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Saul Makabim Jun 2012
**** masterminds
steer clear of this man
He's relentless
a pitbull
Lumping up Pinkman
for no logical reason
He's a madman
Massacres Mexican
kingpins and button men
Knocks out Keith Jardine
in a barfight
initiated as a ptsd
relief valve
Maddog brothers
Axe murdering elite
eliminated with a bullet
a fender
and a little help from Gustavo Fring  
The only man
to walk away unscathed
from the exploding head of Danny Trejo debacle
Houndog Hank
the sherman tank
is hot on Heisenbergs trail.
Its almost guaranteed
One of them will die
Heisenbergs Bad
But Schrader
is badass.
Sunday July 15th
Max Neumann Dec 2020
sweaty forehead, a gory past
wildly glowing eyes of oblivion
shivering hands, sirens, bars
freedom, imprisonment, razor blades

peru, coca farmers, chemicals
smuggler channels, route 36
franklin's face on crumpled-up paper
rattling coins, benjamins, stacks

gotta make it or take it
gotta sell or abuse it
flashing louis, abundant future
sweaty forehead, ****** present

biker chapters, brothers, funerals
tommy hauled jim's coffin
rick carried tommy to his grave
cut-offs, gats, one call: ******

despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta
mortals remain silent, angels don't
rain of blood, a puddle of codes
turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs

cults **** cultures, weapons replace
shelter in a group home; the stabbing
"shaun got heart, he a furious one --
can use dat dude, pay him up"

black, white, african-american, chechens
territories of unspoken laws
intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters
lured teenagers, deadly magic of power

the old ones impress the new ones
newbies will turn into soldiers
**** or get killed; headshots of fear
numbers on the forehead, blueish

unwritten are the rules of some
bribed politicians, skippers, knockos
the one who wets, will be wetted
others prefer the clarity of faith

organized crime, rats and kingpins
multilevel marketing, elevators
glass towers, late and secret meetings
route 36, the white magic of death

it's all in the game


"The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life.
Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself.

Relax."

(Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")
https://youtu.be/dqegVgz0oUc
two wars, two wounds
four deployments in ten years
the trauma, the scars
the waste, the tears

a soldier driven to madness
numb warriors driven to drink
a lost decade of blood-lust
gives a nation pause to think

how virtue becomes nightmare
how ideals implode and die
how the paradox of intention
is undermined with hidden lies

fighting wars to **** terrorists
on obscure Afghan plains
generations of young ones
sentenced to death and pain

the ***** of bloodied footprints
march strait to a profiteer’s bank
depositing lucrative spoils of war
fill contracts to build more tanks

woe to the battlefield heroes
who answered a country’s call
decorated with broken families
and home mortgage defaults

a minds discombobulation
nurses a spiritual malaise
fuels emotional breakdowns
kindles smoldering rage

kneeling to medieval potentates
to win hearts of corrupt Afghans
guard Loya Jirgas of narco kingpins
spill blood to defend tribal lands

the call of deranged duty
maniacal as a video game
lines of the real and phantasmagoric
firm only in minds of the insane

the Skype connection broken
won’t see the kids face tonight
a land mine took a buddy’s leg
some ***** will set things right

the brain starts quickly buzzin
a zillion scenes flash in the head
better paint blood on the door jams
the grim reaper gonna thresh the dead

don a suit of Kevlar armor
the invincible angel stalks
to avenge blatant inequities
he suffered here and in Iraq

a land washed by ****** oceans
scarlet splashed on every door
death prowls along dark roads
a passover finds no safe abode

the screaming eyes of the angel
inflamed with red spikes of hate
seeks to still the heaving roil
his raging heart could not abate

he murdered a sleeping family
and found another to share its fate
a desperate act to cleanse himself
to find a profane state of grace

this pilgrim of death was not finished
cool retribution must square accounts
a burnt offering to the Lords of War
speak the deeds sermon on the mount

dragging live and dead bodies
stacking unholy pyres in the hall
no angel to stop this Abraham's hand
this grotesque executioners pall

