See the emblem waving
Proudly, touted in the sky.
We walk among our brethren.
We recourse, resource the reason why.

All, in trepidation...
We cry out for separation.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?

Citizens of the nation,
Before humanitarians,
First comes clicks of locking doors.
Equality does not endure.

A man of any land should be my brother.
The whole earth, to us, our mother.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?

See the burden being carried
High upon laden backs,
Tautly stretched, with shoulders bending.
Each fear the other will attack.

The words have been the same,
But for intent that's not their own.
For too long, have we been believed.
Equality is just for some -

Is just for some.

Freedom is only for the free.
The lines that keep the captives buckling,
The doors that keep them let them go.
They have no where to escape.

Always there is tyranny
For the landless refugee.
He is no man as worthy as you.
Equality is just for some -

Is just for some.

All the lessons that teach us to love
The home of brave and free
Are based on notions that could not be true,
If all are not the same as you.

And, are they not the same as we,
Who are decorating for our holidays.
Living in our plentitude,
Singing songs of charity and caring -

Charity and Caring?

Gifts are given and received.
Do we remember the lessons taught
About the kind of men we are,
When another is in need?

Do they not rate the same concern
As the presents and the tree,
As we pray in  Holy Spirit,
Singing songs of charity and caring -

Charity and caring?

See the emblem waving
Proudly, touted in the sky.
We walk among our brethren.
We recourse, resource the reason why.

All, in trepidation...
We cry out for separation.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?

sun and shower
threats of power
gifts of rain
we never complained
sand and paper
tears and make-up
iambic pentameter
we danced naked
in your lightning
all night and day

threats of defiance
never compliance
furniture is our alliance
to refute this reliance
so just sit comfy
and don’t move a muscle
for once you are
installed in your chair
you are aready
halfway there
to becoming a hostage

fights are plenty
but some are so empty
that its tempting to cheer
when you stamp your feet
on the ground so heavily
i will take that pounding lightly
because deep in my heart
i am a humanitarian
and polite as a gentleman
who's dialect is friendly
with a diet so deadly sweet
that its been considered
absolutely as healthy - as eating
your own two hands or feet

Scientists made a lofty discovery
The universe continually expands and contracts
In the exact same manner absolutely
So we ultimately live the same lives for all eternity
So we devised a way to send a message to the next universe
A message that would stay in place
Even without the existence of space
A message that would survive time
Even through the end of our line
The message conveyed:
Don't make our mistakes
Correct our sins

Our universe ended
The new one began

The first humans mindlessly worshipped the message
Hearts of the willing sacrificed
They killed for control of its mystic power
It belonged to whoever owned the ivory tower
Until religions were developed
Although they were all somewhat derived from the message
People began to see the message itself as a pagan hieroglyph
An incoherent interference
They killed all that worshipped it
Senseless slaughter
Things got hotter
When people were finally intelligent enough to understand it
They saw all the things we did wrong
And how to avoid those mistakes
But the things we did that were wrong
Seemed much more convenient and easier
They used the weapons we told them not to make
And the ideas we told them to steer clear of
Swords became guns
Racism became genocide
Love became hate
More direct ways of imposing their vision onto the world
Foregoing empathy and compromise
They submitted to the fascism of their subjectivity
And were plunged into the Dark Ages
Steel ***** and chains
Followed by bullet rain
Humanity was lost and found
Humanitarians gagged and bound
People had to make mistakes for themselves
Until they decided to stop living in hell
Humanity collectively decided to follow the message righteously
After they saw hope for the future
Through the vision our message provided
And they realized they should write a message of their own

