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Mateuš Conrad May 2016
ah... the sparrow is such a beautiful bird, a mandarin bird, only the pope's Samael, the robin, could box the sparrow ugly - i.e. the robin always visits the pope's windowsill to tell him of immanent death.

i never understood why rhetoric (that persuasive art)
should exist outside a courtroom
and in the chamber of the commons - in parliament,
but then you read the law supplement on a thursday
and entertain such facts that:
a. Abe Lincoln was a former lawyer
b. Richie Nixon, also a former lawyer
c. Davy Lollipop George was a solicitor
d. Maggie Stitch-Me-Up Fatty Chi a barrister...
(e. well Tonne Blair was a barrister too)...
it seems natural to them, these peeps export rhetoric
from the one effective "safe space" where rhetoric
matters, adversary and defence,
i don't know why they export rhetoric from
Nepal and throw it into the cauldron of
politics that's Iraq... that's when their conscience
suddenly disappears, magic... abracadabra
and there's Houdini choking when his stomach
was punched in... rhetoric, i believe is best used
to spare lives, like the case of the defence lawyer
Clarence Darrow, the jury found the
African translated into American *not guilty

after he fired a shot at a mob of the Ku Klux ****
inspired mob on his premises...
now that's a truthful utility of rhetoric -
but take a lawyer out of a courtroom and shove
him into the sausage parlour of other
missing ******* condoms, and you have rhetoric
of a different nature... not to spare lives,
but to sacrifice them, like the plea of Hortensia
in 42 BC... incitement to war... many shady investors
in the background... i'm not saying lawyers are bad
people... i'm saying they're no longer people
once they become politico-lawyers... they become
investment brokers for the economics of arms trade...
they suddenly become zombie-like self-mutilating
cannibals... they come in with a brown crop of hair,
they leave their office of power like gorilla silver-backs,
having attired themselves in false-grey wisdom...
Tony and Obama sitting in a tree,
one said Iraq, the other said Arabia in a shopping spree,
well, -ing, numb that ****** ending, i.e. spring.
Tony and Obama sitting in a tree, the latter got
a Nobel peace prize, the former got diplomatic immunity.
so yeah, free speech... not offending people...
i got there just in time, and got out just in time too...
safe-spaces... i can just see the protesting lining up
like blonde ****** wives of billionaires for silicon
implants to live it out in the valley... coyote ug-...
something or other, Satan's Clause: sit on my lee e e lease!
that's how rhetoric becomes a migrating bird, a stork,
summers in Poland and the myth of the European bison,
winters in former Hittite territory or Pharaoh land...
it's dangerous exporting rhetoric from its intended
confinement of the courtroom, and importing it into
a parliamentary chamber, whichever, house of lords
or house of commons... rhetoric exported into a political
realm becomes less a saviour and more a guillotine,
as in: in a courtroom the judge presides with cool calm
precision that people do not step out of line...
but in the political realm Mr. Speaker just jokes about
hushing the banter of insults exchanged by two parties...
the lost privy, and the dirt and smudge of faeces
where once such men would paint their faces with blue woad.
Bite Schoen, Fraulein !
Jouons avec les mots rébus
Nus et sincères.
Appelons une chatte une chatte
Et une bite une bite.
Mouillons et bandons
Suçons voluptueusement nos mots tabous
Jusqu'à la moelle
Appelons cul Luc
Et bite Tobie
Lâchons-nous
Sans laisse et sans harnais
Vive la bagatelle sans filet
Quand j'avance tu recules
Comment veux-tu comment veux-tu
Que je te culbute ?
Ou tu préfères encule
Soyons salaud féminin salope
Vicieuse masculin vicieux
Jouissons de toutes nos jutes
Buvons nos vins clairet
Et nos sirops typhon
Universels et panachés
Tu préfères à la cuillère ou directement au pis du mammifère ?
Jouissons, mignonne
Cochon cochonne
Allons voir si la rose
Qui ce matin avait éclose
N'a point perdu cette vesprée
Les plis de sa verge pourprée
Baisons Baisons
Qu'un sang impur arrose nos sillons.
Tu préfères zizi, anguille, oiseau ?
Moi je me présente quand même
Je m'appelle Orphie et si tu veux
Tu peux prononcer Orphée
Et toi ma chatte de lynx, ma pie qui chante,
Tu dis utérus comme si tu voulais me dire
Que tu es musicale et que je dois
Te prendre à la hussarde de ma clé d'ut
Ou ai-je mal compris, serait-ce ma clé de huit ?
Moi j'appelle ton repaire palourde,
Conque de lambi ou hortensia,
Zmeu, car tu te transformes quand tu veux
En nuage de cerfs-volants
Et tu m'emportes avec toi tourbillonneuse
Tourbillonneuse oui car tu réinventes la syntaxe et le lexique
Tourbillonneuse, adjectif qualificatif, féminin singulier
Dans le creux profond de tes dents acérées
Quand tu me suces j'oublie tout
J'oublie que tu t'appelles Eurydice
Et je jouis en Aura dans tous ses orifices
Ne sois pas vulgaire
Ne me dis pas je t'aime
Mais dis-moi chaque fois que ça te chatouille
J'ai envie de toi.
Ou baise-moi là tout de suite
Et tout de suite ne veut pas dire vite
C'est lentement que je veux t'administrer mon vit
A petites doses
Tu préfères devant ou derrière ?
En haut ou en bas ou côte à côte ?
A propos
Tu sais que lès ça veut dire à côté
Et que ça a la même racine latine que latéral ?

