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kevin morris Dec 2013
I thought that I would try my hand at a short children’s story.

---

Johny was bored. In fact he couldn’t remember having ever felt so fed up in his entire life. Dad had fallen asleep reading the paper while his mum sat reading some silly book with long words he couldn’t understand.
“I’m bored”.
“Why don’t you go and find someone to play with? There are lots of children on the beach, so many I can’t count them” his mother said laughing.
“Don’t want to. I’m bored” Johny said kicking sand in his mum’s face.
“You naughty boy!” Mrs Thomas said desperately attempting to clear her eyes of sand with a tissue. “Just wait until I get my hands on you!”
Johny felt guilty but he wasn’t about to apologise. Saying sorry was for wimps and he was no wimp. Before his mum had chance to get the sand out of her eyes Johny ran into the sea.
The water was cool. Johny kicked his legs sending water splashing high into the air. This was fun! Johny paddled away from the beach. He was no longer bored, this was much more interesting than reading a boring old newspaper or a book with words he couldn’t understand.
Suddenly the ground began to ***** downwards. Johny felt that he was going to be ****** to the very bottom of the ocean.
“Help!” he cried his hands grabbing at an enormous chain of sea ****. Gosh the chain was thick, bigger even than his dad’s huge arms. The chain didn’t move.
“That’s lucky I thought that sea **** floated but this is attached to something. Its stopped me from drowning. If it moved then I’d be ****** to the bottom of the ocean” Johny said with a shiver.
Johny followed the chain down. It was attached to a large rock.
“I wonder if I can lift this rock” Johny thought.
He tugged at the chain. Nothing happened.
“You will move you stupid rock” he said digging his toes into the soft sand and pulling back with all his strenghth. Suddenly there was a loud pop followed by a gurgling sound. Johny found himself lying flat on his back in a puddle of water. A puddle that couldn’t be right!
“Now look what you have done!”
Johny looked up to see a star fish desperately trying to find some water to swim in.
“You have let the plug out!”
“But I didn’t mean to!”
“That’s all very well but the fact is that you pulled the plug out and soon I and the other creatures who live in the sea will have no water to swim in. Without water we will die!”
Johny began to cry.
“I’m very sorry I didn’t know that the sea had a plug”.
“Your bath has a plug doesn’t it?”
“Yes of course”.
“Well then it should be obvious to an intelligent little boy like you that the ocean has a plug. How else do you think the sea god controls the tide? But the sea god only opens the plug hole a little bit so that I and the other creatures have time to swim far out into the ocean before the water disappears. There are lots of plugs all over the world and you have pulled one of them out completely!”
“What can I do? I’m very sorry Mr star fish, please just tell me what I can do”.
“See that cave over there?” the star fish asked pointing in the direction of a small cave in the cliff face.
“Yes”.
“Run as quick as you can and turn the taps on”.
“The taps?”
“I thought that you where a clever little boy. Yes the taps. Your sink and bath at home have taps don’t they to fill them up? So how else do you think that the sea god fills up the ocean?”
“Wow I didn’t know that” Johny said. As quick as a flash Johny raced to the cave. Inside he found a huge tap built into the cliff face.
“I’ll never be able to move that” Johny thought looking sadly at the enormous tap, “but I must otherwise all those poor sea creatures will die and it will be all my fault”. Taking hold of the tap Johny turned with all his might. At first nothing happened but, gradually a stream of salt water began to flow from the secret pipes hidden far below the sea bed. The sea level began to rise. Johny could see small waves dancing in the sunshine.
“Thank you little boy” the star fish called as he headed out into the deep blue ocean.

The end
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
finding gravity on a bicycle...

surely... given that most people
don't write a ******* hemmingway...
and there's no william buckley jr.
doing the interview...
and there's no norman mailer...

and that: no one really bothers
with kierkegaard and that:
kant "famously" didn't marry starry crap...
why didn't i have kids
and start a family?
uh... dunno... mother's best lie...
or the best lie a neighbour brings
with her... whenever you're
being a 2nd witness without
the 1st witness being there...

and she says an "also" with regards
to her son having the same luck
with women...
when the comparison comes:
a koala bear versus a gorilla...
bonsai tiger!
like a koala is a ******* bear
to begin with...
cuddly soft-pouch toy-ah-thing!

but there's that great feat!
finding gravity on a bicycle...
my mother helped me with that...
and that famous fail of
a rotondo... well... more or less
a cricket ground egg shaped, oval...
or a rugby ball...
the shoulder on the salto bike
hard... rammed into a car....

as a child you were supposedly well
loved...
and this is modern poo'etry i hear about?
here's to: john sounding like johny...
will sounding like *****...
richard sounding like: **** and not richy...
it's cute... matthew... matti: finnish...
leonard is: leo oh leo...
why art we all not named: Li Lo Po!

of course everyone managed to spot
the tetragrammaton vowel catchers that's
hey'zeus! no... not the bloke strapped
to the mannequin of tailoring...
oh no... not the crucifix pendulum
"for us all"... by blood... by cross...
who is to exfoliate on the crucifix...
better than some well scouted for materials
on a mannequin canvas for tailoring
a suit?
the guilt?! oh the guilt!
well... thank god this metaphysician would
never address the material realm of
enjoying a... dabble with... wool...
when donning a suit...
or leather shoes... or any presence of suede...
beside the crucifix mannequin: replica
and pittance!

- but finding gravity on a bicycle is one thing...
finding gravity when swimming is another...
it's called gravity...
but some heretical circles call it:
balance...
after all... it is both gravity...
and balance... given that while riding
a bike... or swimming...
you're pretty much sure, assured:
to not be falling...

you can find gravity with newtonian hindsight...
of sure...
that's there... it involves the magicians orbs...
copernican mathematics and...
target practice when it comes to
propaganda spew...
and Steward... the lesser... Stew...
cousin of the house of Stuart...
not Steward... Stuart...
which is (again)...
a McKiteit and MacCoddlewit...
some Glaswegian *****-donor clinic
"miss-up" mix-it: tend to...
lounging busy... which is of course...
besides the "look"...