even the queen doesn't wear as many pompous garments
throughout the year, as she does  upon coronation,
or the annual opening of the parliament -
high almighty she sits, in the chamber
of the house of lords, before the
"commoners" / middle-class pimps
lords of the manor of Cambridgeshire
are later summoned by black rod -
all the knock knock jokes stem from there:
black rod - knock knock.
the commons' - who's there?
black rod - black rod!
the commons' - black rod who?
black rod - black rod you wouldn't even care,
                    the pigs' trough is waiting.
but even the queen doesn't wear
all the garments she's entitled to upon
this occasions - i mean the full garment...
so is the commoner's approach to
vocabulary... on a printed page of a book
a poem looks: so much more menacing!
it's as if i actually have stamped
each poem, and they're not r.t.s. (return
to sender) example of bypassing
and destroying the the royal mail
with a magician's snap of the fingers...
but as honesty goes, the internet made
one magic trick, snap of the fingers,
and a thousand centipedes of postmen
disappeared in a second... gone... flushed
down the social-cohesive toilet...
it's called: improvement... the Chinese
are like: bring them over, we have
a billion and we need the leg work,
done and dusted, the last meaningful
letter i ever received was... i don't remember:
safe to say: never.
i am actually comparing something,
opened a beer, sat on a windowsill,
and thought to myself: after i digest
Stephen King's media outlet with his
many ghost writers, i'll smoke a cigarette
and read that ghastly thing that has my
name and picture printed on it...
it's ****** hard to read your own thoughts
back: given elephant narcissus in the room
and the bay leaf sensation in your mouth
rereading the ******* -
oh, by the way, in my culinary arsenal,
on today's menu: pork tikka masala -
i know, a heresy, tikka masala paste extra,
but to infuriate the palette:
not ground cumin and coriander, seeds,
a bay leaf... cloves (not necessary),
and cardamon pods -
                                freshly chopped tomatoes,
creme freche instead of double cream and
yogurt - garam masala, Kashmiri chilly powder,
paprika, turmeric... anti-dementia exercise:
what the **** did i put in?
50% youth unemployment in Greece,
45% and 40% in Spain and Italy respectively,
well, if you're going to have an existential
crisis, i.e. you're not in denial about old age
and how the Dutch and the Swiss and the Belgians
are the great humanitarians of our time...
might as well have one now.
funny enough, most people will not be saving up
for a pension... they'll be saving up for
euthanasia... honest to god, the lemmings are coming!
the lemmings are coming! in human terms:
that's not a myth.
****... what a digression... even the queen doesn't
wear the many garments presiding over her
role as being understood upon the annual
opening of parliament: in layman's terms,
i mean that to be synonymous with vocabulary...
a.i. says one as an abstract version
of all the other pronouns...
   the royal says we: because there's always
an entourage of lackeys and servants -
all the commoners get stashed in i, the over-exemplified i:
egoism, you, he, she, and the paranoid collective
of the royal's we, i.e. they...
it came to me rereading the Frederick II
Hohenstaufen Linguistic Experiment -
i realised, because of certain words having
a near ~synonymous status:
mainly because they're so closely bound,
and like triplets, you can't have three different
wombs to get the bunch out
(oh, i have fried twins on toast,
once or twice, twin yokes in one egg,
i wonder: would they ever... er...
become Siamese? division gone awry,
or God teaching angels mathematics,
someone's bound to slip up... oh come on...
give room for some ****** simplicity!) -
what i want to reiterate is: even the queen doesn't
wear all the required authoritarian garments
throughout the year: look at her taste in
frocks... a puppet without a puppeteer -
now that's authority, wink-wink-oi-oi
nudge of the elbow, 'ello 'ello 'ello 'ello;
the same goes for me, you and every other
Jack and Jill... three words...
all statistical... mode... median... mean...
now, i haven't the foggiest how to differentiate
you a meaning for each... thus
looking at the poem i mentioned:
ontological modes - i.e. certain words can't
provide ontological modes -
attacking the verbiage, you honestly haven't
read continental thought, roll a spliff,
****** off... anyway...
it's like the queen's story... let's say her
garments are necessary analogy: she doesn't
wear all the pompous cloth and pearl
every day, unless it's everyday in a painting...
that's the same with vocabulary...
plus mode, median and mean are congested into
an alphabetical coercion -
let's say zoological and anthropoid -
so far apart you can almost keep them freshly
imprinted to a satisfying differential immediacy -
i.e. you can give me a meaning of the two words...