Lentement disais-je
Parcourons nos bréviaires
Et chantons nos poèmes lubriques
Et cantiques tantriques

Veux-tu que je te fouette de ma langue rose
Et que j'engloutisse de mes grosses lèvres tes petites lèvres
Fais couler ta liqueur que je m'en pourlèche
Suce-moi le sein
Je veux que mon aréole change de couleur
Et que mon mamelon devienne de la taille de mon dard.
J'aime quand tu dis ça
Tu dis fais moi ça
Ou j'aime ça, tu savoures
Et même dans un simple ça va chez toi
Je sens que tu es dans tous ses états.
Tu veux que je t'apaises et en même temps
Tu ne penses qu'à brûler de plus belle.

Et chaque fois que je renais des cendres de tes caresses
Tu as tes yeux d'anthropologue qui réclament encore le tout et les parties
Et je fais mine de me plaindre
Je te dis que tu es Insatiable
Mais déjà je bande Incurable
Car il suffit que tu me regardes
Avec ces yeux de chatte lynx de ces instants-là
Pour que je batte des cils.

Tu es caniculaire en permanence
Tu es humide et généreuse quand tu chantes
Je te prends, tu me prends par la barbichette
Le premier qui jouira
Aura une sucette
Et moi je tire la chevillette et la chevillette cherra
Car je sais que tu es mon ombre et que je suis la tienne
Nous nous fondons dans nos ombres respectives dans le miroir
Et c'est dans nos ombres que nous nous faisons tous ces câlins jouissifs
C'est à travers elles que nous montrons
Nos envies et désirs d'immortalité
A travers les petites morts répétées
Les petites extases quotidiennes
Des mots quels qu'il soient qui nous lient
En de petits cailloux sur la route qui mène aux neiges du parinirvana.

Alors pour résumer notre texte

Je commence par le titre,
A toi la dédicace et à moi la préface.
Préliminaires obligatoires.
Tu m''exposes les grandes lignes de notre mémoire
Et je procède à l'introduction et au développement.
A toi la thèse à moi l'antithèse ou vice et versa.
Avant de conclure par une virgule
Je récapitule et j'écris le mot faim
Et toi tu continues sur le même rythme
Car notre histoire n'a pas de fin,
Notre histoire est Insatiable et Immortelle.
Tu es la Muse je suis le Musc
Et notre film se lit non pas en noir et blanc
Mais en yin et yang,
aurora kastanias Oct 2017
Fences enclose sweaty trees
of palms, apricots and figs,
while dried-up roses suffer
heat, next to stubborn hortensia
striving, to blossom despite
anomalous murderous drought.

