"journalists" poems
This is the Last Straw –
and Something About Sacred Buckets of Holistic Ice Water
****** predators, human smugglers
Starvation in the Sudan, civil war
in Syria, mass executions in China
Journalists murdered almost everywhere
Fashionable infanticide, homelessness
Unemployment, urban terrorism
Mass ****** school shootings, wildfires, racism
An unstable national government
Anti-Semitism, border desperation
Riots, arson, ecclesiastical corruption
**** alcoholism, historical cleansing
Skinheads, abuse, Khardassianistas
Volcanos, the death penalty, free verse
Affluenza, Jerry Springer, The View
Herbal tea, antifa, anti-antifa
And the soul-sucking existential despair
Of inspirational singer-songwriters:
Nah, not a bit worried about plastic straws
But I must go now; The Voices are telling me
To pour a bucket of ice water over my head
(As long as it’s not a plastic bucket)
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Why the hell ... do they do it … ???
They run blacks like ... " Fluid " ... !!!
Well ... THE TRUTH is ...
Most Coppers ... Keep Proving ...
... They're ... STUPID ... !!!!!
Harassment ... INDEED ... !!!!
is why ... some of them ... BLEED ... !!!!!
But ... Let me ... Proceed ...
cos' ... I will ... NOT Concede ... !!!!!
that ... ANY ... Police Force ...
is .... " RACISM FREE " ... !!!!!!!!!
" This Morn' " ...
It was ... ME ...
who they wanted ... " To be " ...
ANOTHER ... Young Black ...
in .... " Police Custody " ....
“Excuse me sir,
your car is registered,
to a national bank ?”
“THAT’S BECAUSE THE CAR’S LEASED,
I’M PAYING A FEE,
SO THE CAR IS THE BANKS ….
IT DON’T, BELONG TO ME … !!!…”
“Okay Okay !!!
but, can we have,
your name please ?”
“LET’S GO TO MY WORKPLACE,
IT’S OVER THERE, SEE !”
See .....
That's when ... their faces ...
Disguised their ... TRUE HATRED ... !!!!!
of ... seeing a black ...
Who Ain't ... " Selling Crack " ... !!!!!
The car that I drive ...
is ... " LEGIT " ...
That's a .... FACT .... !!!!!
While ... RACIST OLD BILL ...
NEVER SEEM ... to get ... " SACKED " … !?! …
When ...
" Their Nature's " ... EXPOSED ... !!!!!
They Quickly ... ” DECOMPOSE ” ... !!!
and then ... just .... RESORT ...
to ... ******* ... Up Their Nose ... !!!
Which ...
Just goes to ... SHOW ...
It's NOT ... " Only Blacks " ...
who take drugs ... when they're low ...
It's ... White People ... TOO ... !!!!!
who shove ... Coc' ... Up Their Nose ...
But whose ... " Cashing In " ... ???
is what ... I want to ... KNOW ... !!!!!!!
because i'm ... Getting Sick ...
of ...... " ALL TELL " ......
and ... " NO SHOW " ... !!!!!
They ... KEEP ON HARASSING ... !!!
Then ... KEEP ON SUGGESTING ...
"Blacks being mis-treated,
is NOT a Race Thing !"
But …. ???? ….
These ... "hidden-cam" ... shows
Now Show ... how things' go ...
It's ... NOT JUST ... undercovers' ...
Who ... " Sniff Out " ... THE TRUTH ... !!!
Now ... Journalists too ...
have ... " Suddenly Learned " ... !?!
That .....
" White Men " ... under cover ...
Show Racism's ... TRUE ... !!!!!!!!!!
NOT ...
A figment in ... Black peoples' ...
****** …. Brain Tool ... !!!?!!! …
Now ...
Those are not words ...
I believe to be ... True ... !!!
I’m just ... " THE BLACK ” ...
.... Sherlock Holmes .... !!!! ....
