"jackboot" poems
Black Lives Splatter on the heal of American Jackboot Patriotism.
When will black lives matter?
When all life ceases to be divided into races,
and we are seen as a single species,
as a spectrum rather than as separate colors.
No matter how devastating this reality may be,
it is the reality.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 10:48 PM UTC
**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy. As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures. Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being. Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the spunk. If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself. Fuck your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses. Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge. Cock sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man. Nevertheless let this not ********* you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion. Touch yourself. To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches. Neither be cheeky about ****** ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist. Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness. Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity. But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings. Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness. Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself. You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end. And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should. Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** intercourse. With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory. Stand pert. Die in the attempt to be boozed up.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
What moral magistrate
Monster of mediocrity
Makes a model citizen of me
Even if I don’t want to be
All upright and uptight
Humorless jackboot
Goose stepping toadstool
The fascist conservative fool
Who pedals misinformation
Counting on fear and stupidity
To turn strangers into tools
Yep that one eyed sheep
In the blind herd
Who wants to tell me
What I should or shouldn’t do
Why bother
With that proctor
Of indignity
Who counsels
The talented
To remain dormant
In their humility
Doctor of docility
Prescribing conformity
Storming the cities
Bleeding us of our individuality
To make more metal cogs
For the culture machine
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
Rise.
Rise and be heard.
Rise and brandish your resolve.
Rise to fend the jackboot of oppression and
the black hand that seeks to cover the sky.
Rise to keep the warm sun upon your face.
Rise and continue to breathe free.
for Ukraine
Feb 27, 2022
Feb 27, 2022 at 6:45 PM UTC
From the darkness of a midnight corner
a sudden gleam - light on a shiny surface
wet where everything is always dry a
lump of something darker than the night
huddles in a heap against the plaster
broken by the jackboot toes of time
rushing through to other places
There is no definition to the shape
that quivers but does not ever move
or shift the silent air with breathing
From the corner where no light invades
the shadow of a recent battle
hides the echoes of the last defeat
and muffles cries for help to come
and blends itself into the blackness
that’s both transparent and opaque
presenting as a silly fun house mirror
changing all perceptions of reality
In the murky gloom that dominates the corner
keeping time to music no one hears
the marks left by the whip are hard to see and
seeping red drops fake the look of ink
The half closed eye is leaking little rainbows
made from seven shades of ebony
that fall and ****** on the carbon floor
as the clump of misery refolds itself
in ever smaller, tighter packets tied with screams
that ricochet into the vastness of forever.
No White Knight or Unicorn
will ever find the corner
The spotlight of humanity
sports a burned out bulb
The gentle hand of kindness
is rolled into a fist and stuffed
into a pocket of uncaring.
The corner was
The corner is
The corner ever
more will be
ljm
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
Across this green and verdant land
Atop the snow capped reaches high,
Shadows lengthen as the sun
Descends in golden strata sky.
Alone I sit on granite stone
Contemplating nature’s gold
Why then, is my mood so dark?
Why then do I feel, so old?
I caste my mind across the sea
To continents adrift and lost
Where war and famine grow unchecked,
Where we, afar, won’t count the cost.
Where we who dwell in peaceful air
Rescind concern for they who bleed,
In Syria’s protracted scream
Or under Russian jackboot greed.
Where we who dwell in peaceful air
Withhold our roar of hot retort,
Who turn the other cheek to look
Away from honour’s last resort.
Where politic’s impotent bleat
Of sanctions threat for Cossack cheek
A nervous holding hand depicts
The West’s resolve is proven weak.
Instigators, born of wealth
And power, seeking more and more,
Manipulating Putin and Obama's
Calculated Chess game score.
We who watch with no comment
In green surround and peaceful sky
Now turn to look the other way
As they in distant places die.
Do we come to terms with this,
This dereliction born of loss?
Across the globe this dirth of care,
Humanity's lead albatross?
M.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
as she walked slowly
down the middle of the night road
she tears off pieces of herself
and scatters them face-up on the cool pavement
they stare up at the spinning stars grinning
she mutters the song with
a small rough broken english voice
guttural it echoes softly
off the closed storefronts
and sounds like Christmas if ya think about it
her reflection swings slow through the motions
each pane of glass tinted with
the tidal forces of tears and rumors
each day has seen it much discussed
tread like jackboot in the fragile hall
like a bird in flight
you can see in slow motion the beauty
of its flight
you can sense the brilliance of its craftsmanship
somewhere its creator is laughing himself sick
she reaches an impasse
and turns casting pieces like hemlock prizes
into eating the parts of the night
she can no longer stand
so the silence dissapears
and the warm space between dark and light
becomes cold once again
versions of herself
scatter to shopping mall parking lots
all over the world
and all the carts are taken down
like disassembled dreams
like laughter halved
like a smile too close to tears
brave knights fallen
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
I wished cigarette smokers
would pick their own butts up.
Those lazy ******* have no idea how
much trouble they cause us soldier-guys.
24/7 in all kinds of weather,
we’re out policing up the grounds.
Sometimes it’s raining,
sometimes it’s hotter than hell,
sometimes it’s freezing cold.
Regardless,
all of this monotony is ********
it *****
I’d love to stick my jackboot
up all them smoker’s other butts
for being so lazy!
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
The world is upside down,
we did not prepare, we would not believe,
That our time will see a fool that wears the crown,
That the jackboot once again stomps the dreams so free,
The sun and moon will drown,
We refuse to see,
Those who we consider brothers,
Will turn on us with righteous frowns,
That they will cover and devour.
The fear is real and now,
Two horsemen are ready, and they are here,
They make us starve, they make us bow,
Until the other two appear.
The world is upside down.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 12:58 AM UTC