An infant baobab travelled
all the way from Dakar to be
planted in a *** in Rome, while
the fragile bonsai changes
place everyday victim,
of my indecision fearing

a premature death.

Parsley, basil, oregano and thyme
On rosemary’s opposite side,
Emanate odours of culinary
Makings, as a lonely herb grows
In a corner, unfolding potential
Of future rewards, paid in smoke.

Aloe and cactuses evergreen
Surrounded, by dead leaves
Stranded, along the hedge covering
Fertile soil suffocating, possibilities
For emerald grass to raise as I mow
The lawn picking them up to set

cadavers free.
On nature
Rues, campagnes, où courais-je ? Les glaces me chassaient aux tournants vers d'autres mares.

Les boulevards verts ! Jadis, j'admirais sans baisser les paupières, mais le soleil n'est plus un hortensia.

La victoria joue au char symbolique : Flore et cette fille aux lèvres pâles. Trop de luxe pour une prairie sans prétention : aux pavois, les drapeaux ! toutes les amantes seront aux fenêtres. En mon honneur ? Vous vous trompez.

Le jour me pénètre. Que me veulent les miroirs blancs et ces femmes croisées ? Mensonge ou jeu ? Mon sang n'a pas cette couleur.

Sur le bitume flambant de Mars, ô perce-neiges ! tout le monde a compris mon cœur.

J'ai eu honte, j'ai eu honte, oh !
Quand l'eunuque régnait à côté du césar,
Quand Tibère, et Caïus, et Néron, sous leur char
Foulaient Rome, plus morte, hélas ! que Babylone,
Le poète saisit ces bourreaux sur leur trône ;
La muse entre deux vers, tout vivants, les scia.
Toi, faux prince, cousin du blême hortensia,
Hidalgo par ta femme, amiral par ta mère,
Tu règnes par décembre et tu vis sur brumaire,
Mais la muse t'a pris ; et maintenant, c'est bien,
Tu tressailles aux mains du sombre historien.
Pourtant, quoique tremblant sous la verge lyrique,
Tu dis dans ton orgueil : - Je vais être historique. -
Non, coquin ! le charnier des rois t'est interdit.
Non, tu n'entreras point dans l'histoire, bandit !
Haillon humain, hibou déplumé, bête morte,
Tu resteras dehors et cloué sur la porte.

Jersey, le 1er août 1853.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
i guess i'll forever be in love with the English weather... i adore the gloom... it mutes my heart: it allows me to focus on all the little miseries that make me... happy... however paradoxical it might sound: i find happiness in melancholy... it's such a refreshing escapade: realising the subtle metaphysics of gravity... i'm dragged down... never disappointed... from time to time... either giggling or smirking in a public place... but the weather... overcast... dreary... monotone... it's not the Faroe Isles... but... close... even in the heartland like Essex... Loon'don... plus... the people have conjured up a magical amber juice... herr schnurrhaare und fräulein bernstein... i love to drink more than i love to ****... come to think of it... i love to ****... but... i much prefer a solo drinking ****... preferably with today's newspaper... before noon... fasting... it clears the 'ed... and makes: the word HAY... sound... mmm... ******* tremendous! almost... "vibrating"... even though... the hasn't been a TRILL on the R around these parts for some time... perhaps somewhere in... Scoot-land... ah! never mind!

