"importing" poems
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals
tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people
adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame
splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography
drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids
accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration
synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Being underage is like living in the prohibition era
There's always a party going on somewhere
Golden girls with bobbed hair and flowing clothing
Bad boys over-age importing alcohol in.
The roaring under-20s
The tales of the Jazz age
There's always a dance to have
A friend to stick with
A boy to catch your eye.
I never got invited to parties
That is, until I reached the roaring heights
Of high society
When for one night I was the focus of your attention
No other girl danced as much with you.
People were taking drags on long cigarettes
Noise everywhere, wild young hearts aflame
You caught my eye once more
And you looked at me the way all girls want to be looked at.
Our courage bubbled over, I gave you a kiss on the cheek
A Parisian end to the night
And I let you go off
Into the misty green light.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
In the Presidential Palace, the steaks are served up seared.
There’s an excellent wine cellar for meals expertly prepared.
The Palace is cool in summer; in winter it's toasty warm,
And Maduro and his spouse are always safe and free from harm.
In the streets of Venezuela there is anger and despair.
Inflation is the problem but why should Maduro care.
The store shelves are nearly empty; most people live in fear
There is ****** done in daylight and the sense that chaos nears.
This was once a beautiful, Prosperous land, the envy of the South.
Then a populist Socialist came to drive investors out.
Now a nation, resource rich, has been importing oil,
a nation whose own oil reserves are the greatest in the world.
His critics?- dead or imprisoned; the media is controlled
There’s no term limits on his rule. Voters do as they are told.
Demonstrators, even peaceful, can be shot down in the street
While Maduro sips his wine and decides what next he’ll have to eat.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
man leisured by the least obliging functioning
of what he terms “proper” manual endeavours of the biceps
will clearly resolve the matter being his last adventure that’s consumerism,
creating as many menial jobs as possible without the freedom
to enjoy hardish and the elements;
but of course man’s life will become easier,
but his adventure seeking will
simply become a zoology, a safari,
a safety netting - consumerism is hardly
an adventure, it’s a bicycle schematic:
one wheel produces, another wheel consumes;
most of the jobs under the hammer
were not menial, they became menial
only when heidegger’s hammer was involved
and the rebellion came when hammering nails
in turned into discussing philosophy;
it’s hard to commence an emergence of philosophy
window shopping, woman’s new kitchen area:
you know how many marriages i have seen fail
because of over-cooked pasta? too many.
you know how many glass houses i’ve seen constructed
by women peering into shop windows at mannequins?
too many. i sometimes think about sartre’s c.c.t.v. voyeurism
pervasive in english society alongside paedophilia,
and i guess the jigsaw parts fit... they do;
once dubbed the nation of shopkeepers,
now dubbed the nation of integrally ~foreign mortgage lenders
(nation of property developers / landlords... indeed,
once a nation of shopkeepers, now a nation of landlords):
or a nation re-evaluating communism
by importing slavs to talk of the ups and lows of communism
by trying to curb capitalistic egoism and turn it into a collective
without communism’s egoism father stalin:
or queen bee or queen ant china.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
.*of course i dream i fame, who doesn't dream of either fame or fortune... but... i'm sane enough to want to achieve that sort of stature, postmortem... what? with all the celebrity culture big brother ******** who the hell seeks fame while still alive? oh... well... there are the countless examples...*
and why would i take an ancestry test
of my D.N.A. make-up?
i remember the first conversation
i had with the father of my
first girlfriend...
how many famous Poles (Polaks...
do i look like something akin
to an anorexic waving a *******
flag?) there were...
i forgot Copernicus...
i forgot Marie Curie...
i forgot Chopin...
**** i forgot my own name
when i saw my first girlfriend's
sister walk down the stairs...
why would i do D.N.A. testing?
i just looked at what we eat...
and i mean we, truly,
it's called haggis in Scotland,
it's called black pudding
in England,
and it's also called
czarna kiszka (black intestines)
in Poland...
the Vikings founded Kiev
after all...
i like Nordic music, take a guess...
take a while...
my maternal surname is
Batuk... which is a Bohemian
variant of the Polak Batóg...
so a mix of Czech and...
Viking? the Goths...
if i had the time, and also the time
reference to reply to my first girlfriend's
father... while i was rudely
interrupted by the nymph that was
her sister... it's still a dream to me...
or what's called an arranged marriage
in India...
well... i would reply...
and how many Nobel literature
laureates... came from... England?
deathly silence...
you're right...
you're importing all this ******
post empire post colonial
perspectives and you have...
