"hosted" poems
Throughout her adult life
all of the land shaded.
Feverless islands where the
aged couple sleep.
Never once have I hosted a party. Not once have I
told you, I have
been hurt.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
Backstage Drake show,
don’t know how I got here,
heart beats ********
feel every feeling except fear,
at Drake’s last show,
of The Boy Meets World Tour,
backstage without a backstage pass,
how the heck did I get here?
Life so blessed,
there’s no need for a backstage pass,
always All Access,
no matter where on this atlas,
facts facts facts,
everybody misbehaving,
no one knows how to act,
on our worst behavior,
wish we could bring **** Back,
actually,
can barely believe we exist,
and all of the quotes I wrote,
are starting to sound like a To Do List,
my God what type of life is this,
in first place,
which wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place,
how the Hell did I end up,
backstage at a show hosted by Drake,
how’d I get picked for first place VIP,
when I wasn’t even close to being a First Round Draft Pick,
how can I live a life so viciously victorious,
at the same time terribly tragic,
I don’t know,
just know it all happened like magic,
like that’s it,
like going from being an anonymous to an A-List actress,
beats bumping heart pumping,
sold my heart but kept my soul intact,
and if want a seat at the table,
all you have to do is ask,
go ahead,
let’s make this a conversation
but if you run your mouth too long,
I might start running out of patience,
and then you’ll lose your chance and your placement,
just saying,
just finished another world tour,
Boy Meets World 2017,
on this wild ride like a rodeo with OVO,
only one word to describe this and that’s “Amazing.”,
backstage Drake show,
don’t know how I got here,
heart beats ********
feel everything except fear,
at Drake’s last show,
of The Boy Meets World Tour,
backstage without a backstage pass,
how the heck did I get here?…
∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
new book HERE: www.amazon.com/dp/1721134158
Or message me directly and I'll send it to you for FREE.
∆
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Anonymity is an illusion
He tells me.
He tells me,
No-one can remain unknown
On the World Wide Web.
Don't think deletion makes a difference,
Don't think that everything you've ever sent
Received
And posted,
Isn't hosted on a server
Forever,
Awaiting discovery and disclosure.
He could find me in minutes,
He could find me,
If he wanted to.
He doesn't,
But what if he did?
What if he did?
I would feel safer
If I'd posted intimate photos
Or sexted a thousand faceless strangers.
My poems are a diary of my soul,
My hearts' helpless, hopeful blog.
They expose me.
No-one knows me here,
But he could find me,
And he would know.
No-one is anonymous,
No-one is unknown.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 7:48 AM UTC
You're a staircase of kingdoms.
A bacteria, hosted by tolerance.
A protist, without an identity of your own.
A fungus, risky and thriving on what once was.
A plant, needy for growth that flowers ambition
but wilts your respect.
An animal, a robotic hunting machine that thinks it can think.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 6:10 PM UTC
Dar Al-Hekma University hosted its second fashion show on Sunday that featured the work of its second batch of fashion design undergraduates.
The event, titled “Luminosity” was held under the auspices of Princess Reem **** Muhammad Al-Faisal. President of the university Dr. Suhair Hassan Al-Qurashi said: “Providing such events to our students before graduation exposes them to industry leaders of their prospective industries and gives them a head start in their careers.
“Dar Al-Hekma University’s students stand out because of the combination of their high caliber and the opportunities the university provides for them.”
Along with industry leaders, families of participating students attended. The event started with an opening speech by the department chair for the fashion design program Dina Kattan, who then introduced the sophomore and junior students’ work.
Afterward, models wearing three-piece collection garments designed by senior students scheduled to graduate this year took the stage and were graded by four judges.
Kattan said: “I am so proud of the work my students presented today; they worked really hard and they deserve a big hand. “Everyone was impressed with the level of creativity and attention to detail they demonstrated.”
The judges were Batool Jamjoom, businesswoman in the fashion industry and manager and owner of Jamjoom Fashion House; Amra Alabdalilsharif, director of the innovation and visual merchandising department at Rubaiyyat; Dalal Al-Hasan, a fashion designer; and Aram Kabbani, Dar Al-Hekma alumna and fashion stylist.