i will not make any, any(!) concessions to morality
with thought...
spin the narrative(s)... wander off: i will...
feeding into a detached mind-body duality:
feed the automaton...
call my ego a parasite... my inner voice
a plucked eye of a cyclops!
demeaning frailty: hidden rot of man...
        i will not make any concessions to morality
with thought: i will no churn out
thought to be:
   ought i?!
                             i'll break upon the freedoms
i so wish... but i'll break with: panache
come to think of "it"...
i can understand the authenticity of work...
i'll go a step further...
i probably have three maxims i utilize...
a Tao (version) of aiding the world by allowing
the world to forget you...
the Alexandre Dumas: the best advice
one can give is... to not give advice...
and the third?
controversial... but... without the sadistic irony
implied by the original...
truly! arbeit macht frei...
- was i expecting to be saved by... adjectives?
only in the anglo-lingo-sphere
is Darwinism so... infectious...
   i get it... i truly do... but... it's not some...
all-encompassing release form...
Darwinism to me is a pet-peeve...
a bit like Marxism...
        Darwinism explains all!
                   i'm tired of it: i'm tired of people
perpetuating it to the point that
they themselves become: two-dimensional...
it's the oblivion of obviousness that
bothers me... there's no room for...
ahem... "poetry"... NUANCE...
for starters Darwinism: as a tool of history is...
his story?! not mine...
i much prefer etymology as the safety net of
"measuring" time... or no time...
Darwinism is all form all... cubism...
morphed monkeys suited in tuxedos...
spot the albino...
it's... too... concise...
yes everything has a purpose...
yes... almost seamlessly: like no strings were
attached... floating in: and as the ether...
condescending into a make-shift: solid...
Darwinism doesn't care about language...
it's popular among English speakers...
Copernicus was popular among the Polacks...
these days they just reference him...
Copernicus: concise...
he stopped the sun and moved the earth...
what can be said... likewise...
proverbial... about... Darwin?
he... shot the money and woke the man?!
ah... awoke the man?
he... stopped pickling brains and
spines in transit to make... giraffes?!

i'm perplexed by the company of my bonsai
tiger: maine ****...
why would a cat... require my ******* company?
i'm a drunkard nobody!

sonny rollins... saxophone colossus... when
guys had... STYLE...
i could listen to jazz to escape the European
claustrophobia of classical music...
music written by men who couldn't...
*******... whistle!
all-cerebral music... notation bound...
technical... jazz had something...
and then... whish! spoof!
like the Vikings... gone in a flash...
a span of... i'll be generous... 50... years?!
i... abhor... rap...

i can understand work: digging two hoiles
in the ground... experiencing gravity unlike
any astronaut might: properly grounded...
******* gravity....
making new comes for:
hortencje: hortensia(s):
*******... hydrangea (orator)...

knee-grow... grow a knee?
must be one of those anglo-saxon fetishes:
to appease their women...
those mythological blondes...
their women... their women...
apparently up north any ****-
-stani will be eagerly ******...
such a waste of 6ft tall fuckable Ottis-ready-for-it...
not reading...

my my what a custard worth of thighs...
my my what a custard worth of thighs...
knee-growing any bigger from the last time
i inspected the phonetic joke?!

ride a bicycle drunk:
take up any truck load like one might be
a David vs. a Goliath...
immemorable Saturday:
pseudo... oh look... the afternoon just
passed by...

truly... a swig of whiskey into a cup
of black coffee overwhelms any concern to
use cream..

- why i love fasting...
empty one's self long enough...
the sugar levels drop...
ingesting anything after enough time becomes...
an agony... one becomes a Boa...
constrictor...
i'm... digesting while at the same time being
summoned by: constipation...

i'm buzzing with drunk
but it's not even noon...
but who knows... what's the supposed hour..
on these isles...
best i take the ol' rover for a spin
on the streets...
no... this one time: i'll wait it out..

pickle slow: on the sour... grotesque...
sobering... sombre-ing...
laugh with defiance!
  ******* yourself with tears...
sketch a concept: not a diamond...
but a concept of:
synonymous with what's rain:
at night!