Giving people ... " Some Clues " ...
as to ... WHY ... " Some " ... Black Men ...
feel the way that ... I DO ... !!!
Harassment ... is ... REAL ... !!!
But ...
Here is ... THE DEAL ... !!!
" Some " ... Black people STEAL ...
and DO ... move in ... "The Dark' ...
Like ... "Covert" ... Navy Seals ... !!!!!
But ......
THIS ... Does Not mean ...
that ... EVERY ... Black Person ...
is into ... " THAT SCENE " ... !!!!!!!!
and that ... Money they've made ...
Really NEEDS ... A Good Clean ...
in a .... " Laundry Machine " .... ?!?
It's Policemen ... to me ...
who work in ... " ***** TEAMS " ...
and then in ... " Their Dreams " ...
Make ... Black People ... SCREAM ... !!!!!!
Just check through ... THE NEWS ...
You'll SEE ... what I mean ...
Well .....
My day's getting ... better ....
now i've ... " Typed " ...
These few ... " Letters " ...
But it's .....
Time to ... STOP TAPPING ...
cos' this poem i've written ...
has allowed me to ... VENT ... !!!
My View ...
On These ... PIGS ... !!!!!
Who ...... THRIVE ON ......
……… ” HARASSMENT ” ………. !!! ? !!!
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
Cruel times, cruel hearts of fighters
Going to death under the orders of the fathers,
For the blood that binds them,
Both the brothers who fell and friends still alive,
Brutal century, cruel eyes of the war,
Staring with soulless of Satan on the human world,
Yeah heard journalists huskiness news,
Yes does not relieve a state of alarm of the soldiers ' mothers,
What are waiting for years for news of the children.
Is it possible the war to stop?
All sufferers to give a lot?
Blow out fires, bridges to restore?
But the smell of blood strong for the sharks,
Give no rest, so sweet it is.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Without legitimate occupancy,
Adverse possession is the legal right
Of anyone who moves in and maintains
A property, so here's the deal. We must
Move in to 1600 Penn,
The current tenant having broke the lease.
The caravan from Guatemala first, Hondurans trudging slowly from the depth.
Then the Yemen children not yet murdered,
Those with preexisting conditions next,
And women whose assaults were ridiculed,
Those roughed up by cops and politicians.
Losers in the war on drugs, the big house
Having far exceeded capacity.
The mentally ill, discarded by the
Great communicator after he tore
The Solar panels off the roof. This is
Anger, not poetic license. When a
Long train of abuses and usurpations
Evinces a design to reduce them
Under absolute Despotism, it
Is their right, it is their duty to throw
Off such Government, and to provide new
Guards for their future security. Such
Has been the patient sufferance of these
And such is now the necessity which
Constrains them to alter their systems of
Government. And journalists under fire,
If there's room still left in the briefing room,
Let facts be submitted to a candid
World.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
I saw you on the news again, aiming lies at civilians
You work like a serf to abhor the herd, which was merged by Lords to bore and encore, like a trap door in a dungeon.
What you earth and managed has got me famished, like the dense or pretentious, the meek and the senseless
And type endings to the finest that cry less, the winos that digress, or the shyest who digest
The plate which was purchased, paid to feed liars by the loudest were poisoned by us rebels running incense to the proudest.
Violently passive when distracted, these masses wreck havoc to have their heads handed to them
Sullen sweet to deter, you lure and reserve what is versed or inferred or implied or implored
Like the goodbyed or complied or the ladies waiting with lunacy lining their luxury gowns
Your disheveled and neat demanding appearance has me locked down with pirates and principle pilots
Dulled sick, they spy less, echo with insist, enlist and exist
As terrorists and presidents
Marked with malice making misfits that were mocked and disgraced, maced or laced by daydreams and magicians to assist beggars behind blueprints constructing islands
Which make slaves in to riots that capture journalists under wide tense
To suspend or impend doom sent hell bent by your priestess
You conduct chaos with fast hints, but quit slow when engaged with your conscience
Touched by divine tricks
Decided and destined, best in business
Prince of the wise man
Captain of the compassionate
Comrades with the crack heads singing anthems in kingdoms
We are heartbreakers painting bad graffiti
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Manipulating information
To craftily plot your lore
Is necessary if you want
To continue an information war.