5 bazookas cleared for a salvo!
hip hip! burger-pound!
hip hip! boom shizzle shoom!
hip hip! hooray!
oh now we'z getz uz best
partay birth doy wishy-washy
"protagonists"!

but given the current Persian affair...
i couldn't help to notice...
love actually... the narrative...
the u.s.a. and england...
the Z-spezial re-la-tion-ship...

so... who's spastic... and who's fantastic?!
spaz: B-bristolian-esque joking...
never aside...
who's the spaz and who's the frizzy-fuss?!

spe-zial mother russia talks down
to dog Kiev: yes, it's in (the) Ukraine...
spezial iz not what iz?

h'america... kept a yorkshire terrier...
media leetches of england
firmly in its grasp...
cuz onez we woz: once -
the militia contra the crown...
of north virginia...

coz b'rah: a 79-year-old man
who lit himself on fire protesting
against russia's language policies
in the capital of the volga region
of udmurtia has died;
name? alberto raisin...
which sounds terrible in its
non-native spanish...

but there's something worth of gravity
without debating
the heliocentric model...
finding one's balance on a bicycle...
a posteriori events...
but... the same balance can be
translated into a swimming session...

my god my father tried to teach me...
if i was supposed to learn
to swim in the sea...
with the fear: of not seeing the depth?
isn't that like a thesaurus
congestion of: acrophobia?
isn't there a word in the borrowed
lexicon of the ancient greeks...
concerning... fearing to swim in a body
of water... where you can't see the bottom?
i could learn to swim in a swimming
pool... thankfuly all because and due to...
moi...

i also found gravity in water...
i could... lie in water and become...
the antithesis of: the body consists
of 90% of water...
yes sherlock watson & sons... ltd...
but in water i'm mostly fat...
if i find the right balance...
i float...
which is why swimming is a bit
like riding a bicycle...
you find: the center...
or gravity...

again... in this special "relationship"
of bruv-love...
between h'america and whittle brit-pop interlude...
oasis on the continent...
my my... blur, even...
breakfast at tiffany's back in the dough-dough-us...
who is the ******* SPASTIC?
in this "SPEZIAL" relationship?
i guess the english must be the SPEZIALS...

a bit like watching:
go-go-gonzales trip up on a spelling mistake...
which is all i care for...
like a comedia...
a deviation from the informal, later,
subject of language implementation...
and all this peacocking prior...

where else does gravity allow itself...
a presence of the multi-vector?
up and down... left and right...
it's not as easily explained as:
on a ledge... with an apple...
drop it... newton with a header!
a 1-all equalizer in stoppage time
an F.A. cup re-match!

gravity on a bicycle...
it's hardly a drop affair...
gravity in water...
it's hardly merely swimming...
there's that aspect of finding... buoyancy...
there's not need for you to swim...
to exhert so much effort...
that you might as well drown 10 meters
in after swimming the 'undred...

no buoyancy: no chinese fortune cookies...
i still don't know which is more grand...
beside the acrobatics of... olympic level
acrobatics...

it's not bound to youth via lifting weights...
or supreme mao tse tung's winter olympics
of: hunger strikes in Vinter...
the gravity bound to a bicycle...
or the gravity bound to swimming...
after all... the latter is a bit "funny"...

"levitation" and buoyancy...
the dracula soundtrack:
only because of gary oldman and the composer
wojciech kilar... and the given, current...
b.b.c. spin-off and how...
yes... it's that terrible...
i don't even know where those five-stars
came from!
the archetype of feminine romance novels?
the syphilitic lover? the "vampire"?

yes, no? two guesses as good as: nein - keiner...
and, quiet honestly...
nothing could make this exercise in:
not engaging in any of all the available
comments sections on any website...
any worse... than it already is...

it comes as no surprise that: i write this poo'ems
not because i don't write poetry...
but because i will neither write
a poem by standards reserved for
pedagogy or demagogy...
or write identifiable puzzle-bog-trots of...
language reserved for politicization:
and not for... counter-marxist...
"psychiatric" post-...
hardly modern or... "today's journalism"...
eh... pushing it toward a Beckett-clause...
concerning language that is not expected...
oh but i certainly do know
a difference between formal language
and... this... the informal language...
the cognitive extension that does not
require a "free speech" protection bias...

none of this was spoken...
it was seen...
weaved into "thinking"...
that's the difference... isn't it?
from my end of the tenniscourt "promenade"
i've heard nothing but clickick...
off this dead-end replica piano
of a qwer
asdf
zxcvbnm

unless my shadow spoke... or there was some
telepathic connection
with the schizoid "group-think" of me
sourcing my sometime odd...
cognitive-murmors of "thought"...
"hallucinations"...
so be it...

this defence of a freedom of speech...
how does that even extend into writing?
i will never know...
and to be honest? i don't want to know...
writing is an extension of thinking...
which is also an inversion of speaking...
but it's never speaking...
where's the audio on this piece?!

how about... plucking your eyes out,
after fating yourself with the
original curiosity to begin with?
sounds better: than... what still persists as...
not being, said!

this was written, it wasn't said...
this is not a transcript...
this is not a transcript...
if this is censored...
then my... "schizophrenia" is not even
my original thesis of: bogus
mono-lingual parody of bilingualism...
no need to cite **** sapiens
jurisprudence advocates...
lawyers... the thesaurus bargain barons etc.
this is... what's those words they use?
invasion of the tabernacle?
do my "auditory hallucinations" stem from...
these words...
a private investement in internet access...
again: nothing is being said!
because this is a "public arena"...
a "forum"...
and the eyes on the other side of this text...
are c.c.t.v. eyes?!
not private eyes?

what's the point of freedom of speech?
when the freedom to think:
and subsequently write... is bombarded
by being who: see via reading braille...
and read... comments likes dislikes and all
those other ratios?

writing is an extension of a freedom
to think... most people who speak freely
don't speak via a precursor script...
that's not free speech: that's scripted speech!
and just because it happens be placed
in a public "forum"...
that's the argument that this writing
is a freedom of "speech"?!
really?! i guess your average u.s. citizen
is more despotic than the *******
president... then...

again.. blah blah blah blah blah...
blah blah.... blah blah blah blah blah...
blah... blah blah... blah blah blah blah blah blah...