but mean (1) is soon followed by median (2)
                later comes the meaning of mode (3 -
in alphabetical order... even though
the alphabet has only a quantum chronology -
  compact a, first, then b - stranger that it
wasn't supposed to be necessarily e) -
which is why we seem to unhinge from specific
vocabularies - in education we are strained
at times to learn specific vocabularies,
but later discard them, we're actually repelled by
categorised vocabularies: niche vocabularies -
from the moment of hinging unto certain
words, we immediate unhinge from them...
leave school, learn to earn money...
as with the queen: we don't wear all the garments
of the vocabularies we were exposed to...
the difference being: she gets reminded...
the majority of us never get reminders
about using certain words: even in pub trivia
general knowledge quizzing, or that's the last
resort... for the most part, that's
what the dictionary is for:
                            it's prime utility has an
   a posteriori ontology -
                whereas the thesaurus (rex) has an
a priori ontology: which is why writers look up
words on the synonymous scale to create an exotic
jungle, which would otherwise look like the meadows
of Hyde Park... plus the dictionary states a word's
etymology - which doubles the proof that
a dictionary has an a posteriori ontology / nature
    of being used -
                                 in abstract, yes, ontology:
                 nature of being per se - box of chocolates
and Forrest Gump's wisdom on: you never know
what the kaleidoscope will show off and what you'll
get: mint?! yuck!
                             but as i already stated:
even the queen doesn't wear all the garments
required for the annual opening of parliament
every day... as with us and our lesser jewels:
words - not all words are there to be kept on
close surveillance through the year -
                     it's worthwhile remembering that
each of our faculties has a weakness...
and not all words are permanently loyal to us,
primarily through environmental fluctuations
governing their use, outside of a chemists?
would you necessarily hear nouns used in a chemist
outside a chemist? probably not...
so that's how i do mental crosswords -
well, i have absolutely no clues -
you have a bank balance an average Chinese
might have of 3000 ideograms -
    find me the tetraideogrammaton!
    earth wind & fire... & water...
                       but that's how i known i'm doing
crosswords in my head... a long forgotten word...
revisited... and instead of creating clues and guess
work: i have a narrative, anew -
a word once used in an examination paper,
later discarded, now revisited for my pleasure -
but we never have a complete account balance
of our vocabulary, that's always fluctuating like
stock-market share prices -
                we're like the queen without her
authoritarian garments most of the time -
                              we have (on purpose) set up
various bank accounts for specialised topics /
obscure knowledge - i really don't know if this
was a good idea - crosswords and obscure knowledge
trivia - again, like at school, this is a way
to misplace the greatest outlet of memory:
the optic foundation - the photographic something or other...
which, by way of consent has the power to
show us the dark room being opened -
      the Black Dot Eraser - happens all the time:
the Black Dot Eraser is like a concentrated form of
something, prone to insane gravity of pulling everything
into a nano-metre dot... a blind censor -
                      who says: i haven't seen anything prior,
and even with your words attempting to illuminate
the sense that hasn't graciously been bestowed upon me:
i will not see anything after.
                       unappealing the quest for
a unifying sense datum... of the five variations,
      given the five senses, how can we every reach
a simple i i i i i                 rather than a variable
                                      i i I I i?
      it's a basic schematic - a variation of?
some words (datum in exclusiveness) have variations
   in being ascribed sense - given there are give senses,
not every word (datum as exclusive of 4, but inclusive
   of at least 1) can be ascribed a placebo uniformity:
   i i i i i -                           since the nature of a datum is
   to show us fluctuation:
                                      e.g. i i I I i...
   given that different people, react to a word differently
in each sensual medium: the fluctuation of
   being given a piece of information inscribed in a word
when ingested by hearing, seeing, speaking, etc.
well... that's that: 200 camels came by the oasis
and drank 200 litres of water each (that is their
actual capacity after crossing a desert) -
                                                            and that's that:
testimony to the superiority of the oryx.