Staff Sargent Bales was arrested
He now sits in the prison of his thoughts
does his trembling mind have knowledge
of what his awful hands have wrought?

or does a trembling nation
so much in love with war
understand its complicity
with what it should abhor?

the blood of innocents drip
from every American sill
as the passover approaches
the stain invites an angel’s ill will

Music Selection:
Charles Gounod,
Funeral March of a Marionette

Oakland
3/19/12
jbm
Sam Temple Jun 2015
regional dissidence marked by ****** exchanges
tempered anger lends itself to psychotic episodes
and the children lay in gulley’s attempting to remain hidden –
shattered glass crashes onto unpaved streets
complete with ditches dug to expedite waste removal
as the filth of a nation runs freer than the citizenry –
enter technological gods bringing stories of prosperity
visions of democracy and unity begin to shape in the heart and minds
or so they tell themselves so sleep will find them –
battered emotions bubble to the surface of faces
pressed hard against stained glass doorways
fleeting images of food strewn tables and shoes un-holed
dance across impoverished and diseased brains
incapable of self-supporting, they line tourists spots
holding shabby signs and juggling rocks for pennies
brandished with the gentleman who claims slave freedom –
desert boarders separate families languishing for acknowledgement
true Americans generationally linked to the very soil
toil in agricultural hell as whites get fat
on the backs of today’s slave system  
immigrant workers bury loved ones on the edges of factory farms
saying Catholic prayers to a corporate god
most well known for being the root of child molestation –
cartel kingpins hire babies to mule ******
DEA agents load them into vans destined for the inner city
As the forever war against minorities takes yet another turn –
Max Neumann Jul 2021
take a close look at daniel blue: thievin'
tommy's wallet floats thru his garden
camouflage of a secretive spirit, bricks
and daniel does it all for loads of blow

milly meantime desperate since
her square drawings grow into strife
but that's how she acts out, love ya girl
yayo, tho, remains the white magic...

catch my thoughts, old friend, come over
yesterday's enemy, now platin mutants
lay down, relax, breathe deeply, 16 seconds
eagerly governing are kingpins & eagles

feel me in the midst of purple mist
among dusk, dawn, and dusk, 108 hours
insomnia, trance, return, greed, insights
months vanish like hours, but still here