you'd sooner convince a parrot to sing
you a song in sparrow than call this "debate"...
evenly focused on one or neither side "winning".
oo put dis paintin on me walls
me gona find out eider way
me gona drive to niagra falls
to find out who ruined me walls

rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


ey ***** me say to me wife
dis be yor stupid paintin,
no steve it aint (read double life)
******* dis be ugly anyways
sorry steve, shush *****,
u no i turned reggae
me name aint steve anymor
call me steve one more time
and il shove a lawnmor up ur ***,
its reggae mon not steve  


rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


johny johny, "yes papa"?
did u put dis tin on me walls?
"no papa", telling alie?
"no papa", close your eyes
smack! dont put any tin
on me walls *******!
sorry papa it wasn't me
shut up, smoke a splif *******

rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


hoo could ave put dis ting on me walls?
maby is me smoke me a splif
me will remember if me did it or not
but me out of rolling papers
and me left me ganga in me rig

rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


me left me rig at me work
me boss dont no ow to twerk
me boss tink she no ow to twerk
no wan wants to break da news
me just a shy island boy
still confused bout de paintin

rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******


love reggae
love ganga
love art
love poetry
reggae love ganga trucker family
Johny Christ, the hitman-turned-messiah,
Conferred Death Painless with his barehands
His ads were passed on secretly
And invalids formed his early clientele
The depressed, the spurned and the real thinking folks,
All awakened to Nirvana Call, called him
He left no trace, and the deaths looked natural
Death Painless- quiet as breathing
His popsicle-*******, while administering, kept the people guessing
Where his powers came from

Johny Christ was not without his own share of Temptations- he fought, for example,
The urge to Save the roly-poly kid
Who was clumsy with his hands and Stood over the dropped food and Looked clueless about life
l{one}l{I}ness
hurts like
one
e   m   p   t   y
cup of coffee while another sits
cold in the late afternoon light
full and a little bitter
like your stomach
it stings
like
too much wine -- or *****--
against chapped lips
at 10:45p.m.
finding a ****** wrapper under your bed
of trapped in the corners of your sheets
or cigarette cherries falling onto fuzzy
knee
caps
while Johny Cash
sings you into drunken sleep
al{one}
at
11:30 p.m.
it throbs like heads
and unanswered text messages
and bruises on your knees
the day
after
blinking dizzily into grey-morning-afternoon-night
waking up in a single bed
when the fires have gone out
makeup is smeared
and you realize you forgot to put on socks
it feels like that look on your face
when calls go unanswered
and pretty lingerie makes your skin look
bruised
when a dress meant for a party lies
crumpled in the corner of your bed
or your bathroom
damp and wrinkled
from showers taken at
3.am.
to burn out the lonely that
clings
like
your hands in his when you stop
being alone
or like perfume on a
black tee-shirt that you
borrowed months ago
it is comforting like cheap coffee
and relaxed smiles
of an entire box
of off-brand reeses cocoa puffs
with almond milk
of the taste of peach cigarillos
it is sweet like sweet red and dark chocolate
on a tuesday night
when you are in your underwear
or like listening to sad music
while shaving your legs
and buying a bottle of nail polish
because of the pun in the name on its
bottom
it is also addicting like
the smell of their sweat or
seeing their car parked at the gas station
and holding your breath
to see them
or counting the *******
band stickers on their bumper
to the beats of your heart
untill the lights turn green
it is like listening to ingrid michaelson
in a cold car or sitting
in a cheap orange chair in a coffeeshop
by yourself.
it is like drinking a bottle of wine before
5 p.m.
or watching the sun rise
over naked
january trees
when you haven't slept the night before
or the night before that
or the night before
or the night
before
Yash Jan 2020
Oh Papa, perish the invading Persian armies.
Oh Papa, do or die at the D-day.
Oh Papa, fight the foreign forces at the front lines.
Oh Papa, go face your turbulent trials in the trenches.
Oh Papa, come back in one piece from the Pearl Harbour.

But Papa, why did you scare your own son into submission?
But Papa, why did you beat your own blood till he bled out?
But Papa, why did you scar your own son into suicide?

Your own son, the sun of your life.
But then Papa, why did you suppress your sun into the sunset?
But then Papa, why did you bury your sun in the horizon beach?

Johny Johny.
Yes Papa?
Did you disobey me?
No Papa.
Are you lying?
No Papa.
Turn your back.
Ah ah ah.
This was my first poem. This poem is about a child who knows that his papa is fighting the odds to survive and provide for his family but is confused and wonders why then, the papa turns around and does horrible things to him.
Rhianecdote Nov 2015
"Loads of guys talk to Rhi"
On a day such statements and possible insinuations don't **** me off
they actually entertain me.

What do people think of me?
What do they really see?
Used to be a source of teenage paranoia
Now I'm more intrigued

It's 6 am,
After party at Mag's house!
Everyone's sleepy
Sun's coming up
Smokers coming in and out from the balcony
Sliding doors
Dawn chorus
Sat in the darkest corner
On a wicker chair
Tryin to go unseen
Feelin I look a state
Makeup has started to fade
No longer hiding me
No one in this room
Would know though
About that insecurity
Had me Avoidin mirrors
When out since the age of 15
That's a long time to not be
able to face yourself

But now this young guys facing me
I've sparked an interest you see
Half cut Johny who I shared the car journey
Back with has been spreading the word
That I do carpentry
And he's intrigued
So he's crouched down beside me
Eyes wide open,
Probing me, testing my knowledge
Rollin off his story of going off the rails
And joining the army
But how carpentry gives him some peace
I smile, I listen, I speak
Shake his hand
As he introduces himself as Steve
Asks if he's steppin on anyone's toes
Cause he believes the Dj
That's followed us back
For the after party
Is my boyfriend
Cause we were talkin
And he was stood next to me
I laugh at how fast
Assumptions are made
In the dark
It's kinda funny
He feels awkward now
Says it's nice to meet me
Leaves
Sigh of relief

Why do loads of guys talk to Rhi?
The banter most probably

Hear Dj taking the Micky
(Turns out to be his name ironically)
As he walks back in
Tryin to set up his sound system
Steve says get some Scart leads
We're cracking up
I say something off the cuff, witty
He Spuds me
I'm a "bro" after all right

What do you do?
I dance
But you was stood behind me all night!
Ha! No, just for a bit,
I was watching what you was doin

He starts telling me about beats per minute
I ask him bout the Djing
How I'm interested in doin it
We Banter about how he'd teach me
How I'd be his prodigy
I think he means it

Says we got him in trouble with the club
For changing up his set
Cause we were goin in
We were feelin it
Asks me to guess where he's from
I say You look mixed race
But I bet your Cypriot

Says he's Half Turk, half Greek
That's why things didn't work out
between Mummy and Daddy

Chuckles softly

He's a Barber during the week
Cut Rita Oras hair the other day
Shows me the tweet
He's likable, pretty sweet
Says he's glad I'm there
Cause he doesn't know anyone here
And he'd have no one to talk to
A shy dj
Looks like Drake
Kind of a giveaway
His Nose is running
I say
what have you been sniffing
Grinning teeth
Smiles and shakes his head
How can you say that
To Someone you've just met?!
You're cheeky!

Asks if I smoke or do drugs
When I reply no
He jokingly asks to marry me
I say where's the ring?
He gets out his keys
Puts it on my finger we laugh
Who knew getting a wife
would be that easy?

Calm down sunshine!
my games more stealthy


But I reiterate
"loads of guys talk to Rhi"

What do they mean?
I'm a guys girl
Always have always will be
If this night has confirmed anything
It's that
Certain females just don't warm to me
Give them a compliment
They're ******* me
Make a joke
They're ******* me
Dance by one
Accidentally knock her phone
Out her hand she sits down immediately
Face of thunder
I Say sorry,
Skulk off awkwardly
Beat myself up about it momentarily
Then get annoyed and think **** it
Head back to where I'm meant to be
Just the dance floor and me
Where I get smiles and laughs and looks
I can't quite decipher
"White gyal skanker!"
Mutter out apologies as I stand on
Some guys toes
Tells me no worries I'm a dancer

Hell I'm a flirt too!
I speak to guys cause
it's what I know how to do
It's easy conversation
It's fun
But I know that when this nights over
it's all said and done
No need to mention
I have no true intention
Of speaking to or seeing these people again
Maybe I should
Maybe that's how I'll make connections
But for now I'm tired but it's a good tired
I feel at peace
There's something wonderfully dreamy
About the after party
People slowly waking up from the make believe of the night
As they're fighting off sleep
DJ Micky making his way out the door
Shoutin back
Make sure you message me!

I won't

For now It's time to head home
I take my leave
As I exit
Wave bye to Steve

Thinkin Why is it guys talk to me?

For the same reasons anyone would really
I listen
I guess maybe I put them at ease
5/08/15

Just a little something I finished off from man shaped musings on my last night out. It was sparked off by a comment,possibly even a compliment that kept being thrown around by the older bunch of old skool ravers I had been hangin out with who didn't know me very well. The first people I've ever partied with during a time where I was probably learning a few things about myself
Losing yourself to someone new,
Looking down over a dusty pew.
Only by the knowledge of slim to few,
While they wait lined up in a dingy cue.

An uprising in a whailing line,
At the exodus hoping things turn out fine.
The collection of vibration,
From a rastaman's creation.

The cap only seemed to fit,
While lazily working the night shift.
Crazy baldheaded men going to war,
Feeling possative vibrations on the way to the store.
Pleading someone "cry to me",
Because the rat race was to hard to see.
Johny was, Roots, rock and reggae,
Wanting more of the things on display.

Pimpers paradise seemed so long.
We and them singing reemption song.
Coming in from the cold after work
After the zion train with a subtle smirk.
Pulled the bad card,
Made things quite hard.
Salmabanu Hatim Nov 2017
Jack and Jill,
Went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water,
Nobody knows what they did up there,
They came back with a baby daughter.
They named the daughter Mary.
Mary had chubby cheeks,
Dimple chin,no teeth within,
Rosy lips,
Curly hair, very fair,
Eyes were blue,lovely too.
One day Mary went to play on the slide,
Georgie Porgi pudding and a pie,
Kissed Mary and made her cry,
When Jack and Jill came out to see Mary play,
Georgie Porgi ran away.
Mary had a friend called Johny,
He was handsome and Bonny,
Mary Mary,
Yes papa,
Loving Johnny,
No papa,
Open your heart,
Ha! Ha! Ha!.
But, Johnny said,
"Lavenders blue,Mary, Mary,
Lavenders green,
When I am King Mary, Mary,
You shall be  queen."
Papa Jack and mama Jill asked,
Mary ,Mary quite contrary,
We have a querry,
How does your heart grow,
With wedding bells and many heart throbs,
Not now, Mary  sobs.
One day, Johnny proposed,
Mary, Mary,
I'm crazy,
All for the love of you.
It won't be a stylish wedding,
I can't afford a Lamborghini,
But, if a stylish scooter for two,
Will do.
Soon, Mary had a little boy, a little boy,
It's skin was white as snow
It followed her to work one day,
He made her friends laugh and say, laugh and say,
"Mary, what a bonny lass you have.
I love to play with my grandchildren and made up this nursery rhyme poem for them.
Nelly Boit Apr 2016
With the curves of her body,
Ten thousand men could fall.
A vision so sublime,
Swaggered into the bar.
Oh, her perfume!
Her perfectly painted lips!
The hypnotizing eyes!.....
smote the drooling regulars.
"Guarana". She ordered.
"No ****, Amarula on my bill"
Offered the usually quiet Baba Jemo.
"And a pack of Guarana to take home"
Added 'Fisi' Johny the local mechanic.
With a smile that could melt Antarctica's ice,
She accepted the two stooges' offer.
Just as they were marrying their stools to her's
There bounced in a striking gentleman
"Sorry honey, i was caught in traffic.
Can we go to a better pub?"
With Amarula on her right hand,
A twelve pack of Guarana on his left,
They legged it out holding hands,
Leaving my silly two thunderstruck,
As I handed them the bill.
Vladimir Lionter May 2020
I heard
And my voice
Broke-
That was the end:
“Kennedy
Fell
From a criminal hand… ”
And
My hair
Stood on end.
I gave
A hostile reception
To that
News
on my own way.
I did understand
Kennedy is
A kind
And nice chap. And
He is
Reform’s
Eternal adherent.
In the morn
He lived
During lunch
He died.
Everybody
Lost comfort
At that instant.
“Kennedy!”
Pipes
Blew loudly
“Jo-o-o-hn!”
Dead marsh repeated
The word
Democracy’s
Pillar
Was cut down
Meanly.
Johny
Is quitting
The boundary
Of our world.
We will remember
These heroes!
Johny is
America’s glorious son.
He is among
Home foundations’ adherents,
Descendants
Will be proud
Of him
Under the sun.
{22.11.2015}

СЫН АМЕРИКИ

Услышал –
и мой
оборвался
голос –
«Кеннеди
пал
от преступной
руки…»
Дыбом
вставали
за волосом
волос,
По-своему
новость
восприняв
в штыки.
Кеннеди –
добрый
и славный
малый,
Вечный
сторонник
больших
реформ.
Утром
он жил,
а в обед –
не стало.
Все
потеряли
в тот миг
комфорт.
«Кеннеди!» –
громко
трубили
трубы,
«Джо-о-о-о-н!» –
повторял
похоронный
марш.
Столп
демократии
подло
срублен,
Джонн­и
предел
покидает
наш.
Будем
мы помнить
таких
героев!
Джонни –
Америки
славный
сын:
Ярый
сторонник
родных
устоев –
Будут
потомки
гордиться
им!
{22.11.2015}