In the morning, I awoke
                               to the smell of burning rubber--the bats in paradox
with their champagne necks broken,
                                                         ­            telling stories from atop
                                the blisters on the celestial skin.
A sublime masochism with irises that devour events, and ribs of sunshine,
and this was the gong of the eleventh hour somewhere after four a.m.
when the mockingbirds lie bodies in strange angles,
                                                         under tracks and atop cars.
Garage underdogs howl at the fog
after self-inflicted shotgun wounds lying in the corner
of the greats things lost and the worst things gained

                the bleach corrodes the bombarded sidewalk
that you almost hear smoldering, whimpering on the empathetic verge
                                                                ­                                   of the ocean
                  where mini-stars explode, civilization ribbons coat the throats
                                         of you pedestrians, humanitarians
        all dressed and gifted
                                         to the ****** of equivalence,'
            and I am tooth drunk
                         on the placebo slide, carnations washed beneath the broom
                                  clinging to morsels that ***** blue sky down on the trumpeters.
On the fall of the eleventh hour---Carpe Diem crushed by sweaty palms into ***** work
and screaming
dance parties.
How low?
He, they,
it, I, she
throw lives away like ships
slicing through the ocean, the same reckless, but disciplined authority.

The making of every man begins before the union of the cell of his mother with that of his father; one thing leading to another

This always lies on strings of varied decisions which needs to meet in one way or the other for destiny to balance on in order to get to her creating destination

Before mine, some ***** went down the drain with some pain; a sign of womanhood and fertility

Before mine, some sea of men only flowed in and out because there was none in the house to recieve any of those cells to grow and make it out alive
So they returned a waste

At all those times when pulses elevated beyond normal and hormones of the souls which brought about my existence went busily crisscrossing each other to get the job done,
Those fallen ones were expendable decoys sacrificed to achieve emotional satisfaction

It was so, many times but my time was not cos destiny had it all planned and that plan got my batch to come at the right time

Scientists say it's the fittest and quickest that makes it out as another human but my case was so different

On that day
In the council of those brothers and sisters
The floor was given to each of us to make a case on the reason to be the one to go out in flesh

We all had the opportunity and everyone made a case

Each one of them presented intellectually satisfying arguments backed by illustrations that made decision making a difficult one

Finally the platform was given me and the room was so quiet you could hear the even the humans outside at the time

"I don't have a thing I can say I'm going out there to do in particular", I said

"I'm representing you all"

"The educators, I will be there for you
The health enthusiasts ,your job will be done
The other humanitarians, am going out for you"

"The intellectuals, trust me
The musicians, your songs would be heard
The artists, I will be there to uncover your insights
The spiritual ones, the work is going to be done
The poet's  your works will definitely see the light of the days
The athletes and sports personalities, I will put in my best to represent you"

After everything, the applause said it all and the rest is history

Therefore when the going gets tough and giving up seem the easiest option, I remember I'm not here for myself
I'm a representative of a batch of brothers and sisters who never made it out alive

Though scientists say it was a race, mine wasn't

I didn't race, I was chosen

One day I realised that time did not exist in the way I had imagined it to do,
And on another I discovered that we are just bags of water and bones and brain,
We slosh around, and we stumble through, and we stink, and we think.

Blind hatred is the complacent replacement for clean rational thought.
Blind love is the complacent dream for billions of lonely human beings.

We burn, and we bury, and we buy, and we break, and we violate,
And there are great humanitarians, but they are ultimately alone, as we all live and die.
One day I realised that the sun is the only thing that matters.

The roaring engines of soaring planes resonates through every alley way, street, and through every crack in the concrete.

The rainy opaque and gray clouds pour a feel of solemnity upon a sleepy city.

The melancholy beauty of my rainy day.

The gentle pitter patter of the drizzling rain caresses my face as i slow my pace to embrace the sound amongst the rain.

The brisk breeze that chills to a temperature ranging amongst the 50's travels through my slightly drenched hoody.

A damp feeling spreads through my body.

