"kgb" poems
Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.
New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?
Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme
Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?
You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.
Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow
Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
(Sung to Where Have All the Flowers Gone)
Where have all the assassins gone,
I'm just asking,
Where have all the hit-men gone,
It wasn't long ago.
Where have all the psychos gone,
Ones like Sirhan Sirhan,
Or a crazy American,
Better still, a red Russian.
Where have all the agencies gone,
I'm just asking,
The MI5, the CIA,
KGB, Mossad;
Where have covert actions gone,
When there's a guys like loonie Kim Jong;
A psychopathic American,
A dictator with no where to run.
Where have all our heroes gone,
I'm just asking;
Where have all our leaders gone,
Not so long ago.
Where have all fine Presidents gone,
Biden was the last good one;
When will we ever learn,
Ego-maniacs can't govern.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
Bi polar bear bouncing up and down
on a summer high one year
Got to walk the wall
in China before I wore those shirts
an excuse to use/not to wear
When I was getting perks
And reminding me to stay in line
how lucky that it is to get all of this
for nothing more than just a Kremlin kiss
Kathy's kissing in the Kremlin
Chatting after she had tea
And we're hiding from the KGB
Kathy's kissing in the Kremlin
And I went up to Alaska, the final frontier
Found a tent to defrost in Antarctica
Sunk to the bottom of the ocean floor
Where it is all lit up
and I rode the Himalayan Sky
Sold the pictures to the book with yellow trim
and
Kathy's kissing in the Kremlin
Flying there again. Kathy's kissing in the Kremlin
Kissing in the Kremlin
Kissing in the Kremlin
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Santa was a hit man and he had no alibi
His big red suit was drenched in blood, more vibrant than a dye
See, Mrs. Clause was KGB, and the North Pole was her base
And Santa was the corporate shell that really owned the place
The "elves" were political prisoners (and yes, some were rather short)
And the present-giving Christmas was the day Clause would report
But when the Union went away, there was no need for Clauses
And they ripped up the whole contract (not covered in Incidental Causes)
Mrs. Clause got into drinking, and it got worse everyday
'Till it happened: she was so drunk, she keeled over in the hay
They found her the next morning with a reindeer on her head
Santa knew before the med report that Mrs. Clause was dead
So he went back to the basics, and he hooked into Network 1
The most top secret channel where certain agents have their fun
He was lost without his partner (their marriage was arranged)
She had handled the business,his financial sense was left estranged
He knew without her, he'd go under; have to sell the Pole to the West
He needed to make the payments by doing just what he knew best
Santa filled the role of assassin, killing silently with grace
He laid a finger beside his nose before he shoved the gun up in your face
Making the hits look unconnected, well he varied up his style
In fact he was thinking of being a "serial killer" and followed that up for a little while
But his stealing milk and cookies didn't clue anybody in
Maybe it just wasn't plausible to blame the fat man and his grin
Whatever the case, he's a random killer who strikes with impunity
With a swish of his coat, he jumps roof to roof, flaunting his immunity
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Oh Vova, My little Vova
Sitting on your throne of skulls
You survey your frozen kingdom
and as you always do
You grimace
With bitterness tempered by the ages
Born a citizen of a scarlet empire. now the tyrant of a tricolor nation
You are both the largest and the smallest man
Who does reside in this time-worn land
You rule your potemkin empire with a fist of iron, a gaze of lead and a voice of kolokol-1
Your inhumanity is well practiced
From your days in the KGB
Your “New Russia” is merely a kleptocratic mockery of it’s golden years
A cheap ersatz mimicry
of Russia’s grandest days
Few things could bring your hard slavic face to show
Even the smallest modicum of joy
But there he stands
Dima!, oh Dima
The light of your life
The only man with the power
To make the Czar smile
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
I wish I could greet death
Like a svelte Russian KGB agent
With bright red lipstick and a menthol
Dangling from my mouth
Leaning against a brick wall
So casually
But in reality
I will greet death like a newborn infant
Alone in the world until it meets the eyes
Of its mother
I will greet death
Hiding under a desk
With the barrel of a gun pointed at my face
Wondering when was the last time I told my mother I loved her.
I will greet death like a naïve university student
Learning about entropy
Did you know,
There’s a law of thermodynamics which states entropy is
What the universe is constantly moving towards
Energy resolving itself into a more probable arrangement
Like the moment it all clicked together
My universe, my body, my system
All shifting to a more probable arrangement,
that is Death.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Leningrad in the spring of '81
Now that was a spring break
Sans the Florida girls
Three nights there
Two more in Moscow
The hotel room in Leningrad
Two whole days of *******
The bosses wife
And the knocking on the doors
By the military dependents
"Keep the noise down,
Knock that off" they plead
"Don't you know what time it is?"