Specific example: Deny Russian
Collusion and interference in
U.S. elections, and do not stop
Seeking info that you can spin.
After months of denying Russian
Cyber attacks and election meddling,
Then admit the possibility
Through a little backpedaling.
Say that well…maybe they meddled,
But hastily add: so did others.
Say you'd still end all queries
And probes if you had your druthers.
It's vital, of course, that you keep
Bashing the press. Be sure to accuse
Investigative journalists
Of making up tons of fake news.
Finally, say the Russians will
Interfere in the U.S., and that's
How in elections this November
They plan to help the DEMOCRATS!
Why? Because you're so hard
(Wink!) on Russia. You'll be winning.
Your fawning fans will eat it up,
And you will have all heads spinning.
Your friends on your favorite TV station
Will help you criticize and demean
Those who don't agree with you.
Praise to your propaganda machine!
Who cares what the world thinks?
You've got your fans; you've got your base.
There's no match for a stable genius
Who says to the world, "In your face!"
-by Bob B (7-25-18)
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Why do artists **** their arts?
Journalists obey corporate bosses.
Doctors peddle drugs for status.
Lawyers work for robber barons.
Bankers' havens for barons' taxes.
Kings start wars for hefty profits.
Charity's done for the sake of publicity.
Vanity today is a thriving industry.
Shopping's done with borrowed money.
Bankruptcy levels; not seen in history.
From hazardous things; profits aplenty.
Poisoned wells we leave our progeny.
These lunacies have a common cause,
To win 'the rat race'; at any **** rate,
Even earthly mother, we brutally ****
How much is enough, to be content?
Pharaoh's wealth was greater than most,
But while he drowned, it saved him not.
Instead, strive for a righteous life,
Bonded to mother, free from desire.
For we're not islands, or rats in a race.
And when we stand on Judgement Day,
Our wealth that day will have no say,
Our deeds that day will lead the way.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
There's a place between society and the wild
Where aimless bodies are piled
We call it the Wastelands
All creatures die of old age
Or hunger inside this cage
The deer are never hit by cars
For they never travel that far
The Wastelands use fear
That's what keeps them here
The Wastelands are a scary place
It's horrifying how nothing happens
It becomes too much to face
So we hide under satin
To provide comfortable resting
And avoid Wastelands testing
The Wastelands are a barren environment
Solitary coyotes learn from the cacti
Who soak up meager moisture
And become prickly to protect it
Never knowing if nourishment was near
They grew prickly because of their fear
We inhabit the Wastelands
We're trapped here
Where the walls of the city
Seem to mirror
The walls of the wilderness
So it's here we build our nest
But surviving is a constant test
Because we have useless hands
Here in the Wastelands
Wastelands
Interaction
Is reaction
Create a faction
And never leave
Even if love cleaves
It lies behind ramparts of containment
And the fear of society's arraignment
Even if peace calls
It stays behind walls
Of trees hiding predators
That keep us embedded here
So we ***** barriers to protect us
From the barriers surrounding us
We find our connections through hatred
And build teams around it
We made foolish deals with Satan
This is what we're amounted
Scavengers from both worlds encroach the Wastelands
Journalists and artists mine our souls
Vultures mine our flesh like gold
Taking what they need and going home
Our rabid mouths begin to show foam
From the frustration of loss
But inactivity is our cross
While we watch carrion feeders
Carry on eating
Our friends
Until we turn and look away
Knowing that'll be us one day
Because in the Wastelands
Friends are just creatures who are near
There are no animals to hold dear
We're afraid to lend an ear
When Wastelands use fear
The Wastelands are hell
Dry river beds tell of a time
When the rain fell
But now we're plagued by drought
You can tell by looking at the trout
They flop on the ground
Wondering where to wander for water
The cacti remain still
It's the Wastelands will
In the Wastelands we wait to die
Although we really want to fly
We're just afraid of heights
Which impedes our sight
Where we can't view over our own barricades
It's fear that prohibits our ability to elevate
And we see that the order is too tall
Back into the Wastelands we fall
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
The Mother Angels of Einstein's Eve heard
her shaking completely curly tresses, waiting
for the waves of the mountains' magical
colors, and beginning to undress, said,
understanding his limitations, and he retreated
to the desert, Marcus trafficking in ashes.
:- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - :
Asked for memory devices,
journalists look to the magazine
ISISToo like an angelic angel,
who has a solid table's tablet
that John describes in the water
that John describes as a hungry
Christian mother in the south,
Christian Christian light cuts into
bed and hatred, and in the shade
of the first wedding, John writes
Bettie sold out to the enemies of
the people because he planted in
Greece against angels angel Einstein
by a mother one who heard Eve fill
in the upper part of the corner,
waiting for the Hills Hills to get
water into the skin when these
magic-colored shades began to dress,
she answered, as measured by the
limitations until the reading was to
spread themselves into the ground
and report Jack's ashes scattered
throughout the desert. It depends
on the face of the world, and that
it literally means shadow shadow
shadow shadow. I think all the
wordless words are kissing: the
molecular is the girls with the dark
splinters and the calves, beginning
from the dark to light on the loaf of
**** for Satan launches the beans
placed on the socks before the Asian
Secrets that are in the patent to produce
data to meet with Lovers, and iron that
is important, and women who are soon
weeping, seat seats like Unfortunately,
for some other reason the costly assaults
over the years, the number of socks,
so long in the winter he was praying
for a streaming stream that closed
the glass glass inside the interior of the
interior, he received a 'meditation' gift,
the dreams, the, the thoughts, the singers;
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
Journeyman Pictures
Will take you on a journey
The DVB journalists
Jailed and tortured
They showed the military
Shooting at protesters
They hid on the balcony and filmed
They got footage
Of the Japanese journalist
Who was shot by the military
Another journalist
Helped make
An award winning
Documentary
About the devistating
Cyclone that hit Cambodia
In 2009
He was captured and jailed
For years
He had promised to write
The girl he met
From his documentary
But could not because
He was jailed
He made his own guitar
While he was
Wrongfully jailed
He is a good man
He just wanted to show
What the people were going through
Now he has been released
An executive from DVB media
Came to talk
With the Burmese officials
In 2009
About having their own
Official office
Some of the journalists
Have spoken out
About how they
Were tortured
Things are improving
Although it is a process
I hope DVB succeeds
And is not pestered
Or persecuted by the government
Any longer
This poem is dedicated
To the journalists
Who went through
Great hardships
To show the injustices
Of their government
Who wanted to document
What the people
Went through
After the cyclone
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
i do a really good imitation of a woodpecker with my hand clenched into a fist, knocking on my forehead, as if knocking on the forehead of others - i admit, i'm searching for an echo of the rat-tat-tat thumping drill for the cure of headaches.
when i inherit what i might inherit
i'll book a ticket to switzerland's auschwitz,
but drinking a bottle of whiskey
and a few beers each day... i'm praying to the gods:
gods! a heart attack! gods! a second haemorrhage!
gods! a heart attack! darwinism taught me
insignificance... so i countered...
well... an insignificant theory and practice...
like nietzsche said about the darwinists:
'imagine speaking for the entire human race!'
well, english journalists already do...
and i'm like hey hey hooray for iraq!
get blown up by a bomb i'd like my limbs back,
or at least the idea of having them once...
shiny happy people holding hands!
**** old age and grandchildren, there's no
accomplishment in that... fake teeth like
no teeth at all... apple goo pulp and then porridge...
what a great reward! ooh! ah! i'm all geared up
for that fear of death... no... i'm scared of being 100 years old;
i wouldn't be, had i been born a Galapagos turtle.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
Take me on a journey
Whisked away by your poetry
Let me exhale my mind
And be at one with your kind.