-among these... island... dwelling... folk...
i love... the Scots... the most...
don't ask me why... how?!
they retained their Trill of the R: for starters...
they were: they wear... are...
grrr... SKYRTS!
tartan, *******... 'icks!
i ought to love the Velsh more... since...
they still have, their own tongue...
but nay... nay...

i love these people because....
they seem to be: people...
i love the Scoots because...
it's 13:00 oh: clock and i'm
drunk dishing out sabers... drunk...
i'll wait for the night to riddle
a bicycle... sober...
brothel... tonight?
not just yet...
i'm tired of watching all those 1% nymphomaniacs
getting the proper treatment...
i'm tired of politicians lying too...
but... seeing how these nymphomaniac
women are looking for ulterior
holes to fill...
transgressing **** wasn't even
starters...
the cat will sleep on the bed...
i'll take a snooze on the floor... savvy?!
i said... savvy?!
i'll do my round-about
drunken sailor on a bicycle "trick" some time...
later... savvy?!

- binoculars... testicles... sandpaper... grit: proof...
binoculars... testicles...
mirror... glass... air and still lake water...
binoculars... testicles... sandpaper... proof!
mirror! mirror! get me a:
mirror... or a... Agnolo Bronzino's...
Venus, Cupid, Folly & Time...
i'll ******* to that...
reinterpretation of "lips":
behind a NIQAB... like... a cat gets
to growl... or lion: yawn... or...
or... the ****'s wrong with you?!

a cat is sleeping in my bed while i
decide to sleep on the... ******* floor...
why?! because i'm Hindu but
i still enjoy some beef...
i.e. i believe in the superficial superiority
of animals... cats... dogs...
mostly cats since: i don't have
to equip myself with a leash...
Ryan O'Leary Feb 2023
Going south, on our way to Valencia

With my wife and her dog called Hortensia

I turned left at Madrid

Arrived in Valladolid

At a sign which read, “ This Is Dementia ".
Marcus 2d
There was a time not long ago
When love was but a genre
A time in which I sought a high
My head held very low

And yet by touch you granted me
Whose outlook was so somber
The art of love – but with a sigh
I now look at this glee

See Julia, I think of you
Subject of my love’s cadre
But for every thought to fly
I turn a paler blue

You tell me not to think, but please
The beauty of this pasture
In which I once had got to lie
Too good a thought to cease

The gladness Julia has brought
It is by far a wonder
Which never should have come me by
A taste to be uncaught

For never can I now forget
– Always wishing me calmer –
Sweetness when I gently wrapped my
Loving arms ‘round your head

Your gentle voice, ambrosia
With it I’d never falter
To ever hear it say “goodbye”,
Byzantine acacia

I wished that we’d never be through
I always loved our banter
But now your music makes me cry
Let me Fade Into You

One time, I had brought you to tears
It cut me like a sabre
The wounds yet cause me now to wry
The biggest of my fears

I truly was not good enough
With you I could just maunder
My throat was always oh so dry
Regret even a cough

I never did you any good
Not even on a saunter
And no matter if I now try
It’d be like chewing wood

I live forevermore on hope
Dumber than any zander
That someday you’ll look in my eye
And tell me not to mope

That one day I will hear the words
– It shall cloud any slander –
“I love you,” even as a lie
Drown out all the songbirds

I took myself so far astray
Alone, immane I confer
My heart has darkened with a dye
That will not wash away

My heart, a weeping whippoorwill
Becoming ever denser
As if my sadness was a vie
You remain in there still

My soul, a lonesome willow tree
No one will there concur
No leaf, no swing, ready to die
So how can it still be?
It solely hopes for love’s succour:
That she might come around
Again wrap her arms around me
Revive me with her sound
And on this willow she will see
How deeply it was cut
Forever engraved on the trunk
Was love’s and tears’ glut
Hortensia, hallelujah
They never could compare to
“Julia”
She said she wanted a “dramatic song” written about her. I’m no musician. This was never meant for her, but it still came to be.

— The End —