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Yenson Oct 2018
What if they had a War and nobody came !
my sentiment all along

Actions so transparent and telegraphed a mile long
absurd anchoring, even more absurd triggering
so absurd as to be meaningless
the hotchpotch logic of simpletons on acid
The banal manifestations of the anodyne retards with advanced hysteria

Think unruly kids on Colombian marching powder
think advanced psychosis with total stage ten delusions
Watch mass hysteria contagion
Logic was never there, rationality bolted beating Usain Bolt
Inveterate liars and fantasists now control maddened throngs

Oh dear! they decided I am madly in love with acquaintance
neither I or poor acquaintance know this
But let not the truth get in the way of a soap opera by the insanes
After All meaningless triggers and Delusionary prompts
keep the sheeples busy in People's Power utopia

They are all having a war, nobody has told me about it
I don't understand their language yet they are very eloquent
Deep in their imagined Neuro-linguistic Programming or mental pygmies playing Pavlov Dog theory of the semi-illiterates  

I just realized why cancer is prevalent amongst them
They carry so much poison and emotional ******* in their beings
It pollutes and eat away at them internally, they get cancer!

Never have been interested in little minds and liars and thieves
Have little time for dumb people, the toxics and the sheeples
What makes cretins think I take anything of theirs to mind
what can I learn or gain from contemptibles
I don't feel inferior so why would I want to learn
how to slander and defame others to bring them down
'Slander is the GREAT LEVELLER voiced one of them
poor inadequate soul, poor pathetic degenerate

I look twenty years younger than my years, no wrinkles
Just slightly greying, mind as sharp as razor
Because I don't carry acidic *******, hate or foul nonsense
in my head,
Because my mind is full of worthy knowledge
because I am not an ignoramus with attitude
because I am not a shameless coward or an empty headed nonentity
Because I am not amongst the madding crowd
I am not an insignificant pointless HATER with cancer in waiting!

I am NOT a SHAMELESS RACIST white THIEF discrediting the
Victim I STOLE from
OR
an OBNOXIOUS gang of SOCIALIST crazed subhumans cancerized
by jealousy and envy
Ink splatters all over my hands,
I won't give it a chance to sink in.

Fully aware up until this second...

You avert bad omen,
But I desperately need
It for french toast.
Raise your glasses,
I'll say cheers.

Let's be consoled.
Cure your fear,
It make me nauseous.

What does creativity
Have to do with logic?

Self-conscious ***** whales
Buy **** Sapiens Sapiens perfume,
And at the graveyard Lara Croft raids tombs.
Go hallucinate like the hippie zombie,
Meeting doomsday soon.

Originally written 3/23/11
Revised 10/18/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Olivia Kent Jun 2013
Feelings are a fantasy,
Star studded,
Very stupid game,
Emotions are just power blessed,
Laced with blood and brain.

A rare exotic tiger,
Love,
She hides in long grass ,
As he dances,

On graves of darkness,
Crouches,
Ready to destroy.

She,
That's me,
A beautiful trinket,
Locked in encrusted jewel box,

Not playing for peals of wedding bells weals,
Wedding bells just give me hell,
In a hotchpotch mess of fools desires,

I am your weeping cross,
Laid by the wayside,
Please repent,
Hell,
I'm not begging you.

Weltschmerz,(world weary)
In this whisky bottle world,
Heart pain,
The fantasy in which you hang,
Not a real man,

Just mixed in with life's emotions,
Spilled over,

Stuck in spiders web,
A dream of online lies.
While indecision cries!
A fool I am,
A fool you are!
Adorned with mania's crown,
Wrapped up in satin dress!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Still Crazy Jun 2014
for Beau

this mixte bag of nutty facts,
compote of this's and that's,
fragrant but yucky tasting potpourri,
sordid assortment of
seemingly unseemly
random collection of
facts, whoppers,
recipes and formulae, and his 'n her
stories (my fav!)
useless motorized drivel,
running around my head

that you have with me creme-filled,
data conglomerated,
transformed by mongol hordes of grey cells
urged on, nay transformed,
by **** and beer into
a magnificent miscellaneous mile of jumble,
virtuous and verifiable grab bag of
ever so humble,
tuneful melodies of a medley of
snatches and patches
of Jagger and Liszt,
a verifiable pastiche of
vital and downright dumb
Factors and Factoids,

I thank you suchly muchly*

musta taken years, maybe even
decades to collect and codify,
this assemblage of verifiable factoids,
after-all, took you twelve to
feed me in eye dropper ingestible quantities!

though with Wiki this and Wiki that,
I coulda save us all some time,
and since it is all on the Internet,
and any way 99% I forgot
like a cell phone number

no matter, I can reads and counts
and writes term papers downloaded,
but caught my eye you wrote
of a mutton stew denominated as
hotchpotch,
but we variant truants,
ici, aux Etats-Unis, on dit
and spell our salmagundi as
hodgepodge

but in summary summation,
thanks for teaching me creative thinking,
for without this skill,
I would but be,
a tool
of Wikipedia
and not its creator

P.S.  It's gadzooks,
not gad zooks,
according to Wikitionary,
even them Oxford fellas agree,
tee hee,
you could look it up
on the internetsky,
Teach....
betterdays Jun 2014
Gad Zooks,
the zedonk,
was mostly,
a happy little fellow.

but,
there did happen,
to be days,
when his,
incomplete
stripes,
got him down...
he was not horse,
not full zebra,
only part donkey.....

and that made him feel, shonky, wonky,
weird n'strange...
like an equine oddity.
not at all likin his ***-dity

when he felt like this,
he would run afar
and pray for god
to take,
his markings,
away.....