Lead me away like the fey
To poetry journalists
And HB specialists
Who like Toreinss Pinwinkle
Sprinkle fairy dust upon words and phrases
Until all who gazes are stunned.
Take me to where sk abdul
ski slopes
Where words formed
With ice cold precision
Fall soft as snowflakes
Forming landscapes in my mind.
My mind wanders with Luiz
Until with an elbow crack, I’m back
Tuned in a spin, by Ryn
Heeding Laurent’s call
Away from the dark places Mr Woods may take me
To be at one with the shadow in the dark,
Because as someone anonymous once said
“it’s sometimes light
but can be dark
as poetry is not
just a walk in the park”.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
It should not come as a surprise
Though the right posture
A subordinate doesn't lack
"Do in Rome as Romans do"
With a curved back
S/he has to walk!
It shouldn't come
As a surprise
Watching journalists
Praise that shower
On a tyrant government
In power!
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 8:37 AM UTC
why make videos these days...
they're easy target,
for people who read,
or largely (pretend to) read...
the bare minimum...
journalists with the equivalent
of the bare minimum of
journalism:
namely?
literacy.
a journalist these days...
wow!
they can read! they can
write! read & write?!
**** me! a double whammy!
you sure we shouldn't ascribe
them policing stature &
authority?!
like...
simultaneously?!
let's face it...
they have investigate
the double curriculum venture...
we know how donkeys play
the bet...
they gamble with a
worth of a carrot,
and always return with
stick's worth of motivation
to gamble stupid once more.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
it’s 3:00am
again
i think
to myself
that seeing
my clock read
3:00am
as often as
i see it read
3:00pm
might suggest
that i really
ought to get
more sleep
it’s hard
though
when protesters
are shot in Egypt
when journalists
are detained with false pretense
when activists
seek shelter in embassies
when hackers
rot in prison cells
when whistleblowers
are put on trial
with all this
chaos and
injustice
i don’t understand
how anyone
in their right mind
could sleep in
peace
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Three nonconsecutive generations that can --
No -- Will – spit the timeless fairytale of that princess
Who never lost glass slippers -- or
Touched poisoned spindles -- or
Ate strangers’ apples -- or
Dealt with witches – and
We are that dry, plain Eucharist-wafer taste on your tongue
That paralyzing cramp between your toes
That still-alive, still-wiggling earthworm’s six separate, butchered body parts
We stole the words from journalists’ larynx,
His statistics, his inference, his prowess
His bias came hungry and ate the bread crumbs from our hands.
The name mother-bird doesn’t carry as much weight these days.
Collectively considered and individually squandered,
We’re the nonsense jumbled-word search in your local Sunday paper.
And you’ll have us whether you like or not with your large coffee and bagel.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC
*i've become as lazy as composers
when writing titles,
example of tautology is as lazy
as beethoven's ninth symphony...
yeah, grand... but what a dull title!*
so i was reading this article
about bim adewunmi
about the singer laura mvula...
and you know how it goes...
leftist liberals tend to write
tautological spaghetti,
likened to bim's example:
'short-haired, dark-skinned
black girl', bim, we get it...
could have said rancid cinnamon
for all i care...
tautology is a logic of adding
more salt than the salt required
so it doesn't taste too salty when it
does... i could also proof-read
other journalists...
restaurant critics are the best laughs,
esp. when reshuffled like
a ****** cabinet of the labour party
to the opinion columns...
then it's not called opinions section
but table talk... a bit like saying:
do i woo the sea back into this oyster
before i gulp-down-the-hatch-it?
well what do you expect,
free democracy and subsequently
free journalism has a judas kiss /
brutus stab at everything,
why not laugh at it as a useless
get up in the morning read a newspaper
be pulverised by stories from kingdoms
far far away and opinions of people
who'd send ******** dubbed
soldiers off to the slaughter fields of Flanders
so they can keep erectile egos ready
for a salary readied...
journalists always divert the heat & fire
to the politicians... while
journalists get away with satirising themselves,
and i dare say, they are the clumsiest
satirists of themselves,
the most wonky ready to dismantle itself
noumenons in existence.