The grades students received during the fashion show will form part of their final grade. One of the students whose designs were featured at the show, Zahar Algain, said her collection was inspired by Mexican artist Frida Kahlo.
“Studying fashion has altered my perspective. I view fashion, in the same way that I view life; it’s a matter of balance and proportions.
“My interest in avant-garde fashion has led me to believe in using creativity to solve difficult situations. Algain’s collection was meant to blur the line between art and fashion.
“It is inspired by Frida Kahlo but with a fictional twist. “The story behind my collection is a daydream, a magical love story, an artwork; it is splattered with Frida’s colorful soul and spirit.”
Following this women only event, Dar Al-Hekma is organizing a one-day fashion design exhibition on Tuesday, which is open to all. The event starts from 7 p.m.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
Georgiana Seymour,
Duchess of Somerset
crowned _'Queen of Beauty'_
at the 1839 Eglinton
Tournament, the first known
beauty pageant;
W
European festivals dating to the medieval era
provide the most direct lineage for beauty pageants.
For example, English May Day celebrations always
involved the selection of a May Queen.
In the United States, the May Day tradition
of selecting a woman to serve as a symbol
of bounty and community ideals continued,
as young beautiful women participated
in public celebrations; such as the beauty pageant
held during the Eglinton Tournament of 1839,
organized by Archibald Montgomerie, 13th Earl of Eglinton,
as part of a re-enactment of a medieval joust
that was held in Scotland; the pageant was won
by Georgiana Seymour, Duchess of Somerset,
wife of Edward Seymour, 12th Duke of Somerset,
and sister of Caroline Norton;
Georgiana proclaimed _"Queen of Beauty"_;
Entrepreneur Phineas Taylor Barnum staged
the first modern American pageant in 1854,
his beauty contest closed down after public protest;
However beauty contests became popular
in the 1880s; In 1888 the title of _'beauty queen'_
was awarded to an 18-year-old Creole contestant
at a pageant in Spa, Belgium. All participants
had to supply a photograph & a short description
of themselves to be eligible to enter; a final selection
of 21 judged by a formal panel.
Such events were not regarded as respectable;
But beauty contests came to be considered more
respectable with the first modern _"Miss America"_
contest held in 1921;
Still the oldest pageant in operation,
the Miss America pageant was organized
in 1921 by a local businessman as a means
to entice tourists to Atlantic City, New Jersey;
The pageant hosted the winners of local
newspaper beauty contests in the
_Inter-City Beauty Contest_ & was attended
by over one hundred thousand people;
_Sixteen-year-old Margaret Gorman of Washington, D.C.
was crowned Miss America 1921, having won both the
popularity and beauty contests, and was awarded $100_
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
The Frog and The Bee and the Mouse with the House lived together in peace and harmony on the River Louse.
One day the Mouse with the house did declare it was time that he moved out of there.
The Frog and The Bee did not agree and set about convincing the Mouse with the House that he needed to stay on the River Louse.
They sent out invitations to all around to attend tea at half past three.
The tea party was in honour of the Mouse with the house to be held on the banks of the River Louse and hosted by his dear friends The Frog and The Bee.
One by one each creature replied and the guest list rose quickly to Twenty Five.
The Frog and The Bee decided the tea would be civil indeed and The Frog made some scones and The Bee made some honey.
At half past one The Frog and The Bee set up some tables to lay out the tea.
At half past two the tables were laid with the scones from The Frog and The honey The Bee had made.
The scene did look grand, pots of tea and saucers of milk all laid on a tablecloth made of silk.
At half past three the guests started to arrive.
The first of the guests to arrive were The Elf with one ear and The Fly with one eye. The Mouse was delighted to see his friends, the ones who helped get Horse around the river bend.
Next came the Horse and his Master of course to thank the Mouse with the House on the River Louse for his friendship and help on the day that the Horse could not get around the river bend and the Mouse with the House, The Elf with one ear, The Fly with one eye, The Frog and The Bee all pulled together and worked merrily to assist the Horse round the river course.