Translator - I. Toporov
An Uncommon Poet Sep 2014
a man overpowered as usual
but I don't want to confuse you
or make you delusional
you say I'm redundant
but ***** I love it
you can't resist me
although you claim you don't need me
believe me
you wouldn't live three days without me
don't doubt it
it's exhausting
poisonous like the fumes from your exhaust
it's diabolical until someone restrains me
stops and halts me
try to walk out the door
I dare you
it scares you
because you know you could never comeback
it'd be a failure like Kobe's comeback
March your *** out that door
sing a song if you need motivation
actually don't your voice causes degradation
and for me, just irritation
see ya later, Sianara
slam the door behind you,
it'd have more of a melody
what're you gonna do without me
you're insane hunny
don't play me like it's my issues
they could make issues on your issues
oblivious to your egotistical *******
can't bare it or hold it
even though it's big enough to be tangible
but too big for my shoulders to manage it
where's Dwayne Johnson and his Johnson
he'll need the extra hand to handle it
I guess what I'm trying to say is
I'd love it if you disappeared
became inexistent like your excuse for a commitment
I was out for a run
I stayed late for class
school of **** I'll take a guess
Is jack black there too?
did you beat the drum or blow the horn
you come home and ignore me
but when I try to leave or flip my ****
you adore me
you love to see the sweat of my brow
and the ache in my neck
my hand shake and lips quiver
you're that little sliver in my skin
the nail in my coffin
knife in my back
but hold on, relax
I'm bulletproof
armored and foolproof
you'd need a AK to halt my day
It's under my bed
grab it and try to point it at my head
I dare you,
you know you would have woken up Sunday
to it pointing at you in bed
Misfire after misfire
so much gunpowder and fumes started a fire
the house burned to the ground
til I turned around and saw standing silently
but making the loudest sound
silence and incompetence
isn't that what this relationship is like
constant fights, night after night
looking back at it I'm glad my life's not like that
but today is it debatable?
domestic violence, divorce and confinement
restraining orders, theft, drugs and alcohol
the intoxication of one man or woman
is enough to intoxicate you for more than a few hours
you lose all power
to control and live successfully
instead more drama then Johny drama
after an audition
in comparison most relationships nowadays
are like auditions and trials
approached in-denial
after this your life will be nothing more than a file
in the cabinet of let downs and losers
**** ups and collapses
stand up and figure your **** out
don't be a statistic
Ste Jan 2018
If your desperate for a job,
then in a call centre its always
easy to get hired.
Just talk to people on the phone and
you'd be unlucky to get fired,
no suit no references and no CV required,
no bulshit questions in the interview
they need staff and you will do,
just turn up everyday,
not too late and not too wired.

Its OK love,
you can stop your huffing
and your puffing,
dont you worry,
I'm not trying to sell you nothing,
in me you can put all your trust in.
But on any call thats cold,
thier's an idea to be sold.
Its my job to find easy meat,
keep you sweet, and transfer
you through for a stuffing.

Three hundred calls a day,
automatic dialer,
Something in your lunch box
to get a little higher,
you can get through it if your a smiler.
You'll hit your target and you'll be fine,
if your in everyday and on time,
and you can **** it if your a **** like me,
or a compulsive liar.

If thiers a hunt then I'm the hunter,
if your cuntish, then I'm cunter,
if your near the top,
then of you I'm infronter,
if your smashing it I'm twatting it,
you've got twenty five call backs,
but I've got one thats having it,
cant keep up with me
because your tongue's blunter.

I could sell a puma to a mouse,
I could sell Puma to a scouse,
I could sell Subo to a *******,
I could sell ****** to a man with no ****,
I could sell a bag of AIDS
at the methadone clinic,
and I could sell Jim Beam Famous Grouse.

I sold Bit coins to Barclays bank,
I sold my dairy to Anne Frank,
I sold a pea-shooter,
to the driver of a tank.
At a mosque I sold a pig,
I sold glow sticks,
at a black metal gig,
and I once sold cystitis
to a *****.

I sold a car to a man,
who did not drive,
sold a book to Ray Mears,
on how to survive.
I sold lessons to Tom Daley
to learn  how to dive,
Sold a man without a dog,
lessons to teach it how to behave,
I sold a razor to ZZ Top
and  persuaded them to shave,
and I sold a vegan a steak
so rare, it was still
half alive.

I sold a man a coffin,
one he'd never get in,
as he'd already donated
his body to medical science,
I sold a cave man an electrical appliance,
I sold a pair of eight thousand watt
speakers to a libary,
as a teen I sold a bag of magic beans,
but that was snide of me.
And I sold the man, to Johny Rotten
when he was the eptimone of defiance,
yea I sold that rebel compliance.

Drilling that dailer in a
cut throat environment,
psych's you up so much
things can get violent,
gotta be battle ready,
its a job requirement.
Saw a lad get phone wrapped round head,
he hit the floor and the line went dead.
We fixed that phone but he was ******,
and had to take early retirement.

Sad when that little bird is gone,
but then starts an even fitter one,
not that I ever got a grip o'one.
Such a huge turn over of staff,
I've a heart of stone
but even I had to laugh,
they cant take the heat,
so they get out the kitchen.

Ohh the joys of cold calling.
Stop complaining your job is boring,
only your benifits out
the bank you'd be drawing,
what else are you getting these days
in this nation,
with your record and reputation?
You'd have to subsidize
as a secret shopper,
or serving those that are scoring.

Our education, was at best pathetic,
all the ****** jobs are taken
by those with a higher work ethic.
they cant speak clear English,
but to thier credit,
they work hard and put in the hours,
but these call centres are ******* ours.
They've had everything else
but cold calling? haha they can forget it.

There was a manager, he was my chief
he had a week off,
to soak up the sun in Tenerife.
I thought ******* and scived for two,
had holiday of a lifetime in Elevenarife.
Got back, got grief,
asked why have I been off
when I was'nt meanter,
because I'll always go one better than you
when working in a call centre.
Yea I had self belief.

I'd turn up stinking of the *****,
my manager, for me would make lame excuse,
he knew through that day I'd cruise,
a liquid meal helps the speil.
lets hope so or both our jobs we'd lose.

