"ken" poems
“only” the lonely know (my special sign)
{=}
an incurable silence
the meaningless, wasted touch of a hand,
attached, directed by them from them
to them
a failed reassurance
a classroom, a stadium, cornfield or grove,
so many nutted fallen solitaries fallen to rot
midst a globe of trillions never noticed,
never missed
the silly conceptual that the lonely,
special unique, blessed with a curse,
a specialist status, “only” they afflicted;
with a ken that isolates and yet feels elevated -
oh! I am special
show me one, just one, human who doesn’t truly believe,
they are the onliest loneliest and you will vision
each and every
lonely person who
secret sighs and whose first thoughts are only:
god spare me one more day of being,
fearful of achieving
my very own knowing,
in the invisible place,
the incurable silence award,
reward of another purple heart,
“only” the lonely service ribbon,
my Cain marker
~my special sign~
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
Summer heat summer sweet
With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt
Birds n tha bees escape the trees
Please don't plant your seeds
But throw the leaves
Up n up
To get down and drop
Where the dirt pops
Ken keseys ashes
Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment
Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day
Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small
Tough love
Tough life
Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks
Swisher wraps over the curves
Got me feelin lucky like a charm
Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine
Till we hit the caribbean
Then Jack's got me headin for tides end
Early
Flush the bile outta your system
And spiral out of controls iron hand
**** responsibility, Apathy rules all.
Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey ***
In n out, fast n slow
Nicotine dominates
My senses are lost at Molly
That ***** finger ****** my life
Made me *** every time
This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far
I mean
What do you expect?
A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions.
Peace my brotha
Dandy danny says theres a way out
-side with the rap culture
Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill
The glass
Is too cracked to be see-through
West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders
Forever green is my state
Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your ***
Equality's the goal
**** race
**** sexuality
I see soul
Open up
Show me your beat
I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us
Quit
Obeyin the brand
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Oh, my love is like a red, red rose
that's newly sprung in June
and my love is like the melody
that's sweetly played in tune.
And you're so fair, my lovely lass,
and so deep in love am I,
that I will love you still, my dear,
till all the seas run dry.
Till all the seas run dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt with the sun!
And I will love you still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.
And fare you well, my only love!
And fare you well, awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
though it were ten thousand miles!
Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, red, rose, translation, modernization, update, interpretation, modern English, melody, tune, seas, dry, rocks, melt, sun, ten thousand miles
Original Scots Dialect Poem:
A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
Hugh MacDiarmid wrote "The Watergaw" in a Scots dialect. I have translated the poem into modern English to make it easier to read and understand. A watergaw is a fragmentary rainbow.
The Watergaw
by Hugh MacDiarmid
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
One wet forenight in the sheep-shearing season
I saw the uncanniest thing—
a watergaw with its wavering light
shining beyond the wild downpour of rain ...
and I thought of the last wild look that you gave
when you knew you were destined for the grave.
There was no light in the skylark's nest
that night—no—nor any in mine;
but now often I've thought of that foolish light
and of these more foolish hearts of men ...
and I think that maybe at last I ken
what your look meant then.
Keywords/Tags: Scotland, Scot, Scottish, Scots dialect, night, nightfall, rain, grave, death, death of a friend, light, lights, watergaw, heart, heartache, broken heart, heart song
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 11:10 PM UTC
He often would ask us
That, when he died,
After playing so many
To their last rest,
If out of us any
Should here abide,
And it would not task us,
We would with our lutes
Play over him
By his grave-brim
The psalm he liked best—
The one whose sense suits
“Mount Ephraim”—
And perhaps we should seem
To him, in Death’s dream,
Like the seraphim.
As soon as I knew
That his spirit was gone
I thought this his due,
And spoke thereupon.
“I think”, said the vicar,
“A read service quicker
Than viols out-of-doors
In these frosts and hoars.
That old-fashioned way
Requires a fine day,
And it seems to me
It had better not be.”
Hence, that afternoon,
Though never knew he
That his wish could not be,
To get through it faster
They buried the master
Without any tune.
But ’twas said that, when
At the dead of next night
The vicar looked out,
There struck on his ken
Thronged roundabout,
Where the frost was graying
The headstoned grass,
A band all in white
Like the saints in church-glass,
Singing and playing
The ancient stave
By the choirmaster’s grave.
Such the tenor man told
When he had grown old.
12.7k
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Education is currently being used as a weapon
to arm the educated to defend the system.
Question the system.
Go out there and equip yourself for the right belief.
Be a dreamer. The dream is beautiful.
The problem with dreams is that you don’t know
the dream has turned into a nightmare until you wake up.
Are you awake? Be awake.
The problem with being awake; we need to rest.
Lucidly dream. Be lucid.
The problem with being lucid; you’re lucid.
There was a dream not long ago. The dream was beautiful.
We liked the dream, the dream became ours and we slept.
Slowly we all grew tired.
Those that did not need to sleep,
those that did not like our dream,
we treated like children.
We know that we need to rest and we were tired. We left our children to starve.
We forced others to sleep and so, we forced our children to sleep.
Even in our sleep, we forced others to sleep.
And so the big dream grew.
It became nightmare.
We all dream. Be aware of others dreams. Be aware of others while we sleep.
Be aware of those that sleep while we awaken.
When you wake and see your siblings rest no longer.
That their dream, once ours, has turned to terror.
The problem with dreams…
We force our children to sleep.
Is this bad? Always question. Should we force them to wake?
Force can create. Force can destroy.
The problem with being awake, when we know our brothers and sisters
sweat in there nightmares; we have a choice.
That is not a choice to wake them or not. To hope for the best.
That the nightmare will end and the dream will return.
A dream that has travelled
through the terrors of our minds
will not return the same.
Would you like the red pill or the blue pill?
Is there good and bad? Force can create and destroy.
Be mindful of how you wake.
Be lucid of how you force others to wake.
Tea or coffee; a cigarette; some breakfast; some fear?
Use balance.
We are all unique.
I have a personal story. As I wrote this, typos occurred in the original edit.
The technology, ‘swipe’ was used. I meant to spell unique and unite was spelt.
Personal became powerful and with turned to WE.
Is there a reason ‘i’ should always be capitalized?
‘i’ wish to be mindful of my readers. ‘i’ want to stay true to them.
We that can read are the readers. ‘i’ am the reader.
When I isn’t capitalized I began to feel more comfortable with using it,
if i gave it arms; ‘i’.
And when I typed to explain that,
I went to preferring if isn’t typing out ‘and then i and then ‘, to just type two of them;
ii.
We don’t want to be alone.
There’s no I in teamwork but
there is and I in kind.
I is complicated. Be you.
Find your voice. Have a voice and be aware.
Others have a voice.
What would happen if we all respected each other’s voice?
What would happen if we all had the same voice?
That was the beauty of the dream.
The dream is travelling through nightmare
and is slowly returning.
It has changed.
Unite our uniqueness’s.
Do you eat fast food? I love it. It is a dream… Do I eat it all the time, I hope not.
Ken Robinson is a good man to ask. Consider food for the mind.
There are beliefs out there. There’s a belief out there that our world is ******
Forgive the language. Understand it.
I wanted to say, ‘that our world is doomed; eternally ****** to be destroyed’ and that scared me. **** There will always be nightmares, disaster and destruction.
What is an ‘aster’? Curious.
When did we chose to destroy; each other?
Could we create; each other?
There’s a belief out there for that one too.
Are you awake, yet?
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
ken not the
vive la différence!
entre les deux,
these two bed and head chambers,
for all poets are seducers,
regardless of *** race, creed or color
when first we employ our working, yeoman vocabulary,
we plain start,
to relate but not to regale,
the whom we are,
hoping our moments unique,
will breach the boundaries
of our collective commonality connectivity,
and find human receptivity
thus, the seduction of self commences
though every possible combination of words has somewhere been inscribed and committed, we ****** ourselves
(the seduction of poetry)
with potions of notions that we are and always be our
first, and now soon forever,
yours as well
of course, we are, it's true,
our very own first admirer & lover,
having conquered the hillock of self,
see the universe expanding and the
****** need to conceive
and prowess to please
beyond the beyond with
the poetry of seduction
do not want your body, heart or soul,
commitment, allegiance, vows,
sacred or profane,
all such in vain
crave your everything,
not even a legal nine-tenths satisfactory
dare not call me arrogant or presumptive,
gaze upon the mirror that cannot lie,
rereading thy words assemblage,
and deny to lie to yourself
want you, you want me,
my adoration,
we want to be in
a poem together,
lovers at the molecular level
where words dissected into letters, then again,
into guttural sounds where a simple outcry is an elegy,
a love poem, a wound, a denouement, a preface, a tear,
a welling, a heaving, a sigh, an exhalation, all,
an entrance to where the need for words
is long since past
the sin and crown of seduction completed,
unanimously
now breathe out
and then,
breathe in
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
Across an ocean of canvas white
A stroke of beauty comes to light
The patterns even, contrast, and fair
Complexity in the mind created with care
Do not allow a single smear
To blotch the canvas and make unclear
What blossoms made with hand and mind
What intricacies you will find
A root of commons grown within
of Artist and Gazer's ken
Now engrossed with personal thought
Through paintings on canvas, connection is sought.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Yes its big yosef a true heavy weight makin' earthquakes through all states watch for the snakes
In the grass never front for the cash who wanna clash?
With a mighty Titan I'm on a God status love hoes with the **** size of Trish stratus
Now tell me who's the baddest
ya on a one way trip with Gladys Knight
On a Midnight train to Georgia no one heard of ya
Ya flows is wack your skull will get crack fuckin' with the mack
I make a love connection from my smif and wesson learned ya lesson no plexin'
On my team one man supreme like a lion i be the king makin' suckas sing
Lullabies I feel ya soul cry reaching for the sky
Ain't no ******* allowed puff a cloud til the city unda a smoke shroud
Fools Talk loud but die silent known to be be violent
If provoked by a fake loc my pistol loves to smoke it stays high
Leavin' holy bodies to fry
Who could outwrite this? my style will diss rhymes deeper than an abyss make ya ****
Out ya own blood as ya face down in the mud with no crud
Touchin' my eyes sleep with one eye
Open scopin' and hopin' got more scams than Ken Copeland I'm still floatin'
On cloud nine almost to ten sippin' gin never see me grin my lyrics touchin'
Every last one of you wack rappers so come again.....
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
They are terribly white:
There is snow on the ground,
And a moon on the snow at night;
The sky is cut by the winter light;
Yet I, who have all these things in ken,
Am struck to the heart by the chiselled white
Of this handful of cyclamen
6.7k
Poems on a Mirror
~for Glenn Currier~
you don’t know me
I don’t know you;
poems on a mirror I ken
truly well
poems on the mirror saved, and then,
comme the seasoning of leave-falling,
poems dropping and drained...the post-it glue loosened by
the daily heat of watery tears,
making a space for
this one, for you...
there are poems and they arrive with fresh arrogance,
each an arrow demanding your all as a target regardless
of what the shooter really thinks or wants, other than
obedient acknowledgment and their self-loving flattery
but some render where no rendering should be allowed
those are the ones affixed - ones you chose to join the chosen,
slapped onto mirrors - so many that they almost
cover complete your image from presentation
almost only because these poems are yours, you,
they’re the truly accurate reflection even if not your words,
indeed especially because they’re not yours
but they start your day as a poem should
and in doing so,
become you
What a Hall of Fame, to be a poem on Glenn’s Hall of Mirrors
go pick the plums...
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
Al wat jy my wys gemaak het is dat seer die selfde voel
Maak nie saak van watter oord dit spoel
Ek en pyn ken mekaar al jare
Jy het my niks nuuts laat ervaar
Daar is geen onderskeid binne my tussen jou seer en syne
Dit le nou als binne my, dis als nou myne
So wat bly oor van jou sogenoemde goeie intensies, wil ek weet
Binne n jaar of wat het jy als hier vergeet
Die bietjie wat ek gehad het, het ek met jou gedeel
Dit was nie wat jy wou he, my hart het jou verveel
Ek was net n goeie tyd wat jy op gedress het en liefde genoem
Terwl ek lee hande daar gestaan het en jou met my hele hart gesoen
Ek wens ek het harder probeer en jy het net geluister
Toe ek hard en saggies, en aanhoudend nee, nee, nee deur jou soene fluister
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
Feel the Force
Just Feel that Force.
No sign of divorce.
It’ll keep you on course.
It’s everywhere,
Not just a Star Wars fiction.
It may be God out there,
The cure for our affliction.
Whether The Force like us can think
Who knows?
Maybe we’re on the brink
Of its ebbs and flows.
All around there’s a Spiritual World,
Or so some say:
It’s yet unfurled
But we are on our way.
So Feel the Force
I say again.
Time runs its course,
Do ya ken?
As Yoda would say,
Your mind you open
And powerful you will become.
Paul Butters
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC
Cool black night thru redwoods
cars parked outside in shade
behind the gate, stars dim above
the ravine, a fire burning by the side
porch and a few tired souls hunched over
in black leather jackets. In the huge
wooden house, a yellow chandelier
at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers
hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles
Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths
dancing to the vibration thru the floor,
a little **** in the bathroom, girls in scarlet
tights, one muscular smooth skinned man
sweating dancing for hours, beer cans
bent littering the yard, a hanged man
sculpture dangling from a high creek branch,
children sleeping softly in their bedroom bunks.
And 4 police cars parked outside the painted
gate, red lights revolving in the leaves.
December 1965
5.5k
sat next to the man with two phones
i asked him to hold my hand
and he laughed
sitting in his ‘96 civic
for three hours we fell asleep
till six since three
he’s one of the many men
whose substance
far from the moral field
leaves many men with little substance
and you and me victims
of victims of you and me
he’s the type who feeds fiends
and he’ll keep making a killing
off children we perceive
as grown men and women
living to **** themselves
it’s how he makes a living
don’t him you belittle
for you are no different
i know the thought makes you livid
you wish he was lined up and shot with the likes of him
but your white lies are their white lines
and the front lines in his line of business
so you would lie alongside and
wrong right
where you were digging
as far as i’m concerned
he’s not a man without substance
and one of much substance
one of few and far between
and certainly could you defeat
because while you let savages ravage me
he held my hand for free
and never demanded their standard fee
of an arm
and a leg
and everything in between
.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
I was invited over with my best friend Ken
To play some pool , do downers , and drink some gin
Susan and Lea were live-in Lesbians
All of us real good friends
from a long time ago ,
you know , from a way back when
We had a blast playing pool
I was hot hot that night
I was wiping up the table
Made every shot in sight
By one a.m. my head began to spin
I lay down upon the couch
Then said goodbye to Ken
Then all turned quite except
for the scampering of mice
Then something else I felt as
Lea stark naked was sliding in
She started stripping off my clothes
Soon all was skin to skin
She licked and ******
scratched and pinned
She ravaged me like a beast
I could not satisfy her whims
No not in the least of them
She made me toast
Jellied up my behind
Buttered up my navel
I thought I had died
or surely lost my mind
After hours of lustful bliss
We fell asleep until when
she woke me up and said
"My car , can you fix it again ?"
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
Calf augmentation => silicon implantation
Endoscopy, otoplasty, baby
Mentoplasty, rhinoplasty, scalpel
Juvederm at 4, Starbucks pit-stop right after,
pop some xany's and go
Chemical peel, dermabrasion
Dr. Unknown PhD. meet patient Montag XR3.
Brain stimulation, kneecap replacement
Doc, I'm starting to miss the table, is this a complication I should expect?
Fat grafting, bone grafting, mystic tanning
(what really is natural nowadays?)
Chin reconstruction, laser resurfacing,
(what really is me anyways?)
Consultation with your post-op pain,
It's gonna be "Ouchy" for a month,
but worth it in the end.
Self-esteem scan shows a cancerous tumor and growth
Yuck
And here I thought plastic was
"cancer-free"?
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure
Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure
L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure
Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure
In English :
Below the Mirabeau bridge there flows the Seine
As for our love
Must I recall how then
After each sorrow joy would come again
Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay
Let us stay hand in hand and face to face
While down below
The bridge of our embrace
Roll the waves weary of our endless gaze
Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay
Love goes away the way the waters flow
Love goes away
How life is long and slow
How hope of life can deal so strong a blow
Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay
The days the weeks are passing from our ken
Neither time passed
Nor love can come again
Below the Mirabeau bridge there flows the Seine
Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
HATE BEING THE ONE THAT HAS TO BEHAVE
YOU SEE, I KNOW MY BROTHER IS ALLOWED TO SAY WHAT HE WANTS
BUT I HAVE TO WATCH WHAT I SAY, SOMETIMES I AM JUST BEING COOL
I HATE PEOPLE TELLING ME I HAVE TO BE GOOD, LIKE MY PERFECT FAMILY
IT’S HARD TO DISCIPLINED TO, JUST BECAUSE, I MUCKED WITH THE OLD FOGIES
I HATE, HOW PEOPLE TREAT ME LIKE A TOTAL AND UTTER LOSER
YOU SEE, WHY DO PEOPLE TRY AND DISCIPLINE ME, I FIND IT HARD
LIKE I CAN’T HELP IT, IF I HATED DADS DISCIPLINE RULE
I CAN’T HELP IT, IF I AM A NICE PERSON
YOU SEE, IF I GOOF UP, I AM TOLD, I HAVE NO MATES ANYMORE
ALL BECAUSE I SAID SOMETHING OUT OF LINE
I KNOW MY BROTHER HAS A WIFE AND KIDS, AND WAS COOL
AND YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE, PEOPLE ONLY LIKING ME
IF I BEHAVE, CAUSE I AM COOL, MAN, THE COOLEST DUDE IN CANBERRA
I HATE WHEN I HEAR THE VOICES BE LIKE US, WHEN I EXPRESS MYSELF OVER THE WEB
YOU SEE, WHY DO I HAVE TO BE NICE, I AM A COOL AND REGULAR GUY
I DESERVE TO BE LIKED, I DON’T WANT TO BE LIKED FOR BEING PATHETIC, NO WAY
I HAD VOICES FROM THE PARANORMAL, YA SEE I AM A NICE COOL PERSON
WHY CAN’T I ENJOY THINGS, JUST BECAUSE I ****** OFF PEOPLE
I FEEL IF I SEE THESE PEOPLE, THEY WILL SAY TO ME, I WAS WRONG
BUT I HATE BEING DISCIPLINED, PLEASE DON’T DISCIPLINE ME
I AM 45, AND I AIN’T COMMITTING ANY CRIMES, I AM STILL SEEING THESE DUDES
I USED TO GET DRUNK WITH, SOME WERE GOOD BLOKES
IT’S JUST THAT BACK THEN, I WASN’T PREPARED FOR OUR OUTINGS
I LIKE FOOTBALL, AND I LIKE GOING OUT HAVING FUN
AND I DON’T WANT TO BE TOLD TO BEHAVE MYSELF I HATED BEING TREATED LIKE A NICE AND POLITE MAN
WHILE MY MATES CAN BE LEFT ALONE, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE
I HATE THAT MAN KEN, I HAVE TO BEHAVE FOR HIM
I CAN’T STAND BEHAVING FOR ANYONE, BEHAVING IS DUNB AND BEHAVING IS WRONG
I HATE CATHOLIC MORALS, AND I HATE DISCIPLINE, BUT I FEEL ONLY OLD FOGIES HAVE DISCIPLINE MORALS
I TRY AND BE GOOD, WHEN I GO OUT TO EVENTS, BUTB SOMETIMES IT’S HARD TO EXCEPT DISCIPLINE
CAUSE WHY CAN’T I JUST BE ALLOWED TO MAKE A BIT OF NOISE
I AM ON MEDICATION, YA SEE IT’S MY DESTINATION, I WANT TO BE HAPPY, SO I TAKE MEDICATION
I THOUGHT DAD WAS STARTING TO SEE MY WAY OF LIFE, YOU SEE, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A GOOD BOY
BEING A GOOD BOY DOESN’T WORK FOR ME
I WANT TO BE NORMAL, I WANT TO BE LIKED
I SING A SONG, I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BAZ BOY, CAUSE HE TRIED TO JUST THINK I LIKED DISCIPLINE
I HATE BEING TOLD TO SHUT UP, IF YOU WANT ME TO SHUT UP, I WILL NEVER SHUT UP, CAUSE, I FOLLOW MY OWN STYLE
WHICH IS FUN, I BELIEVE IN HAVING FUN WHEREVER I GO OUT INTO THIS WORLD
I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU CAN’T REALISE, I HATE DISCIPLINE, I DON’T WANT TO BE TREATED LIKE I AM TOO WOOSEY FOR LIFE
I HATE BEING TOLD I HAVE TO BEHAVE, WHY DON’T YOU BEHAVE, YOU TELL ME TO BEHAVE, YOUR A TOTAL LOSER, BUDDY OLE BOY OLE CHUM OLE PAL
I AM GOING TO THE BOTANIC GARDENS TONIGHT, BUT I DON’T WANT TO HANG WITH DISCIPLINE LOVING NERDS
I DON’T DO BEHAVING, OK I WILL NEVER DO BEHAVING, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE AN OLD FOGIE
I AM A COOL MIDDLE AGER, WHO LOVES TO PARTY
STOP DISCIPLINING ME, YA ****
OR I WILL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
What is the Secret of your Great Tan Skin?
This be bashful on a Blind Afternoon
With you on Sail, and Tongues burning within
High on a Jetty, the Girls see you soon
Frankly, you the Millennium's Next Best Ken,
Picking Barbie after Barbie on Hors
The other Males sour; Then prune once again
Thinking them robbed from the Best Picks before
See, how your Rome enamourates the World
And letting this pour like an Endless Fall
Splashing on Flesh, to Cologne turning swirl
Eau et de la Belle, who boasts you and all.
Seeing this Promo, this Six-Pack so thin
Still did not respond to your Great Tan Skin.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
*one big tear in
the fabric of society,
the shut ins,
the outsiders,
the comic book geeks,
the gamers,
the carefree lovers,
the jokers,
they all want to fit in,
but why would you
want to be on the inside?
the biohazard *******
and ken dolls aren't cool,
they're cruel.*
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Coming thro’ the rye, poor body,
Coming thro’ the rye,
She draiglet a’ her petticoatie
Coming thro’ the rye.
O, Jenny’s a’ wat, poor body;
Jenny’s seldom dry;
She draiglet a’ her petticoatie
Coming thro’ the rye.
Gin a body meet a body
Coming thro’ the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body—
Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a body
Coming thro’ the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body—
Need the warld ken?
4k
My new-cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimson-blank the windows flare;
By my own work, before the night,
Great Overseer, I make my prayer.
If there be good in that I wrought,
Thy hand compell’d it, Master, Thine;
Where I have fail’d to meet Thy thought
I know, through Thee, the blame if mine.
One instant’s toil to Thee denied
Stands all Eternity’s offence;
Of that I did with Thee to guide
To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.
Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
Bring’st Eden to the craftsman’s brain,
Godlike to muse o’er his own trade
And manlike stand with God again.
The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.
One stone the more swings to her place
In that dread Temple of Thy worth—
It is enough that through Thy grace
I saw naught common on Thy earth.
Take not that vision from my ken;
O, whatsoe’er may spoil or speed,
Help me to need no aid from men,
That I may help such men as need!
4k
Biology TED talk, Ken Burns WWII
Multiple choice plus open response =
Teacher cares, out there among the English
Mathematics, fractions to imaginary i
Anything can happen any time, I mean
Mass killing--public school, movie theater,
Post office when every mother wears a gun
Yet happiness permeates like CO2 + sunlight
Photosynthesis + electricity = burning bush
Hot tea, hot shower pleasure perfect rest
Early to bed, no more lies, complexity
Poetry about history, i.e. Wolfowitz
As for non-fiction, most things qualify to know
Astrobiology, search for LUCA, FLO
Minerals on Titan, organisms on Enceladus
Divination on Iapetus, peace on Earth and Tethys
Volcanoes and tsunamis, Big Red One and Private Ryan
Don't stay up late, take your vitamins
Sin and crime being nothing more than
Mental malaise, imbalance. Love and compromise
Tolerance, practice worksheets, brilliance
Prejudice and superstition, Tha's a wrap
Nothin doin, ain't gonna happen, freedom's when
Yes is mostly a blessing and No is always an option
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 8:14 AM UTC
Particular thoughts tickle my dome
like the day my thumb got stuck in my mouth
and how long it took me to get it out
or when Betty stole my doll but i knew
coz i didn't like it at all
and when all i ate was a peanut butter jelly roll
coz it was the only thing i ever enjoyed
it's amazing how i have grown
how i've gone from dressing dolls to dressing myself
making sure i look good for the boys
instead of Barbie looking good for Ken
I walk through castles and dont build them anymore
dont chase butterflies
coz i already feel them in me
when Nick comes running along
dont believe in fairy tales
coz reality has struck me today alot
growing up takes a lot of time and effort
and looking down memory lane brings me joy
when i wake up in the moring
and find us cuddling in our spot
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 9:13 AM UTC