One by one others did attend, there was a duck who lost his cluck but the Mouse with the House helped him every day until he could at last say "cluck cluck"
Next came a ****** who had forgotten how to weave but the Mouse with the House lay out the sticks until the Beavers memory began to tick and the ****** remembered how to weave.
Then came a beautiful Butterfly with bright red wings. She told the Frog and The Bee that one day the Mouse had found her crying and sighing her wings had faded and she did not look grand a thing of beauty. The Mouse ran back to his House and in his shed found a can that had Paint in Red on the side. He took a brush and painted her wings and now the Butterfly all shiny and bright flapped her wings with all her might.
Last but not least the Mayor arrived with his glorious wife by his side.
Mayor and Mayoress Swan did agree that the Mouse with the House should not leave his friends of The River Louse and they would indeed miss him dearly if he relocated his house.
The Mouse smiled embarrassingly and said "I am sorry he did declare, there's been a mix up, when I said" I must get out of there" it was only to the shops I intended to go but The Frog and The Bee moved too fast or I moved to slow"
The Frog and The Bee and all the guests were all delighted with the news and brought in some music supplied by "Five in a Pen" which of course were all mother Hens and they danced all night until the Moon went in and the Sun came out.
Then the Frog and The Bee said to their friend the Mouse "let's do this again next year, and Mouse can bake cake for the tea, our friends can attend and we'll dance all night to Five in a Pen and we'll eat scones and honey and cake too and we'll do this in honour of all our friends and those who live and work on the River bend"
THE END
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
I didn't think anything of the ringing in my ears until you told me that silence shouldn't be so loud
You had that same problem.
Too many concerts that were far too loud
Too many nights driving with the windows down
Blasting our favorite songs and screaming our hearts out
I wouldn't take a single second back given the chance
And I'd hope for the same of you.
I think of you whenever it rains because you loved it so much
As did I.
I think of sitting in your car while the raindrops on the window shone onto my thigh
That's when I learned to find beauty in the smallest of things
Like the way your laugh was rough and sweet
And how your eyes glimmered when they met mine.
The other day there was a firefly outside of my bedroom window
I had been crying over the empty feeling that tends to settle in my chest when I am alone
And when I saw its tiny flickering on my windowsill
I managed a smile.
Because I thought of the day we met
And how the cranberry bog hosted as many as I had ever seen in one place
You walked behind as I chased them in my bright yellow shoes
And you held me as I sobbed over their tiny significance.
When I can feel past unwelcome hands on my skin and in my bones
I think of the night you saw me scared shitless, sobbing next to you in bed
I covered my mouth to muffle the sound of my fear as hot tears fell onto my cheeks.
You held my shaking palm in your own
And then held me in your arms, which I have grown accustomed to call my home.
If I had one wish, it would be to posses the ability to evoke the feeling of your arms around me at will.
When you'd ask if I have ever been in love I'd find myself lost
Because in all of the past relationships I've taken part in
I have never felt nearly as happy and alive as I did when you were by my side.
So I guess, though current,
The answer to your question
Is yes.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
The high priestess issued a religious order against us both,
We were punished for being dearly in love with each other,
They apprehended and executed the two of us lovers mercilessly.
Our heads dropped down to the floor in a pool of blood,
The bodies of ours tossed about so very much agonizingly,
For my heart heard our connecting string break into two pieces.
I was made to watch as the axe was felled on your neck,
What I failed to do for all my lifetime with you was happening,
Tears were jerking down my cheeks relentlessly refusing to stop.
I felt that I saw your soul taking-off from the body,
She appeared smiling and beckoning my soul too,
Soon my head was severed from my body too.