- journalist: huh?
- the public - (elvis') aha uh um (frolicking
without the stiff upper lip).
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 7:50 AM UTC
Righteous Isis,
priceless queen, rife with green
vines winding between her lungs,
around her tongue, crowned with beams
of the ancient sun, power of Ra
beneath her thumb, life-giving wife,
wild child of reptiles, pride of the Nile--
righteous Isis,
she who gives birth to heaven and earth,
sovereign sorceress, steward of words,
my ancestress, blessed with flesh, this
bright protectress, next to death with
theft of her name, maimed by insane fanatics
grasping semi-automatics aimed at
righteous Isis,
spliced into terrorist crisis
situations, sacred name on a
radical federation, used for devastation,
appropriation of my divine mother,
brothers-in-arms killing the culture
of their own nations, of past generations, of
righteous Isis,
torn from her temple by
scorned fundamentalists,
prayers to her used to take
insurgent censuses
now when i bow to my goddess,
my empress, the powers suspect I'm a member of
rightist ISIS,
who crosses off competition
with crucifixion,
lays foundations for jurisdiction
with immolation, with detonation,
decapitation of journalists, their
murderous fists taking nations,
rightist ISIS,
whose power rests on the shoulders of dread,
men obsessed with erasing the names
of every goddess we hold close, of every man
who knows Mohammed did not preach death,
of every Buddhist, every Jew, every pagan, every Hindu,
choking the breath from those who don’t believe what they do--
rightist ISIS,
you think you own the sun but not this one,
not this pristine queen who tears the thunder from the skies,
and she will strike you down with pestilent blight
she'll smite you with a blistering light,
she'll drown you and ignite the tide,
and you will die with the second rise of
righteous Isis,
whose hand rocked the cradle of civilization,
whose shrines make the sacral heart of nations,
whose each breath gives divine illumination,
who shakes off the wasted shame
and patiently waits as we chant her names--
all ten thousand in glorification.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
3D printed guns;
legal marijuana,
corporate **** &
Instapoet selfies;
Mormons & the
Pope; Neo-Nazis
& Miss America;
Immigrants &c.;
assassination of
journalists & the
persecution of
Christians; floods
of Internet child
**** downloaded
by priests & cops
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
She gives the gift of gab!
When her love snapped onto my back, like a rucksack to be worn
The old me died, a rambling man was born.
My words are playing a twisted game of Temple Run
The monkeys are her eyebrows, cocked like pistols, and we're playing Russian Roulette.
My words are emptiness and hot air and imagined shapes, yet not nearly as two-dimensional as constellations.
She's a phrase I just learned, and will incorrectly overuse.
She's a worm in my ear, impossible to lose.
She feels like two cups of tea at three in the morning.
She feels like assembling an RC car without reading the instruction manual.
And by God, those eyebrows.
I need her like rocks need water and snow needs the sun.
I want her like turtles want to fly and eagles want to run.
She's that feeling when rain comes down on an empty highway.
She's half a bottle of Elmer's glue I just dribbled onto my hands.
I miss her like broken bowls miss Cheerios and holey socks miss feet.
I miss her like diarrhea misses constipation.
I miss her like NBC misses viewers who have turned to online news sources.
I miss her like journalists miss exposés.
I miss her like polar bears miss ice caps.
I miss her like avalanches miss snowy peaks.
I miss her like Hiroshima survivors miss World War One.
I miss her like cities miss silence.
Mostly, I just miss the silence.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 5:34 AM UTC
Dashing stealth.
Bins of wealth.
Perfect health.
Angular retreat.
Clandestine dwellers.