To behave like that no-one aught'er,
if you'd murdered me at that time
you'd deserve a charge of manslaughter.
In pub at lunch, everyday in deep water.
look again, Ste is ******
advised to stop, but I did insist.
Did not finish top that month,
but still ******* smashed it that quarter.

In the end I quit,
I decided call centres are ****.
had enough of it.
I will not work in a
call centre again
until the day I die.
kept getting passed over for promotion
was not happy,
but reading over these words
I'm starting to understand why.
Yea at times I could be a ***.

Were all *****, us that cold call,
but I was the biggest **** of them all.
Yes I could sell a winter jacket
before the fall,
yes I could sell a nun a magazine from
the top shelf,
but most importantly of all,
I could sell my own bulshit to myself.
David Nelson Apr 2013
Alien Life Forms

we were on a mission
to go where no man had ever gone before
searching the heavens hi and lo
to the very edges of the universe's  door

out past Jupiter sailing past Mars
we were looking for alien life
it was like we were riding in bumper cars
me and Johny and his wife

we flashed past Saturn
Venus and all her moons
we even searched Yur **** for Klingons
just like you see in cartoons

years passed by without a find
no Romulans in sight
then the thought finally came to us
it came to us one night

just look all around our fabulous Earth
in the sky or under sea
roaming the African Desserts
under rocks how many can there be

alien life incredibly abundant
creatures everywhere you look
and if you can't get out to see this place
I bet you can find pictures in a book

Gomer LePoet....
you need not go to far to find an alien life form - this beautiful earth is abundant with them
meekkeen Nov 2015
I am waiting for the moment where I pivot and all that I can envision now is a blacktop and white dotted lines, maybe lanes of rolling white whipped green churning pinwheels going long down the road with a stalk of cud in my mouth can I ever go and unthink like the caramel burnt stained car chair that I rest in as a finger comprised of ash that will collapse in any second and Im telling you its beautiful to let go and see the small blue insects mixed up in a whirlwind of gray flecking flickers that you may capture with a white plastic bag it reads “shoprite” you remember times at the a&p; that was ay-em-*** to toddlers who were smarter to not distinguish between what seems and what is according to the strangers who walk the street, seem foreboding, and yet retreat indoors to steak dinners and why weren’t the tater’s in the oven at half passed six? Maryellen. I told you. I told you patriarchal. I sing from my molehill. My mother always fixed me a cherry pie told me I had the nose of a rodent and so I found my fathers gun, JOhny, white America, puh, would you think I’m on drugs because twenty-one and throw up when looking like chalk smeared on top of cheeks, these bones are feeling a bit decayed wont you examine what you’ve done to…who are you? And nowhere it goes. Nowhere it goes. I sit here im ****** you think it’s a joke but this blurb is worth
Less
Bag of blue sanddollars
Dipped in wax
With a wick
And a pick
A guitar string
And a tick-
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick


Give it a lick
Peanut butter off a stick
I dunno whats to do or did
But theres a whole lot of mess out there
And we all are using it to smear messages in the listless purple filaments that cloud the sky

I’ve heard admonishments and thin mints in girl scout boxes ive eaten around glass patio tables with blue waters squarely pooled im sure your hair gel is swelling the heart of some hungry shewolf who will nibble or bite or swallow you, I do not know which one is which. But ive heard laments about nations and ignorance and I’m not sure who is more to blame or what could be a solution but to speak largely and loudly id need a microphone and a lot of ears or no a telescope and a broadcaster or better yet digital tools and the internet. Communication is the sopping soggy wet piece of bread that floats in my milk bowl and by the time my orange kitty paws move at it, the loose and expanded bits disintegrate and sink. A sink has a drain that gets clogged and we all must stare at it until it is cleaned and if I’m not the one cleaning my drain then who is the one cleaning my waste?
SirDlova May 2014
A man don't usually cry
And if he does its always pain that strikes inside,wonder why?

Its the lies and betrays
**** "woman lie"
Its the love that is less,What a waste of time
Trey Songs's "Pretty girls lie"

Fake smile,long nails too
***** aint tight like before
I'm starting to hate her "I love you too"
All my wishes never come true
They don't even sell them at the grocery store
Like johny walker I kept walking
I'll put a table next to the mountain
And sit all by self,time to party.
A toast..To the single souls

I'm taking up the Deuce!
Paul Hardwick Aug 2014
YES
this could be the first cARD
and no credit involved
just a card
of a tin solider
called John
who's legs made of lead
one night did melt
on that night on the christmas tree
just came right off
did Johny fall over
no not that night
so John hangs
on my tree with joy
for he is only one legged footballer I know.
Surreal Poem No. 399    P@ul.
Philipp K J Oct 2022
‘Twas not far away or  long ago
At St. Sebastian's house of God
Unfolded with great delight
A tale of the Sebastian Times
With Mattikere's mystic climes

Spoiling midnight oil with pleasure
An arduous task one can’t leisure
Editing and proof reading
For six full moon the crew worked hard
Once it’s done all o' them cheered 'loud

On ninth June Twenty Twenty-two
Father Eby offered the crew
Dinner at Comfort-Inn  
Some of them gathered at church yard
Some of them at hotel facade

They all reached the hotel on time
Editors of Sebastian Times
Calm and serene all smiled
Both Vicars with casual attires
Looked gracious and simple friars

As they entered the Comfort Inn
No one chose to usher them in
But the chief editor
Mr. Paul launched into the hall
He was fair and medium tall

Religiously they trailed in line
With most utmost lane discipline
The foyer room looked golden cast
The centerpiece a unique vase
Attracted them to stand and pause

Inside the hall the tables were set
Each of them were a quartet
It had a royal look
Occupying the seats we met
For the real editorial banquet

Phom and Papa began to fan
With dishes in hand wielding pan
Bell boys' service rodeo
They began to serve us to dine
Starters and fruit cocktails-not wine

(Phom is a name like Tom
Its pronounced as in foam
Phom is a Naga fiefdom
It was derived from Bhom
Which means cloud home
POM also means I in Thai
From Longleng am I
One of the Naga guys
Papa is another bell boy
Who's Phom's close buddy
Both in  black suits trendy
Wait right earnest standing
Far from their native soil
Phom and Papa do toil
In this posh star motel
Serving food and bottle
And all kinds of vittles)

Philipp began to pick and choose
The intake and didn't want to abuse
On a separate plate
He told the bell boy to serve the nosh
"Will get it parceled" yelled in josh