you get me? this is much appreciated
this is a highly desired lifestyle, kiddo
especially when the mouth ironly hurts
and you spot the shadows of memories
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
they really shouldn't have stressed their point
on education:
      i got educated... and so what?
i would have been happy working my way
up from in a supermarket -
         or any other faint job resembling robotics -
it's harder to get higher education
and start from the tomb-rock-bottom -
too much Disney got fused with your nerves -
and imagination isn't that powerful coupled
with consciousness to make yourself hallucinate
debilitating experiences - it's not that powerful,
however much those who think so argue the point -
i once said: i want to write poetry like Wordsworth -
not really, i want to write poetry like the Boss:
yep, Springsteen - i want to write the lyrics
that Bon Jovi and George Harrison wrote:
that's what should be potatoes (i.e. arable) in poetry:
the inability: the vouchsafed last:
                                                     a void attired to
a crowd: the conductor and the massed-up orchestra -
the magi wand: the larynx and the last breathed chord.
but in reality getting mail from U.C.L.
makes me think only one thing:
hey! i dropped out halfway through the semester!
i didn't go through the second periodic,
i wet mad, but you took my money anyway,
can i have those 3 thousand quids back?
no? well... that's my donation to your sporty-sports
gagging for money... ever hear Oxfam was a
country named in Africa... you're not donating
to starving infants... you're donating
to keep bureaucrats in their jobs -
all post-colonial nations invented charity organisations:
take the money, you have no honour,
or rap left in you -
all post-colonial nations invented charity organisations:
money is the easy way out:
namesake gambling or playing the lottery -
their shark-like-leeches: they prey on hopeless
old women - once again with the
Berber pirates: old age is a curse, rather than an
achievement: we'll never outlive the Galapagos
turtles: they're born with wrinkles and an
expectation to live beyond 100 years...
no, i don't feel anything having been achieved
with me receiving the Portico magazine from U.C.L.,
they shouldn't have hanged that carrot in my face
given my father is a roofer and a former
metal worker - they sniffed me out via their class
warfare jealousy - they sniffed out that i was
an avid reader and beyond comprehensively literate,
that ****** them off... i continued on my road
to demise, wishing it was truly a ding-****
resemblance of Sonny Clark... i shame the fates
invoking the furies that it wasn't the similar case
of lessened concerns - and death, or Samael -
like antoine de aaint-exupéry's little prince
in similar caste to understand: once more,
death the most curious of children -
for it is said: when born with weakness once
easily accepts it, and focuses on the beauty
beyond - but when weakness is forced upon you
without genetic explanation, as a crime:
one takes to kindred involvement with the cancerous
child, who, in his weakness, sought beyond
the immediate: the aesthetic at being so little
time to find so little beneath the potential:
as life firstly peppered with drink, woman and song,
to be later salted with drink (alcoholism), woman
(celibacy at best, or ****** and general abandonment),
and song: rain drools on the parapets like
angry gods, or friendly dogs.
and you think the winner of the english x-factor
2015 got a record contract? have you seen her lately?
they make the people already broken doubly broke...
elevation of ******* i think...
                  the karaoke tribunal and sentencing -
they are worse off than they were before,
    like me, being fed the lie of getting education,
becoming an educated chemist,
    not catching the fisherman's tackle of money
and suiting myself to the robot clause of entertaining
those that pay for waiters, doormen and shelf-stacking creeps,
  i should be there, not here, not writing these
poems: i should be there.
               i'm not even born to entertain,
   hence my precursor to meddle in shelved toothpaste.
          my best gambit joke?
           i've got nothing to lose -
unless it's a library of books and compact disks...
   beyond that... talk of honour and *****
  is pretty much tied to kingpins and stilettos -
        and life... well... i like the way it sounds:
  and lastly god: well, i don't blame the Utopian
fetishist on all the grief... i just like to turn people
into simple coordinates of pointing my finger:
                    nits                          nits
      and an old lady knitting a scarf to catch
                       a forgotten wind from the north:
that hushed the Eskimo into yawning -
             from breath a sculpture in the Arctic:
                                    an electron cloud,
  rigid dogmatic orbits elsewhere, and for some other fools;
            as i was once.
Styles Sep 2015
Lord of the Rings,
pinning Kingpins
then Kinging-kings,
Mexi-can
and some can't
you stand a slump chance
peripheral vision, no glance
B-boy stance, more ***** than lance
I'll battle your whole camp,
blowing your speakers, Amp'd
revamped, and clamp't
now i'm stepping over you tramps,
those silly rants, got you stamp'd
for getting carried away-
u can't see my BARS- this ain't Saint Patrick's day.
ever since i started rapping this way,
ya'll flows start'n to look like paper mache
I made so much REAL, paper today, but
these Cheeseheads playing keep away, holding this Green Bay Packer at Bay, they ******* up the play, like a rain delay, feeling like putting the refs, to rest, for the rest of the day.Either way, my pocket's Fannie May, and the Lambo feel Cray, so like Sandro, they go pay, top dollar, no topay. I treat BARS and money the same way-  up-up and away- so quick, you'd think I'm saving the day. But i'm no HERO, I dont swing that way. Villian on scene, looking for a fight. I Wonder Women- when they see, My D.C. then left Superman all ******, for acting tight. i guess that make me a Cript -tonight.
jason galt Dec 2015
This isn’t a tale of snails and puppy dog tails
This isn’t my love opus
There will be no dandelions and daydreams

          This is poetry to fight to
          This is poetry to **** to
          This is poetry to **** to

     This is beauty
     This is art

It’s exhaust in your face
It’s fury after heartbreak
It’s bleeding and *** holes and mold
It’s the ache in your brain and the tugging at your soul
Maddening, hallucinogenic, tongue in and cheek and powerful

This is road rash and asphalt
This is for the punks who spit in your face
This is for thieves in the night
This is for the battered, shattered and abused
This is for those who can’t take anymore
This is for those still truckin along
This is for the addicts, ******* and opinionated
This is for the single fathers ****** over by baby mamas
This is for those who spit blood and get up off the canvas
This is for those crawling out of their skin
This is for those bursting at the seams
This is for those who pick scabs for fun
For those willing to fight and **** and feel

Those who steal at will, who shotgun beers at 8am
Those that fight bears with Bowie knives
Those that saddle burdens
This is for those too smart for their own **** good
This is for the unhinged
This is for those who walk the edge
This is for the devils
This is for the demons
This is for those who can’t put the genie back in the god ****** bottle
This is for those who wear their heart on their sleeve
This is for the ******
          For I am the ******
This is for the lunatics
This is for those with poor impulse control
The saddened and gladdened, miserable and merciful
The maniacal narcissists with delusions of grandeur
The glass half full types, swilling *****
The junkies. The ******.
This Rottweilers stuck in pint sized packages
The nonsensical. The absurd. The unbecoming.
The shivs and the shanks.
The me’s, myselves and the I’s.
The notorious. The nefarious.
The sinners and saints.
The lovers. The lost. The last of their kind.
The ones who broke the mold.
The outlaws and rabble-rousers.
The coke heads and kingpins.
The ones who live in no man’s land.
The beautiful. The scarred.
The demented and downtrodden.
The ones who give up Sunday morning ******* to put pen to paper.
The attention ******.
The anti-social lovers of humanity.
The Molotav cocktails.
The ticking time bombs
The powder kegs and the poets.
This is for those who can’t get enough
And for those who can’t stay away.
This is what poetry is.
The crackle from the chicken fry
Makes me want to spy
Where my momma lies
Knowing that dinner isn’t to far behind
She a athlete with the stove
Multitasking while I drove her insane
She always exclaimed how my laughter
Could help more than her pastor
To bad she was married to a raptor
He come home stumbling and fumbling
Ready to pick a fight
Then slap us both
Because the Knicks didn’t win tonight
Her screams filled my ears
And his aggression haunted my dreams
I know I created my life
But he was instrumental to the scheme

By twelve I had too cook on my own
Mom worked three jobs
So I stayed home alone
Sides were my speciality
So rice and potatoes became a formality
Light with salt but heavy on herbs
Put it on medium high so they are superb
Cheap but filling cause I got to go
This light bill won’t get paid
Unless I’m on the street of Chicago
Flipping packs like I’m Kodak
So I never miss a beat
Make thousands a week
So I got to watch what I eat
Cause the cops stay outside
With a crowd of eyes
In a circle that supplies
Info that leads to my demise

Had to move down south
Since the snakes came out
Trapping with the best
That’s what makes me feel blessed
Sugar laced tea with a lemon accent
Every sip I take
Lowers my descent into torment
Too bad my grass wasn’t green
So when I walked out
It was a Boyz n the Hood scene
Loss Ricky yesterday
Then Tre left anyway
So ice I had no choice but to melt
Without help he had to save himself
So no surprise when cops arrived
Charges that could fill a Bible
That’s why I knew that jail was coming
Like mail just subtract the snail

Let the days begin to end
As the trail leads to a government win
Another bad guy locked away
While the real criminals continue to play
So my sentence gets raised
By decades but I’m not amazed
Hood kingpins get killed
While political eels continue to  
Slither and steal
But my appeal is denied
So my life flashes on by
With death ready to say goodbye
I remember very little
My mind the size of a skittle
The only thing that makes me rise
Is the last thought
Of how my mother’s chicken
Keeps me alive
Across the realm of gray matter
slowly percolating within tissue
composed of neuronal, glial
and endothelial cells, and although
there must be biological rules
that determine the numbers
of cells of each subtype
and the volumes (or masses)
occupied by them,
little is known about such rules,
if they indeed exist

nevertheless, ah haint goot
no trade secret, boot verily
attest adventitious, bounteous, and
capacious divine intervention
(analogous to invisible
Charge of the Light Brigade)
timely saving amazing grace
engorges, engirdles, and engenders mine
body, mind and spirit,
which psychic triage
accruing, germinating,