The clopping and the squelching noise of busy feet walking and stomping through wet sidewalks.

The chatter of pedestrians.

The complaining religious humanitarians.

To all of that....
                              I Listen......

Black bones. The pages twist. Oxygen runs down the furrows, split the spines. It hurts to look at. White phosphor. Teeth breaking.
I reached my hand in once. Jar of words. Symbols running like a river into the sea. They lose all meaning. Skin wet with breath.
Morning cold or an empty grip. Doesn’t matter.
They used to dance. Shadows running into the heart. Veins tangled. Feet kicking dust.
I’ve been trying to get the words out for awhile now. It hurts the more I try.
Backwards or forwards. Everyone smiles, but the gap grows and grows. We’re progressing, they say; heads rotting hollow. I try to fish them out, but pierce their flesh.
It’s dead now, so they leave.
I used to stare at the stars until they’d burned into my dreams. Ouroboros shaped like a maw. Infinity.
Progress. Human beings. Fingers, throats, airways. Seams of tissue, fibrous joints. I’m sick of humanitarians. Conscious flesh rising into godhood, breaching sanity. Hubris. Stupid words, talking themselves out of existence. Circles in circles. Black crows pecking at mirrors until they break. The animal runs its legs to the ground. Biology. Cells. DNA synthesis. Ligase, unwinding. Atomic emptiness. Split the human. Hiroshima. The enlightenment, a success. Clink of glassware. The president eats burnt flesh.
But none of that matters.
I press the ash between my tips. It feels like fur, collapsing skies. A junction that once was, and now will never be. There is time here. A broken, sad thing. Prisoner of its own flesh, sand in glass. I am lost in this moment. I am disappearing. Breaking like light through a prism.
Why do we even try?

Neuro analytics. /

*** is aesthetics?
                                                  The­ world is pathetic/

How much of my time have you taken? /

           The wolf has no need to read BACON/ Deeper then his will can take him. /

These low frequencies hurt mother gaia dirt layers of stratigraphy, the isotopes of the bones explains the old clones.  A zone with no sentimental tune.  

No concern to mention a common slur /get trapped in the blur peripheral glimpse I can see your curse it gets worst/
Adversus /My optimism among nurses (humanitarians)

Commercial quotes created by other commerical quotes I laugh at their notes/  

Locked inside a flock/ Lost outside the clock/ **** a pattern and a pen /They are stagnant again/ Repeating other's common sense worth about 10 cents a minute in debt with their whole lives left/

My ultra violent ray.  

My aura displayed.

Turning you crazy lost in a cave.

This  poetry as a painting

far from lazy.

As the writing speaks to me
.
.
"I'm glad you made me."
.
.
I reply  ******* PAY ME.

Peace talks if our piece
of the pie is bigger we
won't pull the trigger

                                     Kelly McManus

Whoever brought war to this world
Must have been an evil devil
See, fertile fields idle
Greenness they cradle
But inside them life crumbles
Lives many lives inside their bellies
They cruelly cuddles

What a human’s riddle
When masses in concentrated camps retires
As slowly they falls and expires
A heap of thin eaten bones
Humans as zombies-hell rotten clones
Just stashed skinny skeletons
Returns to humanitarians huts heartbroken
To wait to be just shrines
Of the fatal or battle famines

Fields sleeps still untilled
Occupied only by healthy bushes and shrubs
Humanity die unfilled
Fast of unsanitary outbreaks and scab-scrubs
Land lay undisturbed
Weeds wishing for someone them to pick
Humans perish perturbed
Of traumas, stigmas-too weak and so sick

Of hunger and starvation
Of thirst and malnutrition
Of deaths and devastations
Of infections and infestations
Of war-executions and explosions
Humans die of war-poverty and slavery-suppressions

Whoever brought war
To this well world’s wall
Must have been a devil for all
Can you look at them?
Once or if twice grace you've
Do you see little children?
If still they merit-forbidden!
Withered, shriveled like leaves in dry droughts
Just leanly stretched skins of skeletons  
It tries to cry, a hiss like a yawn comes out  