Ms. Sinu and Ms. Jismy Sanoj
Were sprightly like K.V Manoj
The extra plate piled up
Fish, Cabbage Gujiya sausage
Egg and Manjurian hodgepodge

Father Eby and father Mathew
Both were mused and little amused
Still both seemed solitaire
The ladies were only a few
All other women just withdrew

Mr. Jimmy Alexander
The merciful men's defender
Saddled next to father
He completely does surrender
To Jesus the peace messenger

Like Johny, Johny Nono-chan
Eating a burger  Chackochan
Telling tithes Aloysius
Truly Joyson; Bijoy joy-some
All of them were highly handsome

Without a prayer all dive dare
The crunchy fries with love and care
PHOM and Papa patrol
Grill, roast, vegetable, fish, sauce,
Vie one another for a cause

The feast became dilatory
Phil and Mano went in hurry
To find out the hungry
With food packs in hand both went out
To find the needy and doll out

When the feast was done they came out
And gathered round for a snap shot
This homely family
And a fraternity of sort
Planed and played in a resort

Tutorial on investing time
A plan for the immortal times
Who worked hard or hardly
Time investing memorial
In the Times editorial
CK Baker May 2020
the bankers are in a bind
(hiding in the shame of
loan loss provision
and incestuous debt)
concocting their swaps
and derivatives
all kindly gifts ~ packaged and bowed!
emanating with a shining light
from the reclusive
and impenetrable
sanctum on the hill

seems the emperors have
lost all clothes!
as colorful delusions
of grandeur and glut
chlorinate deeply

memo takers
turn hand
on the penniless merchants
and civilian drags -
slated seniors
and navy jacks
all left holding the bag
as toe cutters
and slithering eels
mark the market

decency in abeyance
and hope gone terribly sour
the members of the sanctum
ratchet up their grip
(their tactics, chicanery
and calculated views
all folded
and pressed
on the waxed
and polished floors)

the finger test
and cross sentiment
are all the talk of the town
(as hedges tighten
and margins press)
pogeys scrape bottom
while narcissists,
cartoon politicians
and super villains
commandeer the front row

heads of state are
sweeping tracks
(like wiley foxes
in the hen house!)
deliberate in their procession
(with a pocket full
of tricks!):
acey deucy
and 2 buck chuck
cup and bean
and vanishing tops...
classic illusions that
have got everyone
spinning their heads!

the goats of the show
are plenty...
merchants of chaos
rewritten in a
perfect second script!
who can forget:
“johny buckles”
or the “one dom skilling”
“gravely” or the
“the good dr. lickatees”
prodigious ponzies
(with twisted boards)
all throwing caution to the wind!

looks like the rants
and accusations
will never fade...
those stone face regulators
will once again masquerade,
fleecing lambs
(with pitches and tales!)
dancing deliberately
like horned centaurs
with their tumblers
and flare

the inquisition
is fast approaching
(and the deadpan
is growing old)
time to scrape
the tempest
from the temple,
and engage the
front lines
itsall iwrite Sep 2018
trainspotting in st mary  magdalene church 02.09.18

welcome to poetry that's dark
many will have a trip down memory lane
shooting up goes on in every park
even near church st mary magdalene.
look at the spoil
wide spread makes it mega
has everyone got hooked on danny boyle
or maybe the stud ewan mcgregor.
the park has a tremor
infarct its making society ill er
is that going in ewen bremner
with side kick johny lee miller.
having a fix and leaving a skid
really is vile
5 mins and leaving kevin mckidd
not touching any syringe is wise robert carlyle.
no longer looking for a tester
urban poverty and squalor comes naturally
edinbough needs no investor
they are filthy rich culturally.
best film in 2004 ever
is the resemblance knotting
****** trade is very clever
ahead of its time was trainspotting.
Vani j Apr 2017
She had heard, Mrs. Briganza the walking rumor mill
She knew her husband was looking for something fresh, run of the mill
She had seen him removing his wedding ring, the other night
She felt the same wedding ring choking her neck, unable to breathe
Tonight
She felt her heart growing out of her ribs and she imagined lying in a pool of blood at her very own feet.
Little johny came rushing in, 'Mama, mama when will daddy be home? '
'Soon' she barely breathed.
She knew she couldn't cry.
Don't all big girls choke on their own tears until they die.
#Rumor will #choke #Little Johny # Big girls
Delton Peele Mar 2021
wait what hey ***
that aint mine
you said you didnt wanna come back here tonight
fox worthy
you funny guy
put
my
  

hands on the back of my

oh **** that old ladies got SOME
GUM
    
see ya
  
ding daddle ding
dumb
on the run again
lost all my favorite jeans again
hiding in the trees
haw
johny law man
cant see me
oh snap here comes my friends !
oh no
dont see me!
im a bird
nothin to see
chirp
haw awe man
heh heh whatta u doin up there
hey

look cops are here again
you  owe me twenty bucks
    
ohh neat
off to jail again
oh no not that judge again
i hope i get some mail from my friends
i just cainst wait ta get out a jail agin


Turbulent , tumultuous,
Testing ,
Trying,
Times.
Solo
So
Low
So
Slow
Lowly
Solely
Slowly
Solo-ee
Trudging
Bare foot in the snow
Uphill up
A bell curve incline
As the weight of the world
Focusing
All of its weight
Upon
Me.
And all of it gravity
***** me down
Yoked to the
Worst of the uncaring
On the verge of collapsing
They wait impatiently
Up on yonder wonderin
How much longer I'll be .
Thay all got thier
Big ole
Buckets
Of burden
They gotd time to do themselves
But rather throw them on
Me.....and at the midway in this most vertical
Incline
Snow blowin
In my mind
Something gives
.
....an....
I'm thinking
Exacerbating.
Pondering
Contemplating
Vacillating
..Wondering ..
I'mportant
Things
All kinds a things.
Like if ice
Is made from water
Then
When it
Melts
Why does it taste funny.
and why does my celly always fall asleep before me and sounds like a weazing grizzly ridin a bulltaco 500 up hill underwater and i cant ever sleep
And why don't the fruit flies in my room like my organic made from real fruit
Gummy bears
And do the cows stop and
Stare at me as if
I'm melting
Is it because they are eating the mushrooms