My soul joined yours and then on we are hosted by the temple,
Now they have started worshipping love in our form & face,
Fabled is our story of love & entirely unknown to all of them,
Our souls still brew the hot coffee of love behind those altars.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
I've been kicking round here
for nearly twenty years
I'm a singer no one's heard of
I play for smoke and beers
I'm an overnight sensation
I'll make you smile or bring tears
I've been kicking round here
For nearly twenty years
Right now I'm playing at a place
On cinder blocks and wood
It's not the worst stage that I've played
In fact, it is quite good
The crowd is small, the beer is cold
But, it's the best bar in the hood
I'm playing for my beer and smokes
On cinder blocks and wood
The music is my heartbeat
The people are my muse
I play because I love to
**** man...I've paid my dues
I'm an overnight sensation
Playing what you want to hear
I've been playing for the people
For near on twenty years
The crowd looks up, some clap a bit
Most live above the bar
At least if they don't like the show
They don't have to go too far
It's just me up here, alone and bare
Taking tips in an old jar
I play mainly for my beer and smokes
For the folks above the bar
I've never made the big time play
I hit the road but not for long
I write my stuff, but cover most
Because in truth, my life's a song
I sing old stuff more than glammed up tunes
To sell out, to me is wrong
If I'm not here, I won't be far
I hit the road, but not for long
The music is my heartbeat
The people are my muse
I play because I love to
**** man...I've paid my dues
I'm an overnight sensation
Playing what you want to hear
I've been playing for the people
For near on twenty years
I know I am a dinosaur
I sing songs that drip with age
Most bars I play once hosted folks
Who sang these tunes upon their stage
But, now, it's me and empty chairs
Beer and smokes make up my wage
I know I am a dinosaur
Singing songs that drip with age
I sing County Western
Not 'bout beer, and girls in shorts
I sing about the country
Of heartache, not of sports
I show you what's beneath the crust
Without makeup, and with warts
I sing Country Western
Not 'bout beer, and girls in shorts
The music is my heartbeat
The people are my muse
I play because I love to
**** man...I've paid my dues
I'm an overnight sensation
Playing what you want to hear
I've been playing for the people
For near on twenty years
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
Eleanor P. Carney sat with her legs folded,
Casually reading a catalogue
As she waited. Her mind drifted
Effortlessly away from Joe until:
"Come this way" said a voice dimmed,
In light of the current situation.
The click of Ellie's t-strap heels
Turned the heads of many
Beauty parlor goers, as she
Was lead to a back door.
A *** of boiling water hosted
Sharp things for slaughter.
"Now, I have to ask,
On account of virtue,
Do you really want to do this?"
The beauty practitioner who
Practiced more than beauty, stood in
The corner, tying an apron
around her thin waist.
Eleanor P. Carney shook her head,
And sat down on the
Cold counter knowing that
She would not regret this.
Ruth L. ****** struggled everyday
To find new ways to disgust herself,
But the lack Ms.Carney's
Shame and guilt would
Do just fine for today.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
If my heart could fly,
I’d break it’s wings,
Flee any hurt,
specifically the ones caused by me.
I’d use it so much, it’d begin to destruct,
familiar irony of my existence, and in place for its absence,
I’ll leave behind a fragile piece of mine essence
If my heart could fly, I’d never let myself belong to another
not again…
not again will I trust,
I will never trust that you wanted me here,
our love unconditional, a mere fantasy, over-looped and overplayed,
my welcome,over-stayed.
your world was never supposed to be a hotel staff, that hosted my stay
you made it very clear, my ticket of reckon is uninspired
letting me know it’s time,
time that i left your humble empire.
I never expected your love for me would spoil,
a car neglected, i never changed the oil, fixed the flat on the tire,
so on this love i’ll fly and retire.
never again will I trust. I’ll flap my wings and leave the next, so quick like i taught myself
that’s right steady and fast, never looking back, foot on gas.
anything in my grips seems to fly anyway, it never lasts.