Granmama Zooks,
a zebra matriach
and of magnificent stripage,
found him this day
mumbling and crying away...

she then said to him,
in her best zebra neigh....
you are sad little zedonk,
to act this way....
you should think of yourself,
in a different mindset....
you have,
the best bits,
of zebra and donkey.
you just don't see it yet...

i've learnt in my time
you just have to work,
what your born with...
some times,
what you see,
as bad,
actually is,
a god given gift.

you, should be always
be proud of who you are
and what you will become...

people will travel,
for miles and miles,
to see your bars...
and will still be,
talking of you little gad..
as they leave, all smiles.

in their cars,
calling you,
either zedonk...or zonkey,
or zedonkedey  too.
telling each other,
you are,
both cute and bizarre..

so my little,
hotchpotch friend,
be proud of you...
for in the end,
you will,
stand out from
the crowd
just chill, little zook
                      ...and be zen.
a story for my son....
Olivia Kent Jun 2013
Feelings are a fantasy,
Star studded,
Very stupid game,
Emotions are just power blessed,
Laced with blood and brain.

A rare exotic tiger,
Love,
She hides in long grass ,
As he dances,

On graves of darkness,
Crouches,
Ready to destroy.

She,
That's me,
A beautiful trinket,
Locked in encrusted jewel box,

Not playing for peals of wedding bells weals,
Wedding bells just give me hell,
In a hotchpotch mess of fools desires,

I am your weeping cross,
Laid by the wayside,
Please repent,
Hell,
I'm not begging you.

Weltschmerz,(world weary)
In this whisky bottle world,
Heart pain,
The fantasy in which you hang,
Not a real man,

Just mixed in with life's emotions,
Spilled over,

Stuck in spiders web,
A dream of online lies.
While indecision cries!
A fool I am,
A fool you are!
Adorned with mania's crown,
Wrapped up in satin dress!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Olivia Kent Nov 2013
Tell. me you love me again.
As you run your fingers through my hair.
While touching your temples with my pen.
As I touch yours with new born grace.

Once kisses of power.
My heart was devoured.
Blood flow blue.
Royal blue my lord.

I shall write my words for you.
As I write my words for all and sundry.

The girl whose heart turned cold and blue.
In a mismatch of a hotchpotch.
Of gobbledygook mistaken.
On a crisp cold winters day.

She begs for nothing.
Nothing at all.
Perhaps pride came before her fall.
Her fall from grace entirely dropped.
Discarded in dreams puddles.

Her poems now extended.
Too many months descended.
To put my words in consonants and vowels.
To fill the cracks with trowels.
No, not mine you fool.

Words are my nourishment.
Sometimes my punishment.
As the book of revelations.
I lay open.
Not signalling Armageddon.
Nor the end of my world.
Without you!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Ummm ! To love eh! What a dream!
Joe Wilson Feb 2015
The clock ticks on
Life moves forward a notch
And we as fools survive
In self-absorbing  hotchpotch.



The clock ticks on
And failings and success compete
For space within our cluttered lives
The world no longer, is at our feet.


The clock ticks on
And wrinkles start to show
Our footing slips on the ladder of life
And aging pains begin to grow.


The clock ticks on
Our hearts begin to race and flutter
Our memories lose a thread or two
And we start to mumble and mutter.


The clock ticks on
And she or he forgets our name
We know the truth of dementia well
Our parents went through this the same.


The clock ticks on
And one of us will disappear
The other left to fend for themselves
In a life now filled with fear.


The clock ticks on
And on
And on
And on………



©Joe Wilson – Ticks…2015
Olivia Kent Dec 2013
A magic floor show.
Floor show of syllables.
Hotchpotch box of nouns and verbs.
A powerful infusion.
Cast me a spell.
Maybe using,
Celtic herbs.

Better still poetic words.
I wish that with sweet sorcery.
That that sweet man would notice me.
Be attentive to me.
One or two of my needs at least.

Rip off the lid.
Be glad you did.
Press release.
In a box of spells was stored.
A sweet sanctity of incantations.
Painted blue imagination.
Maybe red.
Hop in my bed.
Summoning my mischief man.

If I could get an eagle to ****** him in her claws.
Up up up away.
As fast as she can.
Carry him to my place just for today.
Got to drop him on my bed.
With a little luck drop him on his head.
Obviously don't end up dead.
Hit him with a little sense.

Send him back to me.
Wrapped.
Unwrapped.
However he comes.
Christmas paper's not a mistake.
Could do with a decent gift.
Still feeling rather miffed.

Stick him in my stockings.
This nurse is for shocking.
No desire for a thicko.
Certainly don't want a sicko.
But I shan't say what I want!
Except a renewed friend request... LOL
(c) Livvi 01/12/13
Naughty humour!
Heap
Of clouds
Trespassing
Coolly in dreams.
Her beauty is such
Profoundly so graceful
Opened my eyes and she's gone
Tone-deaf became my minds rhythm
Cosmic things do mesmerise at times
Heap of clouds trespassing coolly in dreams.
Poem format
1. Ten letter word starting and ending with the same letter
2. Its an acrostic
3. Vertical top to bottom
First line one syllable
Second line two syllables
Third line, three..so on till last line
The tenth line is a combination of the first four lines of ten syllables

— The End —