And Is it accidentally
Or are they secretly
High and
Harvesting?
seems like
a ******* way to get high
buuut........... then again
who am I
ta think
on such things?
What do you think I think?
Nothing ?
Ya?
No!
I think
That I think
Too much.
If there is  
Sucha
Thing.
Anotha
Vanilla bean
Ice cream
Wet willie
Hypolerbies
In tune with
June
Jumpin on
Jupiter
With pockets full
Of juniper
Berries
I swear hes
Done gone lost his mind
This time
I got got
Got
GOT
No time
I got to get out
Of this
Place
Oh boo you got idears but no clue
What solitary confinement
Can do ta
Me .......here....s
itsall iwrite Oct 2018
imagine a private detective   04.10.18

goody must be bored
like a record on repeat
now believing poetry can not be cured
but its the only life hence retreat.
detecting peculiarity
thursday 4 october
with mad man a similarity
concluded half cut and not sober.
out sticking
big and bulk
time is money so more ticking
just saying and not on sulk.
welcome conclusion
going to have to be a good talker
more chance of a revolution
then keeping up with this johny walker.
Delton Peele Dec 2021
Standing
.......
in
Remembrance.
.......
View through the pain .
.......
Crystalize before me....
Only just the corners......
Fine intricately
Twined......
Leaving a perfect
Obround
For those looking in ...
Very much like a
Rockwell
Thomas kincaid
Mixture
In a rustic frame.
Flocked with hodgepodge
......
As I picture me
Outside  
......
viewing
Me through the window pain
..........
I'm imaging
Upstairs
Looking intently from the inside.
At
Winter scape and trying to ..
See
If the one outside .
Can detect the pain I feel .
I'm nervous
Cause the screen is so beautifull
I don't want to ruin it ...
I'm standing back aways behind me outside  in view of all this
And the looks on my face .
Not good ...
So I try to get my attentions
Being comical
To lift the spirit
......
I'm watching and smile starts to unfurl
Until
.......
Duuun
Dahh

Duuuuuu.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Off on younger
I see the older
Pretend to be
Mature me. ..
On horse carriage
In a civil war
Uniform .  
Hair greased over ...
Black ish
Brown
handle bar mustache
Kinda like
Kurt Russell
From tombstone
.
Tell em
"What's coming.
.............
AND HE'S
BRINGING
HELL WITHEM
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WHISTLE
WHISTLE
HYAAAAA.
In the backround
Up in the sky..
That old familiar twang of  
Cashs'
Guitar
Echoing through the canyons
And it's
Me
I fill the
Whole sky
I m singing with Johny
Man
Yah
And
I think I'm chrome plated .......GHOST ......
RIDERS
...
...
ON THE STORM
Now I'm
With
Morrison ..
DAM .....
the dam
Cracked an the water began to flow   .
The perfect storm .....
And the water breaches
And it's quickly over taking
The valley down below ...
And the little cottage I stood
Glassy eyed
Gazing it the window .
Is gone
Along with all my splinter
Cell
Me's
All but one

Then
He died from grief ...
And the me
Singing in the sky
Sobbed
And wept uncontrollably.
For years . .
Ohhhhh
Who could console me?
Finally ....
I lifted my eyes
And
Finally ...
The world saw the raw real me....
And
I was understood ..
Wow
Glorious .
We all cryed tears of liberation and joy  
For me....
Melon Holly ....
Then someone in a boat started birchen.sayen
He's the reason the whole Earth's all flooded.
Had kina
Uh dirt farmer
From the grapes of rath .
Sort look to
Him ...
Tall .lanky ....
Then I heard a mumur
Turnt to a roar  
And now I'm back to regular size .
And the roaring crowd behind me screaming
Yah get him.
And it's the Spartans from the
300
Movie ...
Leonitis
Face is grimaced  
******
He's
****** .
Right on my heels .
I jumped off a clifffff
Ffffffff
Ffffff
For crying out loud
Can I ever just imagine something
Beautifull
Without all the extra
Dolly lama drama.
Man
.
Tell ya
I
Feel
Sorry for me


I can just picture
M.....e.....
S. ....t......
Not..
Gonna doit


As a myriad of ;;
Nope
Michael John Jul 21
down at the pickled gherkin,
grumpy chats with lugrubious ***
the doorman, and buys a raffle ticket..

happy sees his chance and in
past the exclamations!
past the snake skin and silver spur-

a blur of paw-the chase is on..
under the tables
under the chairs

a sleight pause for
a ham and cress
and past the slots

past the snug
around the waitress
past the dart board

past the band-
johny crash and the sad
past ernie

past the bar
past the kitchen
past the television

past the raffle prizes
and champagne
past the past-

the authorities gaining
but onto the dance floor
and clasps lovingly

around a cow-girls gyrating thigh
and some fancy footwork
where he is finally and rightly

collared-literally..amid acrimony
and apology
he is led away..

but for a swan song
he drops like a stone
to a puddle of larger

immovable but for a long
pink tongue
ambrosia..

scene three-
mum-he did it again?!
happy but a price to pay..
jeffrey conyers Apr 2020
We hear the message from the mouthpieces, the community leaders and others.
The system is failing the black youth.
Really?
What about the parents?
What about black churches?

We blame the schools?
We blame the government.
But not those within the communities bringing it down.

We know the phrase "a mind is a terrible thing to waste".

But if the black youth trade is to steal, rob and sell drugs.
Then that youth is failing themselves.

If getting pregnant without concentrating on your future and goals.
Then that youth is failing themselves.
Really, we can't continue to blame anyone else.

Notice, those black youth that stayed focus and succeeds.
They knew what they wanted in life?
They made their dreams come true.

If the parents are the drug supplier to the community?
And let's not avoid this topic?
Cause many black youth parents are dealers in the trade.
They hurting society and the community and put them at risk.

If mom still thinking she the friend instead of the parent?
Then restrictions of guidance are limited.
She yet to comprehend the role of a parent.

The government, can't be blamed completely.
If Johny can't read?
Then he alerts anyone.

And if the parent can't read?
Then failure occurred because the parent didn't want better.

Then there is the church?
Unlike the days of the fifties and sixties and early on.
The mission seems to be growth and ownership of land.
Instead being that lighthouse of hope to assist those needing it.
Kindly conversation
He taught in Japan
I taught in Taipei
Bob Dylan and his band

I'm not an Asianist
But I do like bullet trains
Maybe Portugal
Maybe Toledo, Spain

My son is building Legos
Keep him safe and strong
Star Trek, Star Wars
Johny Cash song

Driving around today
Hug my youngest son
Tokyo to Kyoto
Taipei 101

            Day is Done

— The End —