I’d break it’s wings before it left me, and keep it in my arsenal,
for days my propellers lose fuel,
If my heart could fly , I’d give a better reputation to the foolish mule.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
How cool I was with undercut
pretending then Mohawk
playing rugby pretending
brunching with fab hipsters
pretending enjoying arcane debates
about particle physics pretending
and social justice pretending
loving tall beautiful black boy
pretending and playing Tetris til dawn
or napping on the couch pretending
in fashionable Old City coworking
space pretending cuddled alone
as rain struck clear panes windowed walls
facade pretending that was my life once,
author in a zine pretending, cheese day denizen
pretending amid all that a sprawling
vacuum of identity pretending
and isolation pretending despite
lunching with a priest I met
pretending online or long, meandering
walks to the park pretending
with Mr. Wiggles and biking up
Passyunk pretending through the market
that smelled of live chickens and grease
bemoaning my loneliness pretending at
row-house holiday parties hosted
by midlife fairies & queers pretending
with dreams with drugs
pretending alcohol *** and roof deck
skyline views pretending pop up gardens
live music filling midsummer streets
pretending same streets
filled with seasonal dirt
artisanal water pretending
bottle cap eyes cigarette **** nose
garbage mouth snowman melting
away pretending going
the way of brotherly
love. How cool I was inhabiting
my urban life pretending
I was there.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:16 AM UTC
I watched my very own
Charles Bukowski
eat a tangerine outside of
the arthouse
where we were reading.
His name is not really Bukowski,
but he has told tales in the same
vein as the Laureate of Drunkards
for longer than I have been alive.
I have listened to that same back alley
patois,
and barroom wisdom for long
enough that I feel a certain level
of comfort in calling the old gizzard
this municipality's own
Charles Bukowski.
The grizzled old poet
is telling wanton tales
of love and honeydew.
He goes on and on,
recounting the times
that he's drunk
strong potato liquor
with Bengal tigers
in the backseats
of roaring taxis
on his way to parties
hosted by zebras and
gazelles.
We each light a cigarette,
pausing to smoke for a while.
Seeking to continue
the conversation with
my salty comrade,
yet knowing my own
stories cannot compete,
I surge onward nonetheless.
His interruptions jam my
traffic before I can even make
it onto the onramp of his
particular, peculiar highway.
His mouth is already working,
though his tangerine consumed.
He's chewing his next story into
digestible, deliverable bits.
And, now he's chewing the rind.
His mouth,
his words,
his life,
and my own for all of it,
is full of
zest.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2017
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
pleasant-to-be duney minded sediments of mood-blooming yet to calcify light wind and arbor harbour from record heats meat fed steaming sun looming life bawling upon the venue hosted with joshing glee but experimenting with confused bratty states mottled and strobed in the brushed shade for now a stood peace
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 7:39 AM UTC
Money was nothing to me until I fell in love
I whispered to heaven seeking the most high above
To send me the portion of my life's blessing
Now is the time I need it to express my love feelings
I can't wait to possess my wealth and treasure
To ease my way to the lifestyle of pleasure
Because love will not stay with a man empty handed
And unfortunate for me the heavens are undecided
Resolving to other means that is bad
I transformed my being to a desperate lad
My deeds paid off as I live in my prime
Only for love's seek I committed my first crime
I went unpunished and enjoyed every moment
Lavish at any joint all I got from my endowment
Just to impress and win her total submission
For more she requested I gave without option
I got an odd job to keep our lovely affair
Right under my nose she was having an affair
Poor in her abode, love hosted me like a tout
Trapped under an oath there was no way out
I played along like everything is normal
Advisers encourage me to make love and I formal
Since I can afford to provide bread without butter
I fixed a wedding date to take her to the alter
I got married to love with a borrowed suit and tie
In my marriage vows, they told me Romeo must die
Shock with this verdict I inquired what will be of juliet
Before I could get an answer I was hit with a bullet
My heart bleed, I prayed for God's surviving grace
But millions are willing ready to take my place
So I gave up the ghost not to be a love slave
As my heart was led to rest in a players grave.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 5:05 AM UTC
It rained outside,
Me sheltered beneath a bridge.
I took a look around
And saw a tree up on a ridge.
It stood solely, solemn there,
The tree itself already downed;
Cut and brought away,
At this thought I frowned.
I let my eyes go on
And raised them to the sky.
Gray and dark and cold
Looked at those clouds high.
With tranquilizing drips
Fell the heavy rain
As if it would weep
For that poor tree‘s pain.
There were many of us
Who sheltered ourselves there.
The trunk all exposed outside,
I thought it wasn‘t fair.
It was a freezing day
But I was, as always, not cold.
I stood there, listening,
To a bird that sung so deeply woed.
It was narrow there,
But if I had been alone,
I would have stayed for an eternity
Thinking of my beloved ones.
This tree yonder, I thought,
It must have hosted once birds that used to sing.
Now it‘s gone, and the birds will be, one day, too.
And that, I thought, is a sad thing.
Apr 12, 2022
Apr 12, 2022 at 1:17 PM UTC
There was none of your itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie bikinis at a fashion show of vintage swimwear in aid of the Cleveland Pools.
The costumes on show on the catwalk at Green Park Station were a much more modest affair, with a lot less flesh on view, and with some very interesting costumes which seemed to amuse the younger audience.
The Vintage Swimwear fashion show celebrated the last 200 years of bathing suits – the pools celebrate their 200th birthday next year.
Costumes from the last two centuries were modelled down the catwalk, with some interesting reactions from the audience, many of them design or fashion students from Bath Spa University.
It was a great turnout according to Sally Helvey from the Cleveland Pools Trust.
"We had a great night, and it really was great fun," she said.
There was a bar and barbecue hosted by Green Park Brasserie, and ice cream from a vintage Humphry van.
The audience also enjoyed a photography booth, and picture and video slideshows.
The Cleveland Pools is the only surviving Georgian Lido in the country, with a beautiful outdoor pool nestling in the back woods by the River Avon near the Bathwick estate.
But it is very derelict and will need millions spent on it before it can be re-opened again to the public. Last summer the trust received the welcome news the amenity is to be granted more than £4 million from the Heritage Lottery Fund, so plans are in place to have the pools restored and open for use again possibly as early as 2017.
A lot more funding needs to be raised to try and match the funds given by the HLF, and the fashion show, organised by Bath Spa student Jenny Brown, was just one of many events being organised over the summer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
The wet lichen
and I
sit upon the dew-slicked
outcrop of boulder bits -
both preternaturally verdure
Each seeking solace in the
space
each seeking what we need from
air
Inclined to commune here, both
'til
the sunrays fade-
my companion soaking sun from
without
and I, I seek a subtler, silent
inner light
We two ourselves
had thought perhaps
to sitstill alone
here
And having found (of course,
of course) a fellow
sit-seeker here
changed course (of course)
and sat astride this
same (but not for long,
only for long) stone
What'd've been an I
(grumble,sigh)
was now a we you see
and I, as well was never
only I but, rather I
as I'd not yet known
and my body and its songs
The lichen too
composed
of two
sat as seeming One
but was as much
a fibrous mesh of fungal
strands sit-seeking
along with its
(not hosted but self-same self)
algal (not plant, not animal; not
either, not both) or cyanobacterial
bits of cells and life material
So together, apart and as much
as One
we looked down
in late-October dawn
into the pond
(to see the sun's rise and blush)
and each and both of us
hoped then to find and feel our Light
Then, through the rising
warm mists,
I sought the Sky -
cloud-filled with cattails’ tufts
and there at last
(of course)
through the irreal fog
(annihilated obnubilation)
I saw the fog
and clouds as One
We two, too
were One.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
**I can feast again, reading aloud enjoying sounding hosted meanings encapsulated in every word, phrase, line, and stanza!
I am here rich in the aromas and taste of poetry!
Screaming for MORE of the same!
I am a glutton spewing my greed!
Spouting critique....**
Where others might give a long mmmmmmmmm
or worse dribble
*- Well Written
- thought provoking
- very pretty
- Nicely done*
**Sadly, I could not dream up such delicacies or brew this heady wine, but can only burp and share it's scented flavours!
Feasted full, resting in your shadow amongst a company of quiet images I ride for more on the morrow**
.
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
Time passes a thought
To another, in a climbing sense of renderings...
We see the call to unify, in a shy voice ought?
Today was a marveling hour, we could marvel's ends...
Bite me...with a resolve?
They said the sour news is a welcome sunshine
With pets and history to come at all...
Of a younger moment to be quiet, for a composure of time...