A malnourished mass-flame of fragile bones-
A stillborn foetus silently hibernating-mercifully striving living
Patched head becoming deserted and barren
Shrunken skull, inwardly bony discoloured eyes
Bony mandibles, jutting chops-sharp clavicles  
Increasingly round tummy above thinly matchsticks of legs

A child hanging on a shrunken shred
Of its slim dermis and her was tissues of coveted *******
And we say she is breastfeeding
Fingers bony like satan's claws, feeble and brittle
On her thin slowly leaving heaving chest
Enjoying mother's nourishing milk
An image, an illusion of her and it sufficiently suckling
Who brought war, war to this side of the world-Africa, Africa!?

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

There's half a bottle of wine the fridge
and a lifetime of worry in my bones.
I'm being dramatic, maybe, surely
when there's all those kids
starving over there in Africa.
My sister studied great whites there
without a college degree.
What did I want when I was eighteen?
We are all so sure, aren't we.
I lost my motivation
as easily as a senile old man loses his shoe.
It is there, somewhere, I know it.
And the longer I look
the more frantic I become.
And there are days when not caring
seems okay.
They shouldn't tell us
we can all become doctors
and home owners, actors,
professional chefs, humanitarians.
I wished for something I didn't know
I didn't want.
And what do I wish for now
but a happiness that exists
at the end of a dog's leash.
Is mindfulness or oblivion a better choice?
The answer is not at the bottom of a bottle
but in this case
it is only half full
so what is the harm.

Science-Heroes-com : But some humanitarians were upset. They claimed the ban was a death sentence to millions of people. And they had statistics. In Sri Lanka, the country’s malaria burden shrunk from 2.8 million cases in the 1940s to just 17 in 1965, due to the use of D.D.T. Five years after the country stopped using D.D.T., the number of cases had risen to 500,000. In the 1980’s Madagascar stopped using D.D.T. and immediately had an epidemic of malaria, resulting in the death of more than 100,000 people. The humanitarians’ rage over the ban was summed up by Michael Crichton, author of Jurassic Park. One of his characters in the novel State of Fear says that banning D.D.T. was “arguably the greatest tragedy of the twentieth century” and that the ban “killed more than ******.”**




Azzedine Alaïa (26 February 1940 -- 18 November 2017) was a Tunisian-born couturier and shoe designer

Friedel Rausch (27 February 1940 – 18 November 2017) was a German football player and manager.[

Small town kid with a pocket full of dreams
Ran to the city to bust on the scene
A taximan told him "welcome to intellectual hollywood, Washington D.C."
He smirked and cracked back "y'all gonna need me"

He had enough work ethic to make up for what he lacks
But no lawman nor humanitarians are hiring, he fell through the cracks
He sure came a long way to have nothing to say
His dues were passed time to pay, but instead he sat on his stoop with a cigarette puffing away

He would just say to himself
One day, one day, one day

He just wanted happiness
Instead he got this
He got mediocre.
What if he got his dream?
The voices of Yeats and Socrates would chime in
"What then?"

Don't look for fruit on a rotten tree
And don't try to follow the stars by their reflection in the sea
And definitely don't take your dreams to Washington D.C.

Science-Heroes-com : But some humanitarians were upset. They claimed the ban was a death sentence to millions of people. And they had statistics. In Sri Lanka, the country’s malaria burden shrunk from 2.8 million cases in the 1940s to just 17 in 1965, due to the use of D.D.T. Five years after the country stopped using D.D.T., the number of cases had risen to 500,000. In the 1980’s Madagascar stopped using D.D.T. and immediately had an epidemic of malaria, resulting in the death of more than 100,000 people. The humanitarians’ rage over the ban was summed up by Michael Crichton, author of “Jurassic Park.”) One of his characters in the novel “State of Fear” says that banning D.D.T. was “arguably the greatest tragedy of the twentieth century” and that the ban “killed more than ******.”

Believe me,

Betta is better for humanitarians.

Edu is a useful tool for teaching refugees.