and manifesting coming
forth, and appearing
at the most opportune
pluperfect tinder kindling
jawboning indeed, and
instagramming optimal instant –
sparing irreparable cerebral damage,
yet inflicting temporary
temporal lobe trauma
not surprising giving
brain big bang, sans

tickly totally tubular raise
zing trumpeting – analogous
to Portuguese man-of-war
sea render tyranny
(Sic semper tyrannis)
over fifty plus shades sways
undulating cerebral cortex
doth lightly secretly
with naturally secreted
unguent liberal mindedly braise,
which explanation might meet

with skepticism, but crazy as such
"FAKE" holy transcendent
heavenly extra corporeal
modus operandi may seem,
an inexplicable force
powerfully Herculean sensation
grips me noggin leavening
mental scratch pad in a daze
of blinding poetic inspiration doth    
like quaffing goblet
of gin n tonic faze

this phenomena plays
a particularly puzzling role
on account difficult to phrase
in light of my being an atheist,
which non deistic, theistic,
nor Vedic precept stays
metaphorically locked, linkedin, and
leveraged in place,
despite non religious confession
augmentation, attribution,
and association showers inspiration,

where eyes fixedly glaze
as literary creativity attaining
high psychological grades
dramatically engages fantastically
with cosmic force appearing
as nebulous haze
seems antithetical to premise
couched, fixated, and interleaved
anchor rightly, viz
secular humanism inlays
votary visa versa entrees

shutterfly, snapchat twitter
comport comfortably situated
in  the catbird seat
as upon royal chaise
lounge steeped within
monastic hermetically ascetic ways
akin to daffodils got to puff the
magic dragon GoDaddy seed achieve
visibly absent pride and
prejudice where aggrieve
ving unseen, as careening

human bits believe
where forebears of Adam, and
the ants sandy dunes cleave
species pollination, yet devoid of
neither sense nor
sensibility that deceive
themselves philanthropic buttressed
by religious ethos, dogmas
credo, et cetera since Eve
to and fro, hither and yon
across the globe heave

infusing self importance
viz zit heady species
**** sapiens sans belief bold
lee granting superiority
to hundreds of generations
lapsed goo gilled descendants
of contemporary Primates cold,
and calculating dictatorial demagogues
(no matter dishabille disheveled) doled
out self importance
gussied up as kingpins,

whose braggadocio extolled
blood lust, depravity and egregious
on flip side of Manichaeism origami fold
touting faux grandeur measly
humans inherent self supremacy,
which mettle valuably wrought
more precious than gold
whereby might versus right
fostered iron gripped hold
trumping supreme cosmic
deity (if such exists,

per those, who ascribe existence
to divine creator),
where mankind didst
get special mold
where fictitious codified battlements
evinced luminary salient traits
if millennial forbears hypothetically polled
vis a vis virtue vindicates
vice viz lyrical tomes
such legendary mythological narratives as:
Aeneid, Don Juan,

Paradise Lost, The Divine Comedy,
Mahabharata, Beowulf,
Metamorphoses, The Odyssey,
Epic of Gilgamesh,
and The Iliad
displayed thunderous outrages
rectified violently rocked and rolled
where assignment throughout galaxy -
studded with malevolent
mailer daemons all told
informed terrestrial behavior,

decrees and formalities amidst wold
wide webbed skein tenuous
as gossamer wings
shutterfly at the speed of sound
albeit ergot size
solemn spores bumping,
commingling and jostling beings
whose demotic, erratic,
and frenetic vernacular
bumped uglies against
sacred talismanic wild things

while secular notions cursed
as intractably intolerable swings
per paradigms that disallowed rubric,
where autocratic stings
lashed out at pagan rites, which
when viewed from
surface where Earthlings
dwelt appeared as unpredictable
skittering dots with nary flings
perceived, but simply

near microscopic simians
crowning themselves as Kings
of Leon admonishing those
madding crowd source rings
of bright waters -
offering entertainment
to the invisible forces
within galactic realm
as mere antics of goslings.

— The End —