0 Nobel laureates in
the category of literature...
none!
zero! nil! oh!
yeah...
oh... really?
yes!
zilch... so zip-it-up, shrimpy.
i take certain words to heart...
sharpens my memory,
i'm not offended...
i just remember better...
you sometimes require certain
rubrics that are exclusive
and do not include
the rubrics of formal education...
this memory?
oh...
2003.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
Build me a mountain way up to the sky and
throw in a river with boats sailing by,
I
have movies that float in my head and my eyes see them all when I'm home in the dark, in my bed there's a shark that plays music to me, ghosts and chameleons they're all running free so build me a mountain and allow me to climb, bring me buckets and spades and some cool Rayban shades, I want Sun, I want some, some fun, wholesome, some funsome and frolic, a nice alcoholic drink in a cup with a straw, see-saws and dodgems, amusements and candy, men on stilts, girls in kilts, ducks with hooks, story books, slides and rides galore, give me more, more me, running free with the chameleons and ghosts, trains to the coast can call then, see the mountain and when the can falls hit by three wooden ***** hear the shouts, glee on the roundabouts, goldfish in a bowl, hole in one for a prize, crazy golf, crazy eyes.
Build me a mountain way up to the sky and I'll show you how and I'll tell you why it's importantly me, importing some glee, running crazy mad free,
with boats sailing by.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
*actually, the only home i have are the muddy fields of belgium during world war i, or among the jews, but given the jews are settled, i guess i better daydream: i mean i never got the cultural imprint of the english idea of dating... put me in the Czech Republic and i'd be freely participating in ****** any day... this stiffening date-culture never appealed to me, it always felt like a divorce before a marriage: so no amorous fun with body but fun in making out in cordiality of being fully dressed and lapping palettes up with tongue rather than the ******** as if throwing a coconut at Robinson Crusoe? yes?! ah crap... point towards the Zulu clan, i just feel the need to strip naked.*
yeah, i believe in meow-meow land,
that's the country next to la-la-land...
where you're trying to sterilise
yourself in terms of organic
historicity and integrate yourself
in terms of inorganic sterilisation
via importing alien values to hush
the monogamy crescendo of failure.
with the irish telling you:
ain't no english...
and with scots you shout back:
there's no thing as to be treated impossible
whether in thought about or moved!
the irish want you to have a coarse
enough accent as them so you can be belittled...
i always favoured the scots, warm-hearted ********
and i too the first hairy-shinned trans-gender
kilt loving twirly girl of a music box
of cherry tree cheaply picked Muzak
for the thrills of shopping for cardigans and pineapples.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
this is the search
to my found
the balance
the hang
to my swing
in a trance
looking out
Wanting answers
Importing
some meaningless
in - count her
once
twice
It will not be free
It is already owe her
undone with
in due course
Everything is
asset
should be?
Know more
meetings
necessary
open it in
words won
last time
you'd hold me it wouldn't be
different
when you look:
din
(the mirror)
The shawl curls lazy
on the floor
and the shine creep
sin -
eyes drawn
to light
ex
turn all
the handles
and peer
into dusky rooms
full of
things we say
when we need someone
are you he(re
how long for)?
are you (go.)ne for an
emb(race)
the fear
falling fast
**** it's freezing in here
without
you have no name
no excuse yet
to leave
or stay
no depart date
in mind
or in mine
which is better?
sewing
fused with
you
full of
**** - there's some
one
at the door
I think but
what if
there
isn't
?
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 3:28 PM UTC
plants evolved organic defense mechanisms
when being preyed upon
they send off organic frequencies
that attracts a predator to what preys on them
natives and indigenous humans
have and even more complex
organic defense mechanism
to hurt and torture sends signals
organic signals
evolved humans
so therefore slavery
although the intentions were white supremacy
attempting to subordinate and control
through fear and enforcement of whiteness
because whiteness exists from fear of being tortured
African who are native
indigenous
but also
native
doctors
lawyers
engineers
professors
families
warriors
forcing into slaves
shipping and importing into every space imaginable
of America
conception
thorough dispersion
****** and procreating
light skinned warriors
infiltrated every aspect
of predatory whiteness
and so without meaning to
accidentally
the organic defense of natives
indigenous
humans
those attempting it be predators
are overwhelmed by humans who are still
close to being native
indigenous
so whiteness
in denouncing
native
indigenous
evolution
denouncing blackness
denouncing womanhood
we all came from Africa
whiteness denouncing origins
creates a place that can no longer exist
having invited and imported its own demise
outsourcing its own existence and sustainability
what a terrible mistake
to torture such evolved
humans
who also have the freedom
to perform vengeance
in any way desired
without warning
private and public
invincible
impeccable
predators to the failure of whiteness
to consume humanity
into objects of indulgence
in order for whiteness to continue