I have no other memory of Leningrad
Because I never got to see any of it
The best time I ever had
in Moscow, the buildings, so grand
I just wanted to take a picture
and was surrounded by guards with
guns
Really big men with very big guns
Upon a pat down the KGB found
A pack of cigarettes on my person
"American Marlboros" he exclaimed
While passing them out to his buddies
"Here, try one of ours" he states
while offering a Russian version
of the same product/not the same product
I choked on it "see" said the cop
"You Americans RICH"
Comrades, have you seen him?
The great imperialist
The man who will destroy us
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
This one is so going to be looked at
by the men in Black
so don't say
I told you
maybe ever the KGB who knows.
As neil steped out
the first words were not this one step ect.
it was neil saying buzz
got a problem
what neil
the elastic just gone on my dippers
and the installer liquid is tricking into my boots
at that buzz got onto nassa
Houston we have a problem
the elastic gone in neils dippers
**** drifting around
inside neils suit
and man do I have to live with him
all the way back
for we have no shower.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Ex-KGB agent
Vladimir Putin knows a great deal
About spying and gathering info
And making a person talk--or squeal.
The FBI, CIA,
And NSA have found a connection
Between Putin and a campaign
To alter the results of our election.
To denigrate Hillary Clinton
Was one of the hackers' primary goals.
By hacking into email accounts
And--with the help of Internet trolls--
Amplifying false reports,
Putin's hackers aimed to block
Clinton's chances of being president.
That they did it is no shock.
At altering Russia's election results,
Putin's expertise is shining.
Anyone who criticizes
The tyrant is worth undermining.
Consequently, Clinton became
The target of Putin's wrath.
A little manipulation and we
Are now seeing the aftermath.
Trump, instead of feeling outrage,
Was really more concerned about who's
Responsible for having leaked
Some of the info to NBC News!
The fact that Russia tampered with
Our election doesn't faze him.
What interests him is vengeance against
Anyone who doesn't praise him.
- by Bob B (1-7-16)
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
The medium which brought us together
is the only way I know
how to convey to you what's in my heart.
Since I can't touch you, or speak to you,
or make love to you, I will have to write to you.
To be completely honest, I don't know if
I have the power to be
who it is you need me to be.
I don't know how to take the shame that's been
shackled to you like an unexpected visit from KGB,
and help you believe that it's all a lie.
Believe me when I say that I know,
how unyielding self-loathing can be
especially when there are good things
pulling you away from that empty place in your heart.
But that's why we found each other I think,
to prove to one another, that the past
only has the power to keep us locked within it.
I promise you that one day, regardless of our supposed weaknesses,
that emptiness will be filled, and the light will come back.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
Where have all the assassins gone,
I'm just asking,
Where have all the hit-men gone,
It wasn't long ago.
Where have all the psychos gone,
Ones like Sirhan Sirhan,
Or a crazy red Russian,
Lining crosshairs for Vlad Putin.
Where have all the agencies gone,
I'm just asking,
The MI5, the CIA,
KGB, Mossad;
Where have covert actions gone,
When there's guys like crazed Kim Jong;
Or a crazed Red Russian,
A narcissistic Vlad Putin.
Where have all our heroes gone,
I'm just asking;
Where have all our leaders gone,
Not so long ago.
Where have all fine Russians gone;
Boris was their last good one;
When will we ever learn,
Ego-maniacs can't govern.
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 10:34 AM UTC
Those lovely folks at N.S.A. love reading your e-mails.
They parse each line in search of crime; the devil’s in the details.
Those Patriots at A T & T are equal to the task
of providing them with access; they’ll do anything they’re asked.
They spy upon the great and small, the poets and the dreamers,
to catch a whiff of nasty plots now being hatched by schemers.
They’ve spied upon Sarkozy and they’ve eavesdropped in on Merkel.
They tapped lines in the U.N. and other diplomatic circles.
Their corporation cronies provide them with full access for no fee;
This makes our spies the envy of the Russian KGB
So when you reach out and touch someone, don’t assume you are alone.
I’m pretty sure big brother is there listening on the phone.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
They monitor the internet.
They listen in on calls.
They spy on foreign Heads of State-
Believe me that takes *****
Their surveillance apparatus
Makes the KGB look LAX.
Omniscience is their stated aim
to “protect” us from attacks.
So put up with whole body scans
And show your papers please.
I believe the cure for terror
Will prove worse than the disease.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
Last night a man told me the story
of his visit to a mass grave of believers
made by the former KGB in Russia.
As he looked on that scene
his sadness surged into sobs
thinking of the torture and death
suffered by those good people.
But then a flow of joy merged in the moment
as he looked at his Russian hosts
who still carried the faith and fidelity
birthed by the prior generation.
As I listened last night
and now reflect on his story
I am struck by the depth, pathos
and sheer humanity
underneath my friend’s tears.
In that profound moment
the ineffible mixture of sadness and joy
seemed a creature of the spirit -
of an invisible higher realm.
Nov 14, 2021
Nov 14, 2021 at 9:45 AM UTC
Dr. Bob and the guilty two. In a basket they carry you.
What the river knows, is Saint Anthony. Cleopatra and Moses
Star on Dawson's Creek.
There were silver bells coated with Vaseline last night,
Rayon lights on lips- the clock arm diet, little
Rub-a-Dub, KGB, and No. 4.
This is who we are.
This is how we speak.
Come on over, yea!
Be inside the part of parties.
Come on dressed in bows, boys all dressed in roses.
Candle-light chandelier surprise, we're in the kingdom of the wise.
Talk so cheap its whispered. Instead
Let's get a bit closer. The lean,
A skinny kiss, for another hot-girl in a slim-fitting dress.
Be it yellow or white,
A neon pink design?
My stylist doesn't mind-
We take our clothes off,
So you can get to know us.
Seventy valets, the moon is out in full bloom.
"One more bottle to the living room!"
All the boys they dance, while the girls rub on their pants.
The treasure hunt has began, I can use the map but you can't,
No need to sleep it off, hey! Hey!
The DJ plays through, it's Saturday, hey! Hey!
My bedroom's right this way,
While you get laid, I get paid.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
A hammer and sickle to tickle them
cries of, 'it's Stalin' to ******* them, then
silence on Red Square.
Dacha's popping up everywhere
communism like evangelism
gathers the money in
holiday plans.
There are true ***** drinkers
thinkers like
Solzhenitsyn
gulags
and the rags of
Moscow.
I won't go
to the palace where tells of a ****** or
on the long road that tells us of more.
The KGB
a resident family of the community
are looking for me via Odessa.
I've gone to Sweden to lead 'em astray, can't stay in the concrete connivance no way, but
I end up in Siberia wearier than the dogs who run with the pack.
Looking back at the back of it
there's a lack of it, but I'll manage it and a carriage would help a bit to carry me home .
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
Imagine just how life might be
Without the old apostrophe
That humble punctuator we
Should deem to not be necess’ry
Of course, in all sincerity
We’d go on with what’s custom’ry
Just using them, so flippantly
From ** Chi Minh to gay Paree
A punctuation KGB
Would roam the streets incessantly
And persecute those, foolishly
Who slip one in ’twixt N and T
For every single time that we
Should use that little stroke, you see
Shall cost us, it will not be free
We’ll pay a high apostrofee
As months do pass, eventually
The use of an apostrophe
Becomes rare as a butterflee
Forgotten most entirely
With passing years, we’d eagerly
Write words in their entirety
Remarking, “is it not so twee
That words are not perfunctory?”
Our compromised efficiency
Would bother neither you nor me
And so arrives the time that we
Will make the world apostrofree.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
your on some ones suspect list
in a world of paranoia and finger pointing
your face on a wanted poster
for all and any of the ills of this life
could be the KGB, or those murdering cultish maniacs,
or the guy next door who covets your smile
either way your card is marked
some one would gladly see your downfall
could be you ***** their conscience
or make their heart ache
and you thought you were ineffective
when all the while you were causing mayhem
in the lives of those who would **** a Butterfly, given the chance.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
Tempers flare in russian Markets.
Neighbors turn on neighbors -
Fighting for the final bag of sugar -
Snatching a carton of eggs.
from a nearby shoppers cart.
This is but the surface of your pain.
Your hard-earned coins and notes
Are worth little more than dust.
Your cherished sons and brothers
Come home in zippered bags.
These and your every other panic
Has a single homicidal face.
He has ravaged your beloved land.
This blood soaked KGB assassin
Has stolen your country and your soul.
When the bombs and missiles stop
When screams of Ukraini widows end,
Your youth and tomorrow’s hope
will sink no longer to early graves
And the russian soul will rise from its ashes.
Mar 31, 2022
Mar 31, 2022 at 10:32 AM UTC