Heart breakers.
Sorrow makers.
Illicit shadows.
Foxes sly.
Hovering as praying birds.
Story catching.
Dream catching.
Truth distorting.
Expose of life.
Un secret de Polichinelle.
Their cameras.
They'll have you believe,
that they never lie.
Underground worms.
Detritus munching.
Anything that makes a buck.
Invasive bloodied journalists.
(C) Livvi
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
It saddens me to see
the way my country bleeds
after leeches in the media
create frenzies just to feed
Xenophobic journalists
poke angry mobs with pens not sticks
distorting truths on paper
so they can get their kicks
Who knows now what the truth is
behind the stories that we read
Sensationalised ********
to create a headline lead
So before you jump aboard
the jingoist express
ask yourself who feeds
on the freedom of the press
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 5:15 PM UTC
you are not as strong as you once were.
your defenses are weakening, and the troops are retreating.
but you stay planted.
you will not move until this war has been won.
you ache with hunger.
your body caves as all missionaries desert and you find yourself the only one armed.
but you stay planted.
you will not move until this war has been won.
you cry at night.
your mind has gone crazy and the journalists have taken your heroic story from the headlines.
but you stay planted.
you will not move until this war has been won.
you will not move until I love my self.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
Baby, there's a
white chalk outline in the street tonight
for the boy down the road
who didn't have a chance at life.
There's a lady working down
at the truck stop on Third,
and she's racing home tonight
to confirm what she's heard.
That's her baby in a casket,
not the usual sort,
and his mother's screaming in the storm
begging God to take this hurt.
There's a girl across town
who lost the things she had,
and the only thing she knows now
is the fright that's in her head.
Her father's in the living room
where he loads his shotgun,
almost hoping that the
**** from prom will
show himself again.
There are children in the desert,
in the city, in the streets
and they are dying every day.
All we do is argue
over what is best to say.
The journalists and soldiers,
those who worked a mile high.
Honest folks are turned to martyrs
and their names are used in vain.
No one considers rationale,
only how to profit gain.
We're political, tyrannical, existentially obsessed;
we haven't got a thought for those
who haven't even dressed.
"They aren't here; they're there;
we haven't got the time."
But if there's anything I know,
it's that my time isn't even mine.
"Jimmy wouldn't take me out tonight."
"Martha never called me back!"
"I wish that Art had never talked to me."
"I hope you have a heart attack!"
People dying every day
and no one seems to give a ****
We are vain and we are damaged
and we will never be the same.
It seems that all which matters
is just how well you play the "game."
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
Apparently blessings soon wither
Where your star shone
Reminisce
In the darkening sky
There's a Taj Mahal!
Undulating endless
Asimetry of
Love
Floating above
The placid
Waters
One
Glimpse ~
My wet hands
Kyoto protocol
Hair in a Thankfury
Violet Versace
And your smiling coasts
Me wrapped in a black coat
Lush lucrative dynamics
Zarathustrian imperative!
Covering your manly
Shoulders
Dig a grave in my
Hollow submarine
Diminishing distance
Was I, to call your firm hand's
Grip ~a lesser degree in Hiking,
Or a postponed poetic height
Thumbs entwined. . .
Spirited as a killer
Eagles mudra
You stare at
My profile
Well ~we stand
Opposing as a lovers
Of A grand Poetic
Name surpassing the time
Awaiting, courting, questioning
Via simile to the blood under
The Bask's barret
No, the ring I've put aside,
My hands are bare tonight!
Bewildered, I´ll stumble forth
within a bright new day to
complete your sermon.
You usually brake the cliche
Walking hand in hand
With Affar Authors
With Dead Spirits
With Alive Authors
Playing dead, unknown
Within the journalists eyes..
When they whisper
Wisdoms to your son's father
When they sturm und drang my sweetest
Sister
The softest spring is coming forth and
I know where to find you. In southern sighs.
Dreamy. Uncatchable.
Playing
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC