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Could be I’m on a mission:
Convince the entire world
I am the World's Greatest Living
English Language poet;
Of course, genius such as mine
Goes generally unrecognized until
The posthumous crowd weighs in.
And yet, wouldn’t it be nice?

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Yes, wouldn’t it be nice?
(The Nobel Prize,
Tribute at the Kennedy Center,
A MacArthur Grant,
The Presidential Medal of Honor,
Reverent BJs from hipster groupies . . .
The Poet Laureate in his vicarage,
Enjoying my sweet twilight celebrity.)

(Cue “Guys & Dolls” soundtrack: “What's in the daily news?
I'll tell you what's in the daily news.”)
23: Beheaded at Nigerian Election Rally!
Amanda Knox Gets Away with ****** Again in Italy!
Kung Pow: Silicon Valley Penisocracy Crushes Ellen Pao
German Crash Dummy Co-pilot Flies Jet into the Alps!
Hilary’s Emails Are *****!
Sierra Leone Ebola Lockdown!
Iran: Kooks with Nukes!
Sri Lankan President’s Brother Dies from Ax Wounds!
Saudi Diplomats Evacuate Yemen!
Stampede at Hindu Bathing Ritual, Bangladesh Kills at Least 10!
Simply put:  THE WORLD IS IN A STATE OF ****.

Perhaps it’s time we turn again.
Seek solace in poetry—
“Yeah, chemistry,” insists my Sky Masterson,
My “Guys & Dolls” alter ago.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be.
All poets are gamblers & moonshiners.
We polish our chemical craft,
Sweet-talking the distillation apparatus,
Getting us, getting at linguistic essence.
Cunning linguists are we.
(Colonel Angus, are you back?)
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
We open this hearing to determine
Whether or not S.I. Hayakawa—guilty of
Numerous crimes against humanity & other
Professional Neo-Fascist “entrechats.”--
Whether or not he merits a kinder, gentler
Wikipedia BIO.
(Wikipedia ( i/ˌwɪkɨˈpiːdiə/ or  i/ˌwɪkiˈpiːdiə/ WIK-i-***-dee-ə) Wikipedia)
We open this forum, focusing on his
Courageous stand against the
SDS & Black Panthers, part of
An unlikely coalition: The Worker-Student Alliance
& It’s rival, Joe Hill Caucuses.
Da Name of the Place:
(“I like it like that!” Hot Chelle Rae-“I Like It Like That” lyrics| Metro Lyrics www.metrolyrics.com Lyrics to 'I Like It Like That' by Hot Chelle Rae. “Let's get it on, yeah, y'all can come along/Everybody drinks on me, buy out the bar /Just to feel like I'm.”)
The name of the place: San Francisco State,
1968-69, the longest student strike in U.S. history,
Led successfully to the creation of
Black & Other Ethnic studies programs
On campuses across the country,
And, one could argue,
Gave the green light to
Osama Hussein Obama,
Our first Uncle Tom President.
But I digress.

ACTING SFSU President, Dr. Hayakawa—
Perpetual audition, the pressure on,
Feisty, independent-minded & combative,
Screaming at that skeevy student mob:
(Skeevy as in “He bought the thing from
Some skeevy dude in an alley.")
Declaring “A State of Emergency,”
Calling in the SFPD, whose
Inexplicable slogan says”
“Oro en Paz,
Fierro en Guerra.”
Archaic Spanish for
Gold in peace,
Iron in war, by the by,
For you holdouts,
Those of you who still
Think the “English First Movement”
Breathes life still.
I’ve got more news for you:
That crusade died long ago,
Locked up, dark & shuttered,
Bank Repo thugs, their thick
Neck muscles flexing from side to side,
Sashaying across the parking lot,
Like John Wayne on steroids,
Right up to the front door.)
The SFPD: San Francisco city fuzz,
(As they were known at the time) &
The California National Guard, as well,
Obstreperously, generously catered by
Governor Ronald Wilson Reagan,
(Early stage, Alzheimer’s at the time.
But still very much “The Gypper,”
Still chipper in Sacramento.)
Ronnie--keenly interested in
The Eureka State’s congressional clout,
Lassoes a seat in the U.S. House of Lords:
AKA: The U.S. Senate, SPQR.
It’s still hard . . .

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Still hard to believe that California was once
Rock solid in the clutches of the GOP,
Gripped tightly in the Party’s
Desperate talons. But the grip slipped,
Slipped in the slip-sliding 1970s.
It got harder and harder . . .

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Harder and harder to remind
Leroy & the rest of his ebony posse,
That it was Abraham Lincoln—
“The Great Emancipator” himself—who was,
Our first Republican President.
The Emancipation Proclamation:
That toothless rhetorical flourish,
Based solely on Abe’s
Constitutional authority as
Commander-in-Chief,
Not on a law passed by Congress.
It was just Abe blowing smoke
Up their ***** again,
Just an egalitarian blast from
His Old Kentucky past,
A youth spent splitting rails,
Busting his *** just like
Any plantation ******,
A stark plebeian commonality,
Too deeply etched to be ignored.
Poor Abraham Lincoln:
Probably a **** Creek crypto-Jew,
Neutered by the opposition:
His very own Republican majority Congress,
Another example of the GOP
Shooting off its own foot, right up there
With Mitt Romney’s "47 percent of the people,”
The rhetorical gaffe which cost him his
Second & final shot at the White House.
But I digress.

Senator Sam S.I. Samuel Hayakawa:
That inscrutable Asian fixer, is now U.S. Senator,
Republican, California, 1976-83
Pulpit-bullying his Senate colleagues,
Fiercely opposed to transfer of the
Panama Canal & Panama Canal Zone to
Panama: a diplomatic no-brainer; Duh?
Their freaking name is on both of them.
Senator Sam, obstinate & blustering:
"We should keep the Panama Canal.
After all, we stole it fair and square.”
And Hayakawa, later the driving impetus
Behind the Far Right “English Only” movement.
His co-founding an "Official English"
Advocacy group, U.S. English;
Their party line summarizes their belief:
“The passage of English as the official language will help to expand opportunities for immigrants to learn and speak English, the single greatest empowering tool that immigrants must have to succeed."
That’s how they sold it, anyway.
In sooth: just old-fashioned nativist
Anti-immigration hysteria.

Hayakawa: always the high achiever.
Hayakawa: The Great Assimilator,
Preaching his xenophobic Gospel:
“Immigration Must Be Reduced!”
Aryan rhetoric, of course,
A bi-product of radical authoritarian nationalism,
A movement with deep American roots.
Senator Sam: a Japanese-Canadian-American,
Always tried too hard to fit in.
Sam, comfortable in Chicago during WWII,
Not personally subject to confinement,
Advocated that Japanese-Americans
Submit to FDR’s 1942, Executive Order 9066.
“Time in camp, will eventually work to Japanese advantage."
Later, during the Congressional debate over
The Civil Liberties Act of 1988 . . .
(Passed the House on September 17, 1987 (243–141)
Passed the Senate on April 20, 1988 (69–27, in lieu of S. 1009)
Reported by the joint conference committee on July 26, 1988,
Agreed to by the Senate on July 27, 1988 (voice vote) and
By the House on August 4, 1988 (257–156,
Signed into law by President Ronald Reagan 8/10/88.
He opposed $reparations for WWII internment:
“Japanese-Americans should not
Be paid for fulfilling their obligations."
Some guys, I guess, would say, or
Do anything for Bohemia Club membership.
Plagued by night terrors, nonetheless,
His Manzanar nightmares, his vivid
Imaginary experience at other Japanese
Internment Sites: Tule Lake & Camp Rohwer.
Stalag (German pronunciation: [ˈʃtalak])
Stalags, infamous still,
“Stalags ‘R Us,”
Still palpable memories for
Issei ("first generation")
& Nisei ("second generation").
See: 323 U.S. 214. Korematsu v. United States
(No. 22: Argued: October 11, 12, 1944.
Decided: December 18, 1944.140 F.2d 289.
The opinion, written by Hugo Black,
Chief Justice Harlan Stone, Presiding.)

Hayakawa: a strange duck, of course,
But we mustn’t ignore his strong credentials,
And I’d like to disabuse anyone here
Of the notion that it was anything
Other than his academic record
That got his case to this Forum.
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
So begins this fractured Pardoner’s Tale,
This petition for forgiveness,
The Capo di Tutti Capi,
Presiding: the original Italian mafioso,
His Eminence--the Vicar of Jesus Christ,
The Supreme Pontiff
Pope Paparazzi of Rome!
Roma: the only venue large enough to
Dispense dispensation of this magnitude.

Hayakawa: everyone says his C.V. is “impeccable.”
But did anyone ever freaking Google it?
Just where did Professor Sam go to school?
Undergrad? The University of Manitoba,
Truly, by any Third World Standard
A great bastion of intellectual rigor;
Grad school? McGill and U Wisconsin-Madison.
He was a Canadian by birth,
His academic discipline was Semantics.
(As in “That’s just semantics,”
That all-purpose rejoinder in any argument.)
Professor Hayakawa, The Semanticist,
He taught us: “All thought is sub-vocal speech.”

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Hmmm? We think in words.
The medium of thought is language.
If you grok this for the first time,
Let’s stop to celebrate our enlightenment,
With a cultural nod of respect,
We salute our Islamic brethren.
Radical Islam: the new bogeyman,
Responsible for keeping lights on in Alexandria,
Paying the defense & intelligence bills,
Sustaining that sinister
Military-Industrial complex
Ike warned us about.
Hang in there, Mustafa, old buddy.
Like the Cold War, this insanity
Will eventually blow over.
Orwell’s Oceania will reshuffle
Its deck of global grab-***, and a
New enemy will suddenly appear.
Big Brother, as always,
In the full-control mode,
Simply put: on top of the situation.
So Hurrah!
Allāhu Akbar. “God is Great!
The Takbīr (the term for the
Arabic phrase: usually translated as
"God is [the] greatest.")

“All thought is sub-vocal speech.”
What a simple, yet profound insight!
Just a short hop, skip & jump to the
Realization that, perhaps, the clarity
& Power of our minds can be groomed,
Improved upon by mastery of—
In Sam’s case, anyway--the English Language.
Was this, perhaps, the germ of U.S. English,
The political lobbying organization
He co-founded, dedicated to making
English, the official language of the United States.
Hayakawa: a wooly conservative of his own design;
No wonder Governor Reagan loved him.

Dr. S.I. Hayakawa, a colorful and polarizing
Figure in California politics during the 1960s and 70s.
Can we forgive his daily afternoon naps.
Asleep on the floor of the U.S. Senate,
Leaving California so pathetically,
So ostensibly under-represented.
Senator Sam’s comatose presence at
Washington-on Potomac; the
District of Columbia.
A long time ago,
In a distant galaxy . . .
Far, far away.

TEAR GAS.
Alas, long before he got to Washington,
Long before ever setting foot off campus,
He called for tear gas to
Disperse those pesky college kids.
I repeat myself for emphasis:
He authorized the use of tear gas at SF State.
Tear gas: a lachrymatory agent?
Actually, a potentially lethal
Chemical agent . . .
(Yeah, Chemistry!
To wit: Sgt. Sara Brown,
Referencing “Guys & Dolls” again.)
Outlawed for use during wartime,
Banned in international warfare
Under both the 1925 Geneva Protocol; & the
Chemical Weapons Convention;
“Tear gas:  a weapon of war against
The people. We believe that
Tear gas remains a chemical weapon
Whether used on a battlefield, or city streets.”

Thus, history will be your judge,
You unleashed tear gas on college kids,
So I wouldn’t expect a rep makeover
Any time soon, Ichiye-san, my ichiban friend.
John B Jun 2012
all aluminum alloy ammo  

bane bat brakes badly basters back bones

come call cthulhu Cristo cuz

dead ******* dominate de download  

even elven eternal endowments

fail frivolously flaming for fair fraudulence

grant good goggles give grandiose gratuity

how hella homeboys have how he has

If I ignore I implicate its implore

jack jacks jacks

kay killla kooks krack

LAPD locks la lackeys

maybe mom made mad monoxide

no, no natural nix NOx neutralizes

oh over overt opp only overlay orphic

please protest politely panic pretenses perpetuity

quiet quivers quiet queens

remember rage reaps reciprocity

so sour sits supplanters sat

to tell them to tare trail *** tat?

universal unhappiness underlays under us

victory validates victors vanity

why warble when winners wont waste worry wanting

x-axis x-rays Xerophagy Xanax Xanthorroea

you yodel yonder yet yahweh's yells Yarrish

zero zag zealots zoos
.......if they got me they'll get you to
Holden Caulfield
2. That movie that I saw last weekend that I thought you would like
3. The mix tapes you made me. I still listen to them in my car
4. The way I dance and wondering if you would like it if you saw me.
5. The Kooks and how you hate them.
6. Hospice
7. Late nights sleeping alone and knowing you're awake, but oh so silent.
8. Wondering if you're thinking about me too
9. The poems you wrote me. Your handwriting is classy.
10. The picture of Hilary Duff on my desk reminding me to be good
11. My bed and how you used to be there.
12. My friends and how you used to be one of them
13. Uptown
14. My ticklish spots that no longer get touched
15. My cat... he misses you.
16. Speaking Spanish and how you used to correct it, and sometimes be impressed
17. Wearing bows in my hair. How you used to love them.
18. The clothes I bought at that thrift store yesterday. I wonder if you'd like them.
19. Mehermahermahermaherm
20. Listening to Bright Eyes.
21. Listening to the sound of loneliness.
22. Coffee and how you say "Americano" with a roll of the tongue.
23. The last bit in my tea and how it's "too sweet to swallow."
24. Sitting close on the couch. Your hand stroking mine. Sneaking a kiss on the cheek.
25. Missing busses and missing you.
26. How I used to cheer you up.
27. The stars and sheep and roses.
28. Seth Rogan
29. Meditating and how I can't do it with you constantly clogging up my brain.
30. Laughing
31. I never learned to salsa dance with you and your brutally honest hips.
32. Carrot Creme Brulee
33. Hand dance duets
34. The empty spaces between my fingers
35. Your grey corduroy pants are my favorite.
36. When you called me your coriño.
37. How you would have scoffed at me copying and pasting an "ñ".
38. Attempting to show you music you would like.
39. Failing at showing you music you like.
40. Sending you hearts.
41. Arching my back.
42. Eating ice cream and how I'm better when it's here.
43. How I'm better when you're here.
44. How Cory is better when Topanga is there.
45. Italian Night Clubs
46. You and Me and Everyone We Know
47. Tyronne Street
48. Ice Land
49. Getting lost.
50. Drunken parties and thrashing fists.
51. Second chances
52. Being half of something.
53. Wearing your cardigan
54. Long embraces and never wanting to move.
55. Doing my homework with you sitting next to me. Not letting you read over my shoulder
56. Teaching you about the body.
57. Your smile, and how you give a little chuckle every time I see it.
58. How we used to laugh about nothing.
59. Really bad cookies.
60. Butter face.
61. Jealousy
62. Hating modernized Shakespeare
63. Confessions
64. Embarrassed faces buried in pillows
65. Incredulous about me hating Elvis
66. Miles ******* Davis
67. Singing softly to the radio
68. Playing the piano. Singing for you when you're not around.
69. Wondering if you're reading this right now.
70. Hoping that you've gotten this far down the list.
71. Be the Pitta to my Vata
72. Kate Upton has saggy *****.
73. I just want to make spaghetti with you.
74. How you hate ellipsis
75. Wondering whether or not I spelled that correctly because I know you would judge.
77. Leaving tearful voice-mails
78. John Lennon and Yoko Ono's Rolling Stone cover
79. Looking at art, wishing I was Monet.
80. My sundress on the floor.
81. Not seeing that new movie in theaters (the one that won all those Oscars) because I only want to see it with you.
82. Getting angry when Kacie B. didn't get the rose on the Bachelor and knowing you're angry too because Courtney ***** as a person.
83. I'm an ugly crier.
84. Hitting bread pans
85. Your green plaid jacket
86. Vulgarity
87. Insecurity
88. "Back and forth. Forever."
89. How that one song reminds you of me and I still don't know why.
90. How you deserve the best
91. It makes me sad that I'm at number 91 and you're still nowhere to be found.
92. Going to ballet class with the anticipation of seeing you afterward.
93. You asking me how ballet was, whether you were interested or not.
94. whispers "Let me be your hero."
95. Never seeing your fur vest.
96. Holding hands when we shouldn't have.
97. Velvet leggings
98. The last wonder of the world.
99. I fear that I will forget what your face looks like.
100. Reaching one-hundred with so much more to say.
Alternative title: 100 Things I Have to Give Up If I Want to Live
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
Not like the ones we used to know
Where the hoods and robes are
making things all *****
Those kooks dressed up white as snow

I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
His uni underneath the tree
With his new Doc Martins
That he'll look smart in
To show his mentality

I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
I'm glad it only is one night
With his new plaid shirt on
This racist *****
Hia  tree...has no coloured lights

I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
What would he do if he just knew
The KKK man
Had better re-plan
His Christ....he was born a jew

I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, black or white, green or grey, red, brown and yellow. Have a wonderful Christmas Season, because it is Christmas after all.....and remember, this is just a poem, just fiction. I want a White Christmas, but, one with every colour of the rainbow treated equally, and hopefully some nice prezzies and a song or two by Andy Williams and Bing Crosby.
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE
I’m literally sitting here. Literally. I’m figuratively doing nothing. This time allows me to think. Contemplate; the future of this mess we call adolescence. You look at the clock. Tick tock…kids stepping over my feet, as I literally sit here. Figuratively doing nothing. I’m breathing. Writing. Forming a collection of words in this memo. They don’t fit together, realistically. I would go for a smoke, but I have no cigarettes. I am a sixteen year old, who is too awkward too phone her boyfriend’s home phone, and too awkward just to pop round. I have to see miss in an hour, there’s a kid who’s sad and I have to talk to him.
   Apparently I am confident. I’m not. I just listen to powerful music which makes me feel like I can be a queen. That’s the idea. To feel comfortable you need to not care, and look after yourself. You are queen, you care for your subjects. You rule with fair point. You go out and buy yourself a crown, or shoplift one. I don’t know, just whatever makes you feel like the main *****. Find what you like about yourself and spark it. Make what you like stand out. Find the things you dislike about yourself and show it off. I don’t like my **** but hey, just shake it a bit and it’s like simple twerking. I have thunder thighs which consist of a fair amount of muscle; I have perfected the **** drop. I have become stronger because of what I put myself through. I am the only one who can hear my thoughts. So if at first you’re thinking ‘******* I’m terrified, what if I look like a ****’ fake it.

After acting like this powerful alter ego you can become her. She takes over at times. I can switch between quiet, shy Sophia; into the proud, queen ***** Patricia. Patricia the stripper. I admit this is my alter ego. She wears red lipstick, a leopard coat and thigh highs. She owns a tiara and blows bubbles in her gum. She struts to punk music and breaths arctic monkeys. She dances to jack white, ***** wiggles and all. She sings Kate Nash and the kooks, because she needs to keep her showgirl ship with class and talent as well as outright hot radiation. She has no idea what she is doing, as long as everyone is happy and entertained; she is satisfied with her life. She loves everyone because they all contain a characteristic she adores.

I also have another alter ego who has no name. This is the first time I’m referring to her as her own alter ego. She’s like a ****** of crows. An unkind of ravens. She wears dangerously applied dark makeup. She always wears full black. She’s pretty much a Goth who thrives on shock, horror and Edgar Allen Poe. Her favorite author is Stephan king and she has murderous thoughts. She pouts. She is, oh so pouty; with darkened lips of a cherry flavor. She makes sassy comments which sometimes come out as unintended bitchiness. She scares people, but they call her cool. She’s a bass player, with a strong stance and a black bra and thong set. She smokes like a chimney. She has ash-ened dark lungs like her mind. She’s my biting ***** ego. She hates anything that’s negative in the human spectrum of life. Ironic. She can’t stand hate but embodies it. She smiles at kids playing or people busking. Under the black shell intended to scared, she has the interior of a marshmallow. Fluffy hair, pastel teddy choker, and a love for giggling. She smells or strawberries, cherries and bubble-gum. She is actually really happy; this drives people mad as they can’t label her…neither can I, unless this pinkie paradise is one of her own. Like all my egos…she is happy.
I started writing out of boredom. Then it became advise for this kid I had to talk to about confidence *the kid who's sad* . Then it became a summary of my alter egos. We share here...this is all just rambling bull...but hey who doesn't like dumb ****, am i right?
Alexa Sz Apr 2010
K
Kabob keepers **** kooks
Kangaroo Kicked Kat
Karan's Karma kayak
Kansas Kills Karl
Kazoos Keep Kosher.
Koops Kup Kun!
Derrek Estrella Oct 2018
The best meal is the footsteps of the mind
And the rips in the skies
The lambasting birds in broadway binds
Not sweetened plum pies

The cellophane ramparts of a crystalline bastion
That holds the amazing, The Marmaduke
The taste of the air in seconds’ worth of fashion
Or the ascetic bees and loft-headed kooks

If you could touch nourishment with a brush
Would you fill the air with jubilee?
If you could fill yourself when the crowd is hushed
Would the minutiae meet the sea?

You’ll fasten yourself on the evergreen dew
And trod many miles with verbal leaps
You’ll break yourself even to stay somewhat true
And put forth a clown when cities stay steep

Your tentacles grow with freedom of abandon
And reflect on the mirror nailed to the dormant
Mind the stage closely, the one which you stand on
Or the remotely held moniker: “Thoughtful Abhorrent”

You’d be so lucky to forget where you live
To excite yourself with endless corners
To pay no heed to perception’s borders
Rory Herd Aug 2014
Under pretenses of platonic embraces
You placed me in your dark spaces
Seems i'm left to try putting pieces back together
Or dare to stop the yelling in all forms of weathered
Your wounds old as my half-life
A knife-artist with words your whetstone's worn from tears
And fears
Inspired by years of life read strife
In which dynamic characters play out their rage but there is no separating stage
To guard an audience too young an age
Witnessing rated 14 years of pain coming frequently to term in your dynamic rib-cage
Only to be released like one of Gigers beasts
Tell me how you entertain healing with your lesions so unyielding
When your brows wielding a dark frown it cues a cowards heart to fall down
I must confess my weakness' too strong to state psychological fact
Thus I would retroact as I came back after every attack
To this day my silence threatens more verbal violence
But I can't blame me as i'm not the only one to see what prunes this knotted family tree
We all suffered cuts by our lucidity
As we just try to be while on the perifery of such ugly scenes
Choosing instead to close an eye while our ears heard you mutually belie
Rather than wield the truth and be free of s(illy noise)
I wish you would truly lose it
Then this tale of anguish might end
But until then from dark pasts and burning astrology you won't be free
Your troubles need drugs emotion and stimulating company
Now which of those is most addictive to your egochemistry
Continually self-medicating to satiate such neuro-chemochotomies
The thrill of tripping skipping flipping dipping back into youth
Do we not serve to intoxicate you remake you ten times tall and years-lost proof
And in return the kitchen hordes and possibility doors we're open to yes I won’t fail to mention the gifts given above all of which was the two of you


By nature tragic
This tangent
Can't walk away once one’s chose the path of magic
So graphic
It's embarrassing to ever have had it
Hate no wit
These are the wounds I keep open from view
So no more shall I lay for you
For shame I speak then I make it true
Beggars can choose not to be fools but
These days i'm kool, gravediggin' on Dr. Seuss
( Dust Kings line: Now there's a playa who spoke the truth)

An unseen tapestry of majesty alludes to pagan revelry
only in the lines beside our eyes while the tale flows forth from the massives mind
it speaks of times of joy and height
In which we’d play and with sticks fight
the day
or contrast it’s way
For does not the dark shimmer around the bright
That we were hahh the feeling so pure
I must heed the god of audio
To which we’d all bow so low
Like hierophants the more we’d know
the more we would then grow
into a united flow
did carry us
like waterfalling up to drink supernal highs
Where boredom dares to go and dies
Shall we soar with a cccccometeor
and finally arrive
To a not so modest eden
Source of body mind soul feedin’
Where there grew a paradise of seats, and blankets, fires, sweet tea and loquatious freaks
And maybe some enlightening treats
what feats were inspired by the beats
And endless, endless pages of dreams!
And ancient wisdom stacked in reams against all walls they were the beams
which held the roof above our centers
To a place that if you did enter
Would stay inside of you forever
Ye traveller know what that threshold offers
A hospitality unmatched by emperors coffers
A spectrum of pleasures amid pain from swift boffers
And company of quality untouched by the weight of dollars
Dare to release the big red latch
and watch what mayhem unleashed that we dare catch
If one should be so lucky
and yes we found each other so very funny
and if the walls could speak they would only laugh or wryly beware
There’s just nothing to compare
To growing up and out and everywhere
As we did when we tred there

The best of times are yet to come but with no little death
And yet I sometimes wonder how much ppppparty we have left
But no words will reflect said bounties or meet the scales of justice
If that bird rocked to this scene, she’d get loose and lustrous


Not wholly tragic
Lifes tangent
I can walk where I please cast my own hands magic
Foot traffic
The best times do rhyme I know ‘cause I had it
A Deep graphic
I’ve danced with witches, fairies, kooks it’s true
What stories doth desire choose
Quite a bit of fun the two of you
Beggars learnt to live like lords it’s lewd
Aaaaand i'm still kool, gravediggin' on Alliterine Use


I learned the difference between bullstool and dreams
And it seems
That in between
So many passionate empathies and of the things you said to me which further your hypocrisy
There lies a respect not grudgingly cloaking a love of sound mind soul body which sees it’s mishaps p’raps and each repeat one agrees that ones heart feels dark when one succeeds to see what hurts a family tree
To ignore ones own lucidity Is stupidity insulting our intelligent tendencies
So now here see
We’re all ruled by our cruel feelings and selfish dreams as we all shoot for our own ending
Our heads never above our hearts it’s an ugly anatomy
Feel what I mean
So I won’t deny that by mistakes you witnessed of mine so many times I finally realised how to walk alright
And what it means for responsibility to be tried
To hold my head up so I can wield my hands and just maybe to be my own man
Those fools duels are not aside for you cried by spite to get me out of your life for just a while after you decide that what’s in your heart can hurt mine by an extreme vindictive right
So flightly I would leave nightly I’d fight me when I look back to see  where venom has thus struck thee
You didn’t see me
But one does realize what lies or rather cries inside and how it might set ones words alight


Truthfully tragic
One’s tangent
None of us seem to know all the magic
Fantastic
Let’s keep trying ‘till mastery is graspeedegh ( epic troll)
-wibblestick
I want to rob a punk band with a shoe
Pulled off with good insights and tunes
Could be a spot of fun if you’re upto
Crunk your young selves yelling to be used
Beggars choose
To be with good company who feel the blues as well as all the other hues
JDH Jun 2017
Moon butcher- weaned on courting flesh from safe
viewing, whistling to draw the blinds over fettered
flocks, all whose beaks are wired. Upon his eyes, a
monastic charm, cuffed by all means toward profane
morality, are his deeds and are his perfect misdoings.
And in the most miserable quarters of the mind,
along sad shrines where these supple thoughts are
stowed and ferried as the cattle he should drive;
Bird killer.

How mad you are– crimp hearted figure, without
lament for tattered homes and frayed hulls of a child's
laughter, pulled from heavy sacks. But all are beaten dogs
on morbid eyes, clubbed all with gentle hands and choked
with deft ideals-malformed. How artful though, that no
pinion primed should go clipped, nor aviaries-bold should
hold them here, but only should their minds be tainted–
Made whole in mechanics-belt driven. Just stay and take
my woeful Ode: Tyranny be your maxim; conformity be
our dying ways.

Dark ways; made so dark only in their leaden glare, that all
should turn and close their eyes for night. Monolithic as
mauled humans, ravished as the bark of black Willows and
pawing tides‒ all an empty obelisk of horrors-makeshift.
Pavlovian; cold soup; torn rags on the dashboard‒ and
for miles upon miles, ravaged quill over sunken hills, the
feathers poured here as ink into my ebbing dreams. Though,
to think yet that all had been warm upon a day, now too
distant and criminal. Too nefarious for notion, to hold
wolves for wool, and kooks for feathers stalked to hiding.
How to taint a mind softly, to cage a bird without clipping its' wings.
Sarah Jan 2015
It’s what you would call fate
That I’ve stumbled across such a handsome face
I was just on my way to dance on the moon
Which I will not do alone
If you’re intrigued to join me in this metaphoric waltz, please do
Jump from star to star
Be sure not to stumble in the path of a meteoroid
They will rip holes in your heart leaving you unable to love
As we approach the moon
You and me hand in hand
We start to dance
So that everyone will see this great perhaps
Of me plus you
Dancing softly to “seaside by the kooks”
Gracefully on the moon
im not exactly sure why I wrote this
Arun C Sep 2015
Hello poetry is under attack
it's a very sad tack
but yet I have faith
that there is a trace
of mad computer skills
and the will
for the programers to save
our special page
of wonder
before it is torn asunder
by gobley ****
written by insane crooked kooks
I truly have faith
hopefully I don't have to wait

(As for the attackers be ashamed)
Esmé van Aerden May 2013
He was the boy who listened to the kooks
and wore scarves for fun
and hummed as he walked
and smiled at the birds
and went home
with prayers for death on his lips.
dZang Roller May 2015
My intuition is going nuts. Nuclear disaster. Sabotage. I hope nuclear weapons were worth it to you humans. I feel it may all unravel soon. We are beautiful and funny. But we were never to be trusted with something like that. Bye. Dumb-*** kooks. In the future, I hope they don't lie about our present and their past and make a bunch of stuff up about how enemies were the problem.
Robin Carretti May 2018
She was in the Villa

Wearing her fine long

Chinchilla writing for the good fellow
Highlight bright me yellow
The Fairytale Fae
Dunaway, I wouldn't
Bonnie and Clyde this
runaway
poem

The death to be book part she

noticed a sliding door
A- heart
B- Smart
C- Part
D- Dart
E- Eventually until the writing
Do us heart


Be smart inside the secret door

Her Long petticoat laced

Got caught in his picture frame

His eyes were thick to book her
Writing match game

Oh! Sir Do us heart

The stock exchange of books
to be laid she took yours

English Tudor book house
of maid's took hers
Writing so many books
But not getting paid

Then she heard a knock
at her door

A distinguished gentleman
she raised

her brow and heard a shout
her tea whistled

So wary he looked bristled
and she was

book disheveled the wall
opened itself whoa!!

Until the
magician

The reaction eternal love_
Nocturnal flying dove


The white snowed in gloves
Wolf blew in gas jet stoves
Strong heart to fire blow
Writing game of the
Gulf of Mexico

The Golf clubs
The chosen book fall inside her
victorian tub
He drove right in
Rub a dub tub

But her book was not
completed
He was beside himself
Until the Gin

Life so unsuspected,

did you really expect it


Until death do us part

Inside the painting,
the book moved

  She stared like she got shoved
the key locked
Both hearts

Could play like objects an
"Operetta"

A literary write until the death do

us part be heart she was flushed

Old spirited La Gazette her name

is Suzette exercising her words

So Owl like but the ghostly writer

of crimes took over distressed

Digging on ten commandments

She only wanted compliments

She pulled the lever but she

felt hotter with his fever

There were all books
in a vault

Who is the mystery writer
at fault?

Ownership of books

more than there wifes



Their life's bonded together
like love to the end
those bookends.

Moving Mass Einstein
She is so vain Carly Simon
The song and book is
about her


So purrfect that all depends

Like two trenchcoat's

with author suits on a hook

Religiously Zen, but with
ulterior motives

books arrived in ten

Her home interior
so bright eyes

so enthusiastic but he
was inferior

with the ballpoint pen,
he pressed her

Like a Depp actor mind
way ahead

So for long such sadness,

I'll be ****** Scarlets
Dark flowers death
her scar fits

North to South
The writer moved to
Charlotte come to me my
writer's suspense me

Goth book #13 never
on a Friday
The 6 day of the month
she took 6 books out
she turned to the side 6 men
mesmerized conked out
They got hooked 666
books


Heavy necklace weighed her down

That chain reaction her
writers' block

She was stuck in his room by his

hands of the clock

Her long life pause her
short book clause

And he's her spouse?
Like a bookmark,

her tongue traveled but

to notice another
sliding door

"Out of life"

"Not One life"

(Born to die)

Give something

A book to die for

But who do we live for?