Hours as we know, a fixation on else
Can be, the truth be found in a place of sin
Was this imagined tongue, the saying of wealth
Yet to be, the stir of justice of what is a craved wince...
Of passion over a legend to become, our friends
The tale we notice, and simplify by devoid and avoid
Is but a loose remark of such to roll and imbue, the like we end
As if the world knows any better: the fight of certainty's choice...?!
Sly or slime?
Tows of redoubt, between lovers or a heroism of dry finality's
Sunny as we should note, is about the hour I am trying
We see the traitor of commonness and pence, our humor is...
A rushing eye, to know a catastrophe
That is being a silent opportunity, to approach though
And worth the implied key, we find in the future feat
Of lying to the misses, when a game is for those we hosted, should first owe...?
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 12:49 AM UTC
Tonight is for reflection.
Not the kind found in a mirror.
Which of course I have none. Mores the pity. I would love to see how splendid I look in my new shirt with French lace and ruffles. Under my sapphire blue waist coat and buckskin riding breeches. All I can clearly see full of, would be my boots. The softest leather and a shine to see ones reflection in. Sigh, But not mine.
Where was I.. Ah yes, I was waxing philosophical.
One can never be too busy to better ones self. Thus
my new clothes.
Let's see...reflection.
While looking back upon my long lived life as the Prince Of Darkness. I realize, I have been selfish. Not
once have I invited others to my humble home. Not once have I hosted a party. Not once have I allowed others to witness my grandeur.
Tonight, I vow to remedy that. I will have a party. One to outdo all the others which I have had the privilege to crash.
Hmm. Perhaps I should start a bit smaller.
A dinner party!
For the intimates of intimates.
Let me see. Who to invite?
Reginald Wadsworth! He's a jolly chap. No. He was a late night snack a few days ago.
Hortense Mayweather! She is always in good humor and a fair conversationalist. No. She had the misfortune of crossing my path last month while I was woozy from battle blood loss. A fight with a tresspasser left me a bit worse for wear. But Hortence fixed me right up.
I've got it! General Clayston! He makes for such a fun curmudgeon. Oh, He died of old age.
Hmm........
Oh look! The Carlstayton's are hosting a party tonight.
Looks like I will be dining out.
~Lord Kellington
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
Check the twenty-twenty fission
Adam splittin' Eden vision
Bustin' caps in gas emissions
Spittin' written ammunition
For the first-world problem chillen'
Droppin' free speech bomb sedition
On the third-world problem villain
Grand old wizards' ku klux gizzards
All white **** meat chicken dinners
Suckin' Christian dictions'
Hissin' contests over spoils
House of Slyth'rins witherin'
The shale-shock sowing soil
With Satan seeds of ignorance
Still thirsting for indifference
From money hungry London royal
Global warming blizzards
As they're bleeding dry the rivers
Into liquidating oil
Treasure buried with a shovel
In oases brought to boil
Nine eleven popped the bubble
But with Jesus in the building
Turning metal into rubble
Smelting graces into gilding
From the melting *** he's spilling
Into off-shore power drilling
Making killings on the rigging
As Mohammed was displayed
As a scary, bearded, brown-skin man
Through tricks of terrorism's trade
And God's right sleights of winning hand
Pulled rabbits from Fatah's grenade
And cooked 'em in Afghanistan
For PTSD noise parades
And hot dog chugs for Uncle Sam
To waste the land, supply demand
For ol' Osama's unmarked grave
Obama hosted-masquerade
White-washing New World fear campaign
Them masks of patriotic acts
In place as they removed Hussein
Disguised the ethnic cleanse crusade
With bush league mass destruction claims
When the caliphate they made
Went Khomeini on Iran
A stand against the David camp
Shelling bibles to qurans
So the shah's Allah mirage
Put the profits in the pockets
Of the prophet's arbitrage
Camouflage the Green Zone spans
With pyramids of Reaganomics
Tricklin' into sovereign sands
Long before heathen jihadists
Flew their kamikaze plans
Into Trump towers' blacklist fists
Of modern warfare contra bans
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC