed that the EMP effect has gone by this time, so electronics are able to function]
look like it faced the wildest rave that mustered skates
who have, like a wrE̲cking ball
a disorganizing trait
towards stuff that's ta[ɛ]ngible
and are prone to territory-marking, same
as what's done by a[ɛ]nimals
or bY̲ street ga[ɛ]ngs
quite an effortful
jo[ɑ]b awaits your unlucky maid
or whoever you're gonna choose to invite & pay
in order to neutralize the may—hem caused by my stay
————————————————————————————————
such a misfortune you, A̲##hole
are away from your glorious castle
which is, like a brutal ******
that you are, looking nO̲[ɑ]t so
["nutso"]
glorious now if you look insI̲de, *** (ha-ha)
you stupid ****̲teball, ***** you, li̲ke bolts
"spit on autocrats' graves" by TREF1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
John F McCullagh Aug 2014
Barrack’s on vacation, playing golf by the sea,
but life keeps interrupting and wasting greens fees
Iraq is in flames and the country may fall,
Barrack steps calmly up and addresses his ball.
While ISIS is murdering Kurds by the bunch
Barrack’s on vacation and ordering lunch.
Israel is in trouble as Hamas wages war.
Barrack limits arms shipments and tallies his score.
Ferguson, Missouri suffers racial unrest,
while Barrack is debating which driver is best.
James Foley is dead, his throat has been cut.
Our President speaks, and then he makes a nice putt.
My colleagues rebuke me. “Don’t beat a dead horse!”
The President’s great, he’s staying the course.
My favorite hole is not on this course.
Ryan O'Leary Dec 2023
ROSH HASHANAH


      HAMAS MIXED THE BATTER

HEZBOLLAH PUT IT IN THE OVEN

HOUTHI’S TURNED UP THE HEAT.






RYAN O'LEARY

THE PROSCRIBED POET.



PS.


         ISRAEL BACKS DOWN.

        NETANYAHU SAID HE'D

      NEVER NEGOTIATE WITH

    TERRORISTS. HAMAS ARE

THEREFORE UN PROSCRIBED.

  WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO THE

BECOME A DESCRIBED POET??
Elihu Barachel Jan 2015
History is unfolding, before our very eyes  
You must find out yourself, the “Media” tells lies  
-
Who controls Hamas? Orders missiles fired  
How long will this go on? In war we're always mired  
-
Who wants to sit, upon the Golden Throne?  
In the Temple in Jerusalem, the World will be his own  
-
He wears a special crown, to worship his true god  
And the miter of the fish, Dagon he does laud
-
He Canonizes saints, prints Holy Pictures too
Come and kiss his ring, an indulgence you'll accrue

Rev 17:1-2

17:1 And there came one of the seven angels which had the seven vials, and talked with me, saying unto me, Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great ***** that sitteth upon many waters:

2 With whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her fornication.
KJV
Ryan O'Leary Dec 2023
HOUTHI YOUR HORN

        FOR HAMAS


BAB AL MANDEB STRAIT

            JACKET


    FOR NETENYAHU
Ryan O'Leary Dec 2023
Hamas are dressing up

hostages in military attire

  with green headbands

  and issuing them with

replica AK 47s and letting

    them loose in Gaza.
Selling books

A friend of mine who used to be my editor,
until I discovered she was bewildered by commas,
has gone all mercantile, if you buy one of her
sweetly decorated books with flowers, you also
get a doll presumably made of plastic.
The child had no memories yet, only that he loved
his mother, father, grandfather and aunts.
The Israelis will say he was paid by the “Hamas.”
to go play in the sand.
If you buy one of my small books at Kindles, I will
send you a picture of a dead Palestinian child.
Truth is a costly gift, but in general, a doll is more
popular and cosy.
the dirty poet Nov 2023
another day of israel
digging its own grave
their strategy of dead kids
is a real winner
of course
hamas keeps insisting
it wants to wipe out israel
a handy excuse
for more dead kids

— The End —