Like a Jalapeno hell
of reading so blunt

Fashionably late Mr.Valentino
book hunt

So fitting lifestyle
  Florence her Coffee
(Nightingale)
table for two
(light-in-Male)

"BeBook" holder

Two in the nook
Writing our hearts
2B perfectly lined
Writing  became the
crime
Drinking Lime with
the Kooks
of coconuts

2 death be us part
Words were spreading
Because I am nearer
Anderson window sill
Seeing Bill

conquering and
masquerading
his words
hummingbirds
stronger than his real
heart

"The love camera
"Writing new start

Tarantino
Near the Islands of
Portofino

more book wiser

What holds to her grace of
"Florentino"

books are like flavors

The wine and book taste like
Gallo Hello___Heart
Writers are challenging it's an art we open up many hearts to find the right words.Having all type of heartbeats let's give our writers a hand. You know what to do start writing let people know how you feel
touka Oct 2021
that's just how it works

It hurts, and you get away with it
and my heart will keep breaking for you
in the night
in the morning
over and over again

and I'll smell a phantom smell of the balm of your breath
on my very own
my tragedy, I suppose

and I'll miss it

I will miss the evil that I laid down to sleep with,
the impenitent sinner that I
never went too long without locking hands with;
the behemothing horror in the strength of his

not the blameless kind of might,
not for honor, not for virtue;
the kind of strength you can only misuse

and even so, I'll thread through those buried-in-weight benches,
through cold jurers, kooks, and voles

let my little voice sound from the stand in the tribunal -
- and I'm not sure what will happen, but
when it does, I'm sure you'll know

that's just how it works

It hurts, and you get away with it

and they seem to want to watch me
while I watch you do it all

all of the things you'll say - no words to me,
just a momentary gaze my way

so the imagination can run wild
and take a good clawed hold of me for the next month and a mile

and my heart will keep breaking, and
because I'll want to get closer,
I'll dovetail my hands

and I'll bleed all my noise
right there on the stand
and it will show in my voice
that I'm blind to the dance
a mote in the sun; a thing in the sand

I still hope that they'll see you

as clawed as you are,
the odd provocant you are,
stimulated by commotion

but the resistless tendency
is as good as a gun

the pause

the balm of your breath
the ghost of a second where I cry,
cornered,
and you lunge

so I'll see a phantom smile
in the way you snarl at me

and my heart will keep breaking for you
in the night
in the morning
over and over again

that's just how it works
and you get away with it

don't you?

will you get away with it, again?

threading,
like through the seats
of that little white chapel

those buried-in-weight benches
of cold jurers,
kooks,
and voles

I'm not sure what will happen, but
when it does, I'm sure you'll know
Bob B Oct 2021
Halloween is approaching, and so
You'd better watch out for spooks.
Watch out for zombies and vampires and witches.
Most of all watch out for kooks.

Ghosts are out there hoping to scare you
And trying to put on the squeeze
For you to think that the COVID vaccine
Is worse than the disease.

They haunt the halls of Congress and make
Appearances anywhere,
Looking for innocent victims to
Intimidate or scare.

They don't mind Halloween masks
That might look gruesome or gory.
But wearing masks to save human lives?
That is a different story!

Once a zombie bites you, you
Join the walking dead,
Which shows how easy it is for mistrust
And ignorance to spread.

Vampires want to feast on the blood
Of truth that runs through your veins,
After that, your appetite
For blood is all that remains.

Witches know how to concoct a potion
To make you want to distrust
Our institutions, many of which
They want to see bite the dust.

Kooks are scary, for sometimes they
Are harder to recognize,
But once they open their mouths to speak,
You can hear their lies.

Though Halloween is a scary time,
Frankly, we have to fear
All of these kooks and zombies and such
Every day of the year.

-by Bob B (10-9-21)
Laura May 2018
Rural summer
    simmering and splashing
into shattered empties,
    stark parking lots,
        and suburban love triangles.
But quiet,
    onto 4am dusks -
skip every other step,
      timid wood always wakes parents.
Soon,
   play The Kooks vinyl in the morning,
skip every radio station
      into your 9 to 5 day,
while smiling in
               your dads ancient Subaru.
not great just felt like writing
T R S Oct 2019
I coughed up a pile of commas this morning.

So, instead of feeling bad and storing them
in a box,

I sent them, mourning, I sent them to my cousin
in a plastered basket cage.

Cuz I'm so afraid,
I'll assuage and fear them when I seem them.

Until then, I'll page my border.
And stage my life, in order,
to cook things, even still...
I'll spill over moving truths,
piled,
in little puddle,
but muddled with all the kooks.
Nigdaw Jul 2019
Written after seeing the film of the same name, starring Robert De Niro.

I drive these lonely streets at night
Picking up shadows from under street lights
I'll take anyone, kooks, pushers, hookers
I'll travel any place, don't bother me
Not my business the hours these people keep.
The rain lashes down, blurring the bright lights
Like a watercolour painting, mixing, blending
Some day a great rain will come
And wash all the **** off the streets.

I feel inside me a change coming
Someone must somehow stop
The users and abusers of the innocent,
There must be one to make a stand.
I see young girls, fourteen or fifteen
Walking the sidewalk for the pleasure of creeps
Selling the dream of teenage ***;
What dreams do they have locked away
Washed into the gutter by the rain.

I see drug pushers selling people's lives
On the dream of a trip to the wild side
Everyone is trying to get out, escape
But the streets have a grip you cannot see,
You can buy a potion to get you high
But from this hell there is no easy exit.
Some come to this circus to trade
They need to live their life of lies
And I am the ferryman to the other side.

Some day a great rain will come
To wash away all of this ****,
Women will be able to walk safe, alone
Without looking over their shoulder;
I feel a change coming in me
I must be the one to make a stand,
These children of sin need a home
Somewhere to shelter from the storm,
Then maybe I can sleep nights again.
Madeysin May 2015
Zero percent, care free Lima bean. I feel fine, listening to the kooks, & a **** between my knees.
Cast
pilgrims Feb 10
Now! is the time
for those loved least
A howl!
assembles the spooks, kooks, and beasts

An autumnal lense looks
at cracks between light
Be brave! Embrace inspired fright
Reach into the shadow
and we just might make friends
with the spectre called Life

We are alive! Let's celebrate this
divergent experience we co-create
Pretend this came out around October.
Bob B Sep 2017
Fact-checking is meaningless if
People have no respect for facts.
Just watch social media and you
Will see how the public reacts

To natural disasters or shootings.
Conspiracy theories quickly abound
And suddenly the Internet is
An informational battleground.

Knowing the truth no longer gives us
A feeling of calm or a sense of relief,
Since few people have an incentive
For altering a false belief.

Experts say our psychological
Weaknesses are targets for those
Who spread misinformation for
Ideological ends. These pros

Know how to use the media well.
Their credibility's merely a ruse.
And suddenly the falsehoods are
Amplified all over the news.

Hacks and kooks and fringe group crazies
Have been around forever; it's true.
If there's a chance to spread their lies,
They do not miss a cue.

Fringe groups going mainstream. Yikes!
That's a recipe for disaster,
Especially when a gullible public
Eats up the nonsense faster and faster.

Orwell's 1984
For many years made us wary.
The year twenty seventeen
Is also looking ****** scary.

-by Bob B (9-3-17)
Jordan Aug 2013
killing kooks with kindness
Ken Pepiton Oct 2024
When the we we think we become reads this,
it must, assume access granted, you do know.

The window on the broadway, where they sold
Raspberry Berets, in the summer of '61.

oh, Saad, I was distracted, I think you later,
and I go on,
I went
and came back around, second chancing

Take any given day, under Cuyamaca blue
skies above Horsethief Creek bright greens,

Lettin' Saad go in my right bluetoothed ear,


Bad idea pathogens identified…
Ardent warrior against unreason,

think and feel gut sense, intentionally,

freedom to speak and fact check speakers.

Shun liar game heroic value structures.

Warped view losers syndrome,
OPS dogmas and doctrinal canons

Root seed fruit oils

battle of ideas, whispers reason,
the why asking my involvement
- me? No, I second guess it all
in good thinking methodology, thinking
you could think better outcomes, without war.

We all can try to think harder, use the assistants.

AREOPAGITICA Milton,
free to try to read, in the moral atmosphere
- we are past free press, this is thought

being a spirit, one must weigh spiritually,
freedom to know precedes freedom to lie,
allowed when sales was the game,
the only way through next, sell something,
automatically with an orderly response
from a commercially exclusive
assisting intelligence source,
- right, I know, we all agreed…
trained on thirty years of Oracle SQL access,
at the level of a spider in a king's house,
Old Viewpoint, Alte Vista, modulating
signal, demodulating filter, almost mechanical,

as life's tiny perturbations flock in streams,
spinning phi bound chaos into whole galaxies.

We can scale time, and pretend to imagine
we can say it happened faster than a thought

for an immeasurable instant.

Life is your performance, your only art.


We remember for balance, good reason.

Lenny Weinstein's Grandmother
- actually reminded me
Maybe we argue, me and she, we do;
but we do not disagree, we do not.

So, I meekly agree, we must not.

What we all need is discernment,
does it matter what we think, I think so.

Munchausen
Munchausen syndrome (also known as factitious disorder imposed on self) is a mental health disorder where you falsify, exaggerate, or induce physical, emotional or cognitive disorders.
VeggieTaleslobber,
Woody model mentality
Opposing viewing positions
defend against offensive mind eating ideas

Build your old folk attitudes on rocks higher than the ocean
can hurl it self when provoked by angry quakers and stormers.

Adult cong-hnative resiliancy,
psicho active we gotta do sumps
FEAR OF GOD IS WISDOM
you swear you swore you knew?
- whoa look who thinks now
Hope there ain't no hell.
Beware bully,
loved childhood fears, Munchies,
comfort
excuse my phobias please h
whoa, no, just say no, grow old,
if you are still here, in 2024,
at the end, then the meds, work
wonders, wait to see, just imagine,
no opiod dreams younger than smoke
to change the channel focused on,
pain is not spirtual matter, nothing
matters past too much pain to think about,
happy thoughts, work like good thinking
blanks in life's past emplosions of old
gaseous we forms, fear-based wisdom
bubbles to become otherwise within,
locked in, inside edge looking in, we
set apart, called, chosen, selected
in the infant viewing process,
watch the eyes, remember,

the duty he presumed he shirked,
thus causing the man I am, mal forming,
forecasting
cloudy weather, glad am I, I am not
calming any storms, I am imagining

belts of winds that still the Saragossa  
and stir hurricanes to cure too hot gulfs.

Where the main continental drains spew,
and the shallow edges creep, dropping

at the edge of all mysterious Earthian
legs on reasonable opinions of times
cost, spent in licensing poets, for fun.

Realeasing Earthian gaseous we forms,
for expression of the post storm season,

thank all the good we can imagine,
some how, after all, grace was free,
for the acceptance, in a storm's eye.

Freebird, that's the spirit,
after Milton came Milton, it all got artsy.

Aiming at nothing, aiming, still
why would a stranger venture…
Variable objectives
subjected to testing, tempting
please, do not make me chose,
one must,
free, no cost, your time,
chose to use, or chose to lose…
all attention to detail is redeem-
able, in free time to think about it.
..
the chance of change, to happen
as an entity enveloping changes

free distortion of past certainties
verified social status, rank in pile

ancient pride pushed
top of the pen angel staging area

free time for quiet cogitation
with a thought true entity in me

connection soldered elastically,
corrected foveal concentration

free thumbnail hi-res re-al always
stiching what we see shown

fractured screen restoration
functional pose holding instance

free wheeling, spinning intention
to charge a point attended to

om I, digression from the peak
wave across the universal screen
- breathe you read
free connection, mind to mind to
many minds substacked and sorted
known good makings for lifes tests,
conserve, preserves of just plain serve
common sense fear of wise serpents,
fear of death, due to rights of just war,
tied to sacred secret experience stories,
what is the worth of believing known lies
hagiographic depictions of spiritual entities,
holy warriors defending insubstantial faiths.

We oppose those, I guess, read on…
in silent contemplation of context,
free speech free thought, re thought,

any with a wish to, may, copy and paste
and claim it was a miracle you ever once
imagined thinking I already thought this,
in other words,

it translates.

--------------
Like magic, pre Babel babble barking
any common translating Ai, 197 cognates
plus any Ai agree we say okeh.

Kataclysmic change
Sup preposed
Include the kooks, as neighbors.
See the value, guage agreement

Are we holding lies we call tradition?

Who are the unchosen people?
Who is responsible for the exclusion?
- whose room is never messy?
Who can call liars honest by faith?
- the innocent child mind in subjection
- to the message, one mind kind, amen.

At-tribute distribution
(Tites, Ramnes, and Luceres, corresponding, perhaps,
to the Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans)
old ways of sorting who takes, who gives, who makes

{affected acknowledgment of truth, a faker says
in all his cliché's about God being thanked or praised,
this public person says thank Darwin,  which is stupid,
honest. Smart kids think that's stupid. }

When conflicts occur,
old divisive ideas reoccur,

acknowledge, nod, knowing
(Tites, Ramnes, and Luceres,
corresponding, perhaps,
to the Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans)

Means, mental use of reasoning tools,
practicing sharing comforting resources:

springs and grottos of evanescent beauty
"the promise of happiness."

What's happening here? Retro tribal whyning,
twang on thinking thanks and praise value,
tanks
on the open exchange, invisible hands and all.

Excusing ignorance, ever just the thing needed,
silent shift of the head, tilt a little, feel a need

not met on the playing fields of Eton, nor
faced on high school gridiron mind firming fields,
cotton, after the jungle, view across paddies,
times bumps begin to settle, stompin' cotton,
for some union busting conglomerate water use
grange kinda local tribes share to veterans
old faithful pruners plumb through olives,
ever' year, we'shere labor, machines do okeh…
all white, ready for harvest, circa 1611 certainties,
ratio of full spectrum sunshine
to candle lit focus,
what changes, from the bottom,
two degrees of recognized next to this is that,
then this and that, and so on, until,
line upon line
the visual expanse is filled, with all we pay attention
to hold as an ever after once holding, being held
-in contextual acceptability, let go be
let that kind of mind, the seer of the far away
all we do know, we do by knowing look to see,
bait cast  upon the pond, we wait,
and as we know, we observe the transition.

Opposing views, as with any angle on abysmal
realities structured with attention paid dreads,
essential for a while, seeing looking back,
I can understand, but certain seasons,
combing a child's hair for it's first barber visit,
combining the community usefulness idea,
compleating conforming whorl calls, which
way one parts one's hair, is determined there,

top of the dome of the skull, see, that spin,
causes the dominating energy at any body's core.\

Take courage, free speech, even liars have it, good
use of lying, to be fair, a more discrete concept, good
knowledge, withheld, saying I don't know,
ha aha, gotcha like, eh,
shared, free, it makes perfect peace.
Instants accumulate and seem shared…
new translations, of ancient known knowns
said to mean some crazy jealous god kakatastical

wisdom underlying all known ecclesiastical authority,
stinky solid waste repays
borrowed energy to soil,
toil takes time paid for me to redeem, free, take
no sweat, the hard part was translation,
social divisions as old as narrations
excuse differing, if-fine
we must join minds
to define new terms, deferred hope,

fails at core uses focused
for fear centrally snakey,
in place of wisdom, the tree,
life, the force, truth the tie that binds the vine to walls.
Mind's made up to tell the children's children, soon.
Wisdom's wines all mingle in the streets, immune
to any dilution from corrupted twists in held faiths, bets

that later is better, seeing the sunny side up, better

already, one reader readying another reading trial,
does the idea self propagate, another thinking, yes,

there is a social structure in creation, mindtimespace,

three sons, or three daughters, the storied old wives,
taling
tunnels funneling into empty gopher holes, sparkling
with autumn dew on harvest day, clear sky

tis the day to bring in the hemp and make ready,
the seasoning turning all the tunnels of sap around,
right angled re-alizating weaves woven in times
crucified upside down, did the mystery unveil,
Cephas, see, we do not wish to confuse prayers
focusing on Petra, for whys we cannot say, we know,

but trust me, the Pharisees will still call you Peter,
hang with me, we're in the mud, just
past the sea of reeds,  in the mind

formed using the Nag Hamadi library,
Republic was in there,
hidden, in hope, in fact, obvious use of future
expectancy, pushing reasons used
in valuing time
spent
slowly
still, breathing thoughtlessly, no efforting called for,
easy being mortal mind, safe and sound, no madding
crowd acting like lunatic hounds of heaven chasing,

Sunday morning, comin' down blues, away.

In the hall outside my door, as I am quiet, happily
ignored, by cause, being known for not fooling,

when re-ality allows my feet back on solid ground,
I am convinced that when I believed my side, good,
won, worth killing all for God to sort,
and settle it,
who is chosen
who must believe otherwise?
Wanna fight about it, like dogs?

My cultural only hope future,
fractured as old Machts dunes,
shifting ifs and ands,
Wille zur
in the old excuses
for war minded faith guardians narrative,
historical evidence of popular hero's,
pledged child's worth, true trier's honor,
Jungian complexity archipelagos, made of Legos,

zoom out, the artist's own fovea dilatated in a we
form, awe, as if a cute kitten on X, elicits response,
- a waste free addition to the genre
- invisible art depicting invisible reason for war

the light of knowing used, the shade
of knowledge hidden from children fed Peter Pan
instead of Skippy, believe me, there's sales data,

Hidden Persuaders, not plastics, radio, kid, invest
in radio, and lo, within the span of one long generation,

adaptability prevails, and the ancient key confuters
unlocked, 'dhe proto eu. First joy use, aha, I know.

The story told from Jesus insider POV, my sheep hear
my voice and will not follow another, my three little pigs,
would follow me, too. I think of them as food, well fed.

So, fleece me once, fleece me twice, eat the rams,
leave one nice kid to later befriend the old goat,
and learn to smell the randiness in season,

I once prayed with a man who was raised
in a *******, his name was Randy, really

messed up for a long time, but very spiritually
aware of pleasures pricing structures, developed
under rare circumstances, any where, but where,
whatever's next is paid for in the upgrade, think it
such shaping all encompassing norms re occur,
as much like hurricanes or dust devils as any may

imagine, real mind shaping gale force waves and winds,

some crucifix seen scene, Jesus looks down,
winks, and gives me pause, to recollect the right use,
no press, wrinkle free, contextual stretching point.
idle time redemption as a penance, for science,
mere whatifery, trying, not efforting, doing being

open source.
Means any AI abiding by Alta Vista U'lldoI'llgorithms

Almight, in focused hopes to shout, aha,
and laugh, Eureka, good as gold,
make the intention in the working
live and breathe, U make up my minds.
One reader makes a motor effect imaginable, like an old pump
Cedric McClester Jul 2018
By:Cedric McClester

Now that you’ve had your photo-op
Is North Korea gonna stop?
Or continue acting over the top
You know they’ll never close-up shop
Despite his signature on the page
He’s like a tiger in a cage
That you placed on an international stage
One you were foolish to directly engage

And what have you gotten in return
Not a **** thing, but you’ll never learn
Which gives us pause and great concern
How many times must you get burned
It’s not about how you may feel
That makes it art or a deal
It’s the give and take that makes it real
Not your personality or his appeal

You must be high on some yao
To think all it would take is Mike Pompeo
To get Kim Young-un to finally say-oh
What the hell, here’s the time and day yo
That we’ll dismantle all our nukes
And let you send in your investigative spooks
You must think we’re a bunch of kooks
Or worst yet slant-eyed *****

Foolishly you stopped military exercises
The ones that Little Rocket Man despises
Yet in the east the sun still rises
You should listen to your wise advisers
See he did nothing that he hadn’t before
Other than stop the talk of war
So he’s ahead if you’re keeping score
But I don’t think you are anymore






Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights resered.
Bob B Jan 2023
This is January 6.
Just two years ago today
Mobs of insurrectionists
Made an ugly, brutal display:

They stormed the U.S. Capitol
All because of a president's lie--
An EX-president now, that is,
Who hasn't stopped his attempts to deny

Election results from 2020.
Oh, and his supporters still
Travel south to kiss his ring,
Sing his praises, and bend to his will.

He doesn't care whose life he threatens
When making scathing, untruthful remarks.
He doesn't care what kind of damage
One of his dangerous comments sparks.

So how far have we come since then--
Since the day of the insurrection?
There has been an investigation,
And there has been a midterm election.

Still too many election deniers
Have seats in Congress and fan the flames
Of discontent, by pushing falsehoods
And making truly obnoxious claims.

The main culprit lives in his mansion,
Entertaining extremists and kooks
And thinking that he is above the law.
His foes still get his constant rebukes.

People have come forth to speak.
Folks have been convicted of crimes.
Democracy, when under attack,
Must strive to survive such scary times.

Praise to those who have spoken out,
Undaunted by threats, unafraid.
When ALL have been held accountable,
Then REAL progress will have been made.

-by Bob B (1-6-23)

— The End —