it would have had to keep us in captivity
completely
thoroughly
but it couldn’t
it fails its attempt
because we are too powerful
and we charmed so many
of associates to whiteness
and competed with the fear of not being white
making it too dangerous
liable
to keep us in captivity
won them over
to being human
native evolved
evolution is destroying whiteness
through infiltration
conception
procreation
pseudo forgiveness
organization
impunity of whiteness
becomes its weakness
whiteness would have to declare
absolute martial law
and be completely uniform
about its intentions and meaning
to be its group
severely brutal and unforgiving
but it failed to maintain
this status quo
legally
socially
psychologically
institutionally
sexually
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
basemented this liminal vivarium of cool moulded plastic
with mirrors standing in for windows
and a ring of branded restaurants taking refuge at the edges
all familiar no surprises
the staff set up
for the consumers morning
of slack mastication
(Local chain, national, international)
the old-timers glomming into clump
benign zombies
an arrangement of fellas with dissolving jaws
cudding over mammary notions
untailored in sacky pallid sultana skins
reform in a mumble
doing snailish pinball movements
crossing and recrossing floors
cleanly tiled for biohazard accidents
salivating about the savoury soft foods to come
the restaurants rattle-shake-raise their security blinds
also noted
a mixed bag of people projecting
into their smooth glowing slablets
making out like worldly fools
also present
cropped and groomed toy security
peering between the fronds of plastic foliage
offscreen
public bathrooms the first struggling **** of the day
also present
a bench of youngsters in bright blue screen matching pjs
the four employees of sanitation
drumming up for the shift
see also
vague happy lady in a garish sarong
importing her holiday religion
Apr 2, 2024
Apr 2, 2024 at 3:22 PM UTC
Take me back to the days
Where the feel of texture and distinguishing colors among Africans didn't matter
Where the only word was black, and not pale or darker
Where the only weapon was loyalty upto royalty actually smarter
Where mother tongue superiority excelled the rest was after.
Where rituals and ceremonies were significant in culture
Where oral traditions activities was a preservation of history.
Where inclusivity wasn't done based on tribe, status or age
Where inspiration and education was passed from generation to generation through storytelling.
Where people performed rather than spoke
Where the media was the speaker's tone, volume, and cadence
Take me back to the days
Where people did not blame nationality, ethnicity,
culture, economics and education
Where there was no colonial **********
Where there was no concept of slavery, racism or discrimination.
Where Africa was rich in culture and not the fallacy of primitive and a backward jungle
Where Africa was peaceful and not a race with guns and violent.
Where shouting am black and proud wasn't important because color didn't matter.
Where respect for elders remained an unbroken cornerstone in african culture
Where birth, marriage and burial rites was honored.
Welcome to today's Africa
Where exporting and importing of cultures have become the trend
Where cultures travel through deserts, cross trade routes and through immigration borders
Where exchange disregards our notions of geography and race.
Where virtues such as hospitality, empathy, courtesy and respect is long gone
Where the only thing left are byproducts of culture.
Where multiculturalism has faded and everone hails on becoming one
The richness is not in Africa looking like Europe
What makes the world beautiful is in the diverse contributions
Welcome to today's Africa
Where culture is paraded on an image of drum beating
Where media's notion is dancing naked or eating bush meat
Where in the midst of it all culture lost its definition
Where there is no importance in defending a territory with no boundaries.
Where technology dominated our land and mind
The struggle lies in reclaiming what is rightfully ours
I refuse to fall and cramble because I'm for the idea of sameness.
In the mind is where it all starts
I put no blame on culture, not my affliction.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
She reflects. Time,
Time patterns, events,
Sorts them into allotted
Compartments inside
Her head. Or attempts
The task whilst smoking,
Sensing the smoke hit
The back of her throat,
Trying to keep thoughts
In order, separate the
Chaff, the small talk,
The did I tell you what
So and so did, kind of
Chatter, nothing of
Importance, no real
Matter. Toadbody
Imported philosophy
Into her mind, the left
Wing Marxian kind,
But ****** her well at
The same time. He had
A wart on his *****
Felt rather than seen,
Somewhat like the love
Of God, she thought. She
Knew she had the pox.
Another Toadbody import,
A parting gift no doubt,
After the rude disagreement
And noisy rout. She inhales
The smoke. Remembers
Toadbody’s attempts at
Long lasting *** as a huge
Joke. She still dreams of
Capitalism’s demise, the long
Ago promised revolution to
Come over the hill of history
Like a ****** out *****
Murdering millions, pretty
Much as it did before. She
Imagines Toadbody importing
Into another dame his weak
Philosophy, ***** and love
For want of a better name.
She is free of him. Out on
A limb, staring at stars and
Moon, waiting for God or fate
To bring her another love or
Lover or sexually satisfying mate.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC