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Rockie May 2015
Kudos to you for being a soldier.
Kudos to them for fighting for their rights.
Kudos to us for not being afraid (or being afraid for all the right reasons).
Kudos for the children.
Kudos for the adults.
Kudos for the people of earth for surviving yet another day.
afteryourimbaud Oct 2017
Kudos to Kaepernick.

I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those people that are not able to put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you does not mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.

Kudos to Kaepernick.
m i a Apr 2016
so i've always been afraid of the dark,

it's so powerful and

can leave a terrible mark,

on the human mind,

the dark always seems to find,

ways to ruin us mentally and emotionally,

it always seems to find,

ways to tear us apart from the inside out,

it even makes us doubt,

our existence.

the dark can tell us a simple evil sentence,

and the happiness once inside us,

dissapears,

but our negativity and fears seem to reappear.

and sometimes,

when i'm in the mist of the darkness;

i wonder how stars do it.

how do they outshine the darkness?

night after night,

day after day,

week after week,

year after year,

oh dear stars,

how do you do it?

how are you able to sit up there,

and shine as bright as you can

because you don't give a care?

like man,

the dark must hate you guys

for shining so bright in the night,

is that why it comes down to earth?

because there was nothing else to

ruin and hurt?

you know i admire you stars,

for finding a way to outshine the dark,

and heal your own scars.

maybe i can do the same,

maybe i can outshine the dark

just like you did,

and i'll get rid of this sadness and madness,

but until then,

kudos to you stars,

for finding a way to outshine the darkness,

kudos to you.
i haven't written in a while, apologies if this is bad. <3
AAron Roz May 2018
Music is loud or quiet.
Music is soft or heavy.
Music can have meaning or not.
Music can be nothing or everything.
Music is:
◾Art Punk
◾Alternative Rock
◾College Rock
◾Crossover Thrash (thx Kevin G)
◾Crust Punk (thx Haug)
◾Experimental Rock
◾Folk Punk
◾Goth / Gothic Rock
◾Grunge
◾******* Punk
◾Hard Rock
◾Indie Rock
◾Lo-fi (hat tip to Ben Vee Bedlamite)
◾New Wave
◾Progressive Rock
◾Punk
◾Shoegaze (with thx to Jackie Herrera)
◾Steampunk (with thx to Christopher Schaeffer)

•Anime
•Blues ◾Acoustic Blues
◾Chicago Blues
◾Classic Blues
◾Contemporary Blues
◾Country Blues
◾Delta Blues
◾Electric Blues
◾Ragtime Blues (cheers GFS)

•Children’s Music ◾Lullabies
◾Sing-Along
◾Stories

•Classical ◾Avant-Garde
◾Baroque
◾Chamber Music
◾Chant
◾Choral
◾Classical Crossover
◾Contemporary Classical (thx Julien Palliere)
◾Early Music
◾Expressionist (thx Mr. Palliere)
◾High Classical
◾Impressionist
◾Medieval
◾Minimalism
◾Modern Composition
◾Opera
◾Orchestral
◾Renaissance
◾Romantic (early period)
◾Romantic (later period)
◾Wedding Music

•Comedy ◾Novelty
◾Standup Comedy
◾Vaudeville (cheers Ben Vee Bedlamite)

•Commercial (thank you Sheldon Reynolds) ◾Jingles
◾TV Themes

•Country ◾Alternative Country
◾Americana
◾Bluegrass
◾Contemporary Bluegrass
◾Contemporary Country
◾Country Gospel
◾Country Pop (thanks Sarah Johnson)
◾***** Tonk
◾Outlaw Country
◾Traditional Bluegrass
◾Traditional Country
◾Urban Cowboy

•Dance (EDM – Electronic Dance Music – see Electronic below – with thx to Eric Shaffer-Whiting & Drew :-)) ◾Club / Club Dance (thx Luke Allfree)
◾Breakcore
◾Breakbeat / Breakstep
◾Brostep (cheers Tom Berckley)
◾Chillstep (thx Matt)
◾Deep House (cheers Venus Pang)
◾Dubstep
◾Electro House (thx Luke Allfree)
◾Electroswing
◾Exercise
◾Future Garage (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Garage
◾Glitch Hop (cheers Tom Berckley)
◾Glitch Pop (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Grime (thx Ran’dom Haug / Matthew H)
◾*******
◾Hard Dance
◾Hi-NRG / Eurodance
◾Horrorcore (thx Matt)
◾House
◾Jackin House (with thx to Jermaine Benjamin Dale Bruce)
◾Jungle / Drum’n’bass
◾Liquid Dub(thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Regstep (thanks to ‘Melia G)
◾Speedcore (cheers Matt)
◾Techno
◾Trance
◾Trap (thx Luke Allfree)

•Disney
•Easy Listening ◾Bop
◾Lounge
◾Swing

•Electronic ◾2-Step (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾8bit – aka 8-bit, Bitpop and Chiptune – (thx Marcel Borchert)
◾Ambient
◾Bassline (thx Leon Oliver)
◾Chillwave(thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Chiptune (kudos to Dominik Landahl)
◾Crunk (with thx to Jillian Edwards)
◾Downtempo
◾Drum & Bass (thx Luke Allfree)
◾Electro
◾Electro-swing (thank you Daniel Forthofer)
◾Electronica
◾Electronic Rock
◾Hardstyle (kudos to Dominik Landahl)
◾IDM/Experimental
◾Industrial
◾Trip Hop (thank you Michael Tait Tafoya)

•Enka
•French Pop
•German Folk
•German Pop
•Fitness & Workout
•Hip-Hop/Rap ◾Alternative Rap
◾Bounce
◾***** South
◾East Coast Rap
◾Gangsta Rap
◾******* Rap
◾Hip-Hop
◾Latin Rap
◾Old School Rap
◾Rap
◾Turntablism (thank you Luke Allfree)
◾Underground Rap
◾West Coast Rap

•Holiday ◾Chanukah
◾Christmas
◾Christmas: Children’s
◾Christmas: Classic
◾Christmas: Classical
◾Christmas: Comedy
◾Christmas: Jazz
◾Christmas: Modern
◾Christmas: Pop
◾Christmas: R&B
◾Christmas: Religious
◾Christmas: Rock
◾Easter
◾Halloween
◾Holiday: Other
◾Thanksgiving

•Indie Pop
•Industrial
•Inspirational – Christian & Gospel ◾CCM
◾Christian Metal
◾Christian Pop
◾Christian Rap
◾Christian Rock
◾Classic Christian
◾Contemporary Gospel
◾Gospel
◾Christian & Gospel
◾Praise & Worship
◾Qawwali (with thx to Jillian Edwards)
◾Southern Gospel
◾Traditional Gospel

•Instrumental ◾March (Marching Band)

•J-Pop ◾J-Rock
◾J-Synth
◾J-Ska
◾J-Punk

•Jazz ◾Acid Jazz (with thx to Hunter Nelson)
◾Avant-Garde Jazz
◾Bebop (thx Mwinogo1)
◾Big Band
◾Blue Note (with thx to Jillian Edwards)
◾Contemporary Jazz
◾Cool
◾Crossover Jazz
◾Dixieland
◾Ethio-jazz (with thx to Jillian Edwards)
◾Fusion
◾Gypsy Jazz (kudos to Mike Tait Tafoya)
◾Hard Bop
◾Latin Jazz
◾Mainstream Jazz
◾Ragtime
◾Smooth Jazz
◾Trad Jazz

•K-Pop
•Karaoke
•Kayokyoku
•Latin ◾Alternativo & Rock Latino
◾Argentine tango (gracias P. Moth & Sandra Sanders)
◾Baladas y Boleros
◾Bossa Nova (with thx to Marcos José Sant’Anna Magalhães & Alex Ede for the reclassification)
◾Brazilian
◾Contemporary Latin
◾Cumbia (gracias Richard Kemp)
◾Flamenco / Spanish Flamenco (thank you Michael Tait Tafoya & Sandra Sanders)
◾Latin Jazz
◾Nuevo Flamenco (and again Michael Tafoya)
◾Pop Latino
◾Portuguese fado (and again Sandra Sanders)
◾Raíces
◾Reggaeton y Hip-Hop
◾Regional Mexicano
◾Salsa y Tropical

•New Age ◾Environmental
◾Healing
◾Meditation
◾Nature
◾Relaxation
◾Travel

­•Opera
•Pop ◾Adult Contemporary
◾Britpop
◾Bubblegum Pop (thx Haug & John Maher)
◾Chamber Pop (thx Haug)
◾Dance Pop
◾Dream Pop (thx Haug)
◾Electro Pop (thx Haug)
◾Orchestral Pop (thx Haug)
◾Pop/Rock
◾Pop Punk (thx Makenzie)
◾Power Pop (thx Haug)
◾Soft Rock
◾Synthpop (thx Haug)
◾Teen Pop

•R&B/Soul ◾Contemporary R&B
◾Disco (not a top level genre Sheldon Reynolds!)
◾Doo ***
◾Funk
◾Modern Soul (Cheers Nik)
◾Motown
◾Neo-Soul
◾Northern Soul (Cheers Nik & John Maher)
◾Psychedelic Soul (thank you John Maher)
◾Quiet Storm
◾Soul
◾Soul Blues (Cheers Nik)
◾Southern Soul (Cheers Nik)

•Reggae ◾2-Tone (thx GFS)
◾Dancehall
◾Dub
◾Roots Reggae
◾Ska

•Rock ◾Acid Rock (with thanks to Alex Antonio)
◾Adult-Oriented Rock (thanks to John Maher)
◾Afro Punk
◾Adult Alternative
◾Alternative Rock (thx Caleb Browning)
◾American Trad Rock
◾Anatolian Rock
◾Arena Rock
◾Art Rock
◾Blues-Rock
◾British Invasion
◾**** Rock
◾Death Metal / Black Metal
◾Doom Metal (thx Kevin G)
◾Glam Rock
◾Gothic Metal (fits here Sam DeRenzis – thx)
◾Grind Core
◾Hair Metal
◾Hard Rock
◾Math Metal (cheers Kevin)
◾Math Rock (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Metal
◾Metal Core (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Noise Rock (genre – Japanoise – thx Dominik Landahl)
◾Jam Bands
◾Post Punk (thx Ben Vee Bedlamite)
◾Prog-Rock/Art Rock
◾Progressive Metal (thx Ran’dom Haug)
◾Psychedelic
◾Rock & Roll
◾Rockabilly (it’s here Mark Murdock!)
◾Roots Rock
◾Singer/Songwriter
◾Southern Rock
◾Spazzcore (thx Haug)
◾Stoner Metal (duuuude)
◾Surf
◾Technical Death Metal (cheers Pierre)
◾Tex-Mex
◾Time Lord Rock (Trock) ~ (thanks to ‘Melia G)
◾Trash Metal (thanks to Pierre A)

•Singer/Songwriter ◾Alternative Folk
◾Contemporary Folk
◾Contemporary Singer/Songwriter
◾Indie Folk (with thanks to Andrew Barrett)
◾Folk-Rock
◾Love Song (Chanson – merci Marcel Borchert)
◾New Acoustic
◾Traditional Folk

•Soundtrack ◾Foreign Cinema
◾Movie Soundtrack (thanks Julien)
◾Musicals
◾Original Score
◾Soundtrack
◾TV Soundtrack

•Spoken Word
•Tex-Mex / Tejano (with thx to Israel Lopez) ◾Chicano
◾Classic
◾Conjunto
◾Conjunto Progressive
◾New Mex
◾Tex-Mex

•Vocal ◾A cappella (with kudos to Sheldon Reynolds)
◾Barbershop (with thx to Kelly Chism)
◾Doo-*** (with thx to Bradley Thompson)
◾Gregorian Chant (hat tip to Deborah Knight-Nikifortchuk)
◾Standards
◾Traditional Pop
◾Vocal Jazz
◾Vocal Pop

•World ◾Africa
◾Afro-Beat
◾Afro-Pop
◾Asia
◾Australia
◾Cajun
◾Calypso (thx Gerald John)
◾Caribbean
◾Carnatic (Karnataka Sanghetha – thx Abhijith)
◾Celtic
◾Celtic Folk
◾Contemporary Celtic
◾Coupé-décalé (thx Samy) – Congo
◾Dangdut (thank you Achmad Ivanny)
◾Drinking Songs
◾Drone (with thx to Robert Conrod)
◾Europe
◾France
◾Hawaii
◾Hindustani (thank you Abhijith)
◾Indian Ghazal (thank you Gitika Thakur)
◾Indian Pop
◾Japan
◾Japanese Pop
◾Klezmer
◾Mbalax (thank you Samy) – Senegal
◾Middle East
◾North America
◾Ode (thank you Sheldon Reynolds)
◾Piphat (cheers Samy B) – Thailand
◾Polka
◾Soca (thx Gerald John)
◾South Africa
◾South America
◾Traditional Celtic
◾Worldbeat
◾Zydeco
etc...
Kudos to the Promoter –
The oblivious n’ obliging  
That planned and precipitated
This Perpetual Peninsular Planet
  
Kudos to the Governor
Who lit nuclear fire in far fulcrum
For a clear day light delight
Creamy kind to the mankind
  
Kudos the Sole Soul Administrator
Who gifted circular air corridor
And nosed it down into lungs
To beat to the heart’s content
  
Kudos the Chief Organizer
Who sponsored organic life around
Induced conducive premises
To belong and live long along
  
Kudos to the Ace Architect
Who opened up infinite cosmos
To host finite entities to thrive
Cycle and recycle thru infinity
  
Kudos to the Ubiquitous
Who master minded gene n’ genre
To organize sensory organs
And make chosen living
Kudos to the Promoter –
The oblivious n’ obliging  
That planned and precipitated
This Perpetual Peninsular Planet
  
Kudos to the Governor
Who lit nuclear fire in far fulcrum
For a clear day light delight
Creamy kind to the mankind
  
Kudos the Sole Soul Administrator
Who gifted circular air corridor
And nosed it down into lungs
To beat to the heart’s content
  
Kudos the Chief Organizer
Who sponsored organic life around
Induced conducive premises
To belong and live long along
  
Kudos to the Ace Architect
Who opened up infinite cosmos
To host finite entities to thrive
Cycle and recycle thru infinity
  
Kudos to the Ubiquitous
Who master minded gene n’ genre
To organize sensory organs
And make chosen living
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.chris rea: god's great banana skin...

/ such random thoughts are a blessing, esp. after you've been walking for over 2 miles, in the cold and in the rain, with the setting sun... continually impressed by the nature of polyester clothing, how you feel the cold, but aren't cold at all, how you go back home and: you're dripping with sweat... /

the random thought?
about a saying, here's the schematic

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

which statement is true?
within the questioning parameters?
i think it's a trick question...
how else would you be able to
teach these statements and make
replica understandings of
said, statements?

(****... quickfire shots of syrupy
*****... **** me... give me the sweats,
and i'm not even constipated,
it must be the ***** doing
the magic... yeah... sober me?
doesn't like thinking...
but oddly enough, the drunk me?
pulls out philosophy,
no, not as some pretentious
high-brow interest...
   i just looked at philosophy as
a genre in literature,
nothing more)...

numbers, like letters...
or in the case of Roman numerals
(letters are numbers)...
i'm unsure whether you can arrive
at crafting them into existence
by analytical parameters,
i don't actually think
that you can conjure up numbers
from analyzing a priori,
given the ad continuum:
but... there was a point in time,
when / where: numbers weren't used...

Kant was a theist,
sorry...
  he says it plainly at the end
of his critique of pure reason...
in the transcendental methodology...
sure... he takes a "schizophrenic"
moment to write a thesis
and an antithesis on subjects like
cosmology...
but he's inclined, as i am,
counter to an atheist...
yes... god is probably a monster...
but a ******* gorgeous monster...
kinda like a femme fatale...
so what's not to like?

    but this thought didn't arrive
randomly,
and my consciousness
didn't hone in on it...
i didn't vector this thought
to an immediate conclusion...
the thought arrived,
and then: i had to make shrapnel
out of it...
the original thought was complex,
i had to make shrapnel out of it,
in order to put it back together,
so that a cognitive 3 seconds
could be rewritten in under 30 minutes
explaining, why the thought arose...

you know... when thinking
is detached from the moral (θ)-ought
you get to experience these "things"...
here's another schematic...

I + Φ (you put a key into a lock),
   Θ (you turn the key), O (the door opens),
hey presto... a free radical iota...
detached from both phi and theta...

i am free from making
a moral ought (i) or the immoral: ought (i) not?
i'm free, hence my concern for...
abstract questions...

back to the original schematic...

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

this actually has a theological
dimension,
supposing i am god...

   if i propose an analytical a priori
with a synthetic a posteriori...
well then...
             i can't change anything,
i can't actually make changes to...
with my omnipotence,
omniscience etc.
i already analyzed, a priori
the Kantian elevation to theology
comes, via me, stating...
if i analyzed the entirety of
creation...
            a priori ex nihil
(from the prior out of nothing)
how can i make a synthesis
in the a posteriori domain,
of the already existing things,
which didn't exist a priori,
since there was nothing,
and i already analyzed the potential
of nothing, and this potential
was realized as everything i would
know to exist... and i went along
with it anyway?

i'm starting to think that
the realm of analytical a priori
doesn't exist for mortals...
the gods can muse this ****-show
of a dimension over and over again...
we're more (being mortals)
synthetic a posteriori...
oh don't get me wrong,
i believe we have the capacity
to comprehend analytical a priori
but it's an analytical a- priori...
we've reached the limits
of the microscope, the telescope,
and the hadron collider...
or on our way to exhaust that...
still being left with an intact mesh of...
the orbits... summer, winter, autumn, spring...
but this thing with this schematic:

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

how can i conjure an understanding
of IV + VI = X...
analytically a priori...
when... i have no hindsight /
prior to understanding of said rubric?
well... with Roman you could say:
analytical a priori,
given the Ancient Romans already
had the letters I, V, X...
but... if you didn't have the concept
of measurements prior,
of arithmetic...
how can you analyze something...
that doesn't exist?
so... you had to synthesize a priori,
working from the letters I, V, X...
to conjure up "numbers"...
  numerals... you had to create these
numbers by a synthetic a posteriori
method...
and the 4 + 6 = 10...
        well... you analyzed the a posteriori
synthesis, and threw I, V, X out...
and began the second wave of mathematics...
and this is where, authentically...
analytical a priori comes from...
based on I (1), V (5), X (10)...
                    came IV (4), came VI (6)...
don't mathematicians treat their language
as that of or equivalent to the gods?

now... for the cultural exchange program
that i promised...

on the great British isles...
you have a variety of languages
& dialects,
i'm so sorry that the Scottish
"forgot theirs"...

but when you have something
akin to

English: red
Cymru: coch

or right... they have their Pict
Gael?

Pict Gaelic: dearg
Irish: dearg
Cornish: rudh

we'll require a second word...
what word, what words..
life!

English: life,
Cymru: bywyd
Pict Gaelic: beatha
Irish: saol
Cornish: bewnans...

back, "home"...
we also have sub-groups
in terms of linguistics...

there are the Kashubians...
and there are the Silesians,
and, there are...
the Kurpie...
akin the Welsh, the Pict,
the Ire,

and their language looks like so...
again, borrowing from
red and life...

Polak: czerń
Kashubian: czôrny...
  but that can be disputed...
why?
     czerwień is not actually
a noun, but an adjective...
a quality of being associated with red...
czerwony? that's a male
adjective...
   and the female adjective
is czerwona...
                ****...
a color has to be something...
the noun adjective that's blood...
Polak: krwawy (czerwony)
Kashubian: czerwiony
Silesian: čerwůny
ah...
   Kurpian... high polish?
Masovian?
harder to find the words...
have to use alternatives...

Kurpian: caban
Polak: tępak
Kashubian: osoł
  Silesian: yjzel...
(idiot, imbecile)

you know how hard hard it is
to find a Kurpian to Polak
translator?
i can't find one to boil down
to the examples or either
red or life,
i'm reduced to choosing other
words...
like...

   Kurpian: chwat...
Polak: chłopak
Silesian: bajtel
Kashubian: knôp...
(boy)

Kurpian: jédło
Polak: jedzenie...
Kashubian: jedzenié
alternative to Silesian:
  jadło, i.e.: it ate...
past-participle in
the verb...
let's see what the Silesians
call it...
Silesians: well.. a variation..
chlyb
godka
mietła
masa... all things you can eat...
(edible food)

only a word, like the Kurpian
word akin to kotnå
reveals that Vikings passed via "us"...
kotnå?
  an impregnated sheep...
with young...

Kurpian: łańï truń!
Polak: nie mów!
Kashubian: ni gôdac!
Silesian: ńy godka!
(don't speak!)

mind you... Kurpian translation
is hard to find...
and you almost wonder...
at the British isles...
you think, us, Polaks...
do not have sub-linguistic groups
in our ranks,
like your Welsh, your Pict,
your Irish?!
guess again...
you had them all along...
and you thought...
the Polaks were
a homogenous culture...
all this time...
primarily because our culture
wasn't multicultural...
oh but it was... but on the subtle side
of history...
mind you...
defenders of the galaxy?
i knew gamora wasn't white...
but... **** me...
even if black or hispanic...
she looked so **** attired in green...
i was thinking:
absinthe cherub, absinthe cherub...
and forgot about glorifying
Zoe Saldana in all that choc...
what?
   a green skinned chic?
                    if i can forget about
the existence of chocolate...
i'll just anything that moves...
but i knew she wasn't white...
i hate chocolate...
          give me an absinthe girl any
day of the week...
       yeah...
only the English have complex
ethnicity encompassing
a single language...
only the English...
                 like **** they are...
at least my linguistic variation
is suited to a bundle of words...
Welsh?! Gaelic?!
  completely different languages...
at least in my part of the world
all that is deviating
is a choice of variant nouns!
but then again, the English
speaking world....
        how's the new pronoun
dictum coming along?
you keeping up with...
   appeasing the new crazies?
oh... you are?!
    well... kudos and applause!

p.s. guess what happens with appeasing
the new crazies... guess...
i'll tell you...
you **** around with grammar,
some grammatical pedant will raise
his head up from the crowd and say
something like:
               what?!
and then the old crazies rise up...
and... your, ahem, little discussion
about changing the rules of grammar
to "ensure" that the language is
kept, "intact"?
      see... mm... hmm... the old crazies?
the old crazies have their own
methods...
they're of the obligation:
let my gun do the talking...
  and then...
  you get pol *** arithmetic,
of skulls...
           being counted in an abacus
of heaping up, "debris"...
         see... these new crazies
are bugging me...
  they're bugging me...
because the old crazies didn't
attack grammar,
and whatever delusion they had...
i couldn't see it...
the new crazies?
they're attacking grammar,
and the delusion they have...
is... associated with something
i can see as being self-evidently untrue...

the new crazies...
******* spinners... fakers...
    i prefer the old crazies...
at least their delusions had ambitions
to deceive in the realm of
the unseen...
       the unproved, and never to be
proven...
these new crazies...
i am supposed to speak asylum talk?!
so... society is the new asylum
with the past asylums being
abolished?!
who gave caffeine to these news
crazies?!
******* sane people's naive pandering...
while the depressed man?
hey boy... hey, hey, hey boy...
noose!
i've lost all sympathy for
the victims of a psychotic
version of a repressed P.T.S.D. example...
the mad have hijacked language,
disorientated grammar...
and... b'a'ah, b'a'ah...
                 no...
                              i'm with the old
crazies...
                    at least they're the ones
that can inflict genuine grievance...
rather this policing of restricting
     the orthodoxy of the use of language.

p.s.
i found only two paradoxes in this
world...
    schadenfreude: feeding a pleasure
from the misery of others...
as...
  finding wisdom in others' own
forsake of an antithesis of
universal application...
  mainly that, associated:
            to a self-gratifying benefit...
the joke ends within the confines
of schadenfreude...
as does passable "wisdom" attached
to instragram novelty of the "maxim"
by your wisened sages
of the selfie...
  
                  i've been among the russians,
i know what the true uber looks like...
you hitchhike...
hitchhiking? forget that?
ponzie scheme albatross thingy
of a worth of a british mensch?
    funny... a people can so easily
forget the practice of hitchhiking...
so easily: entertaining individual rights...
and: innocent until proven
guilty until some next
               teddy bundy comes along...
and then it's all: ooh! ah! woo'ah!

   you know, i don't like the cartesian
chiral dynamic,
the whole: nietzsche take...
sum ergo cogito...
          i don't like the:

innocentes quoadusque (qua esse)
                           reus....    inversion...

an innocent man might hang...
well... if you have the death penalty:
too late to regurgitate the
original statements...

but? where's the element of redemption
for the innocent man?
why are so many people captivated
by the shawshank redemption?
there's a redemption story...
   in the inverted game?
a jimmy saville walks off scot-free...

the continental model doesn't make
sense with a death penalty...
but without one?
redemption... the atlas "paradox"...
one man usually burdens the fate
of a reciprocate of the unit of one...
but not the many...

me getting laid or not getting laid
is as important to me as:
whether i know about last year's
snowfall...
*** *** ***... all that sort of
******* in the western minds...
*** *** but no children!
recreational procreation without...
any procreation... to begin with...

         i'll admit...
english humour is funny...
but schadenfreude is a borrowed term...
hence the lost in translation
element...
           the english are terrible at
appreciating if not simply applying
the original zeppelin bomb...
after a while: the english just became
annoying toy-whips
of ***** replicas...
       the english knew elevated slap-stick...
with monty python...
with fawlty towers...
          they borrowed a term like
schadenfreude and completely lost the plot...
they once, upon a time,
chanced to play a game of linguistic
comedy...
            
                 i'm pretty ******* sure
the germans relate to schadenfreude in a different
way... i'm guessing:
the deutsche are not prone to ridicule as
the english are...
               the aunglisch are prone
to ridicule out of a sentiment of spite
than out of a repose for giggles...
        
          i don't understand the german sense
of humour,
     but understanding the english attempting
to "understand" the german sense of humour
is an enigma in an enigma in a per se...

such integrated back into
the ol' continental ways...
                       kudos to the brits...
bringing back the commonwealth to stereotype
us europeans with a negative "circumstance"...
now them: ******* up to "correct"
their integration policies... for the commonwealth
peoples of the united wordly wealth of
made in china plastic toys!

     a **** among the brits has
the audacity to tell a german he's not
supposed to feel at home on these isles...
sure... and i will never feel quiet at home
in Islamabad either!
               so? equal count of hubris!
that's the only thing that ****** me about
these isles... god i love this language...
but... when you get your afghani hounds
on me to do your ***** work?!

      even though i'm not: deutsche?!
i'll ******* pretend to be deutsche!
           i'm not here to mop up your failed
integration policies...
i settled on keeping my language...
they settled on keeping their sharia,
their **** pajamas and curry...
while adamantly rejecting their language...
in order to implement their desired changes
by subverting your language...
and you gave your language on a *******
platter...
    
    by subverting your language
to accept their cultural tattoos...
  let me tell you: if a people don't respect
their own culture,
by way of god, by way of language...
and they are "integrating": without speaking
their native mutterzunge?
they're not respecting either culture...
mongrels ahoy!
   what happened to the african-h'americans
not speaking a word of african?

what will they do, ascribe themselves
to ******* scots,
left with no gaelic and more a finnegans' wake
accent gymnastics of some irvine welsh?
nae for no: some glaswegian smart-***
excess of nouns?
      
hell... they would have never built
a colliseum if they saw:
1 + 4 + 6 + 9 = 20
   i.e. I + IV + VI + IX = **
            imagine... a society where letters
worked perfectly as sounds
and as arithmetic concepts of measure.

lucky for me the roman empire never
conquered
the lands i come from...
always with the brits being...
oh so so proud having been conquered
by the romans...
what's the prize... archeological sites?!

much respect as great britain...
but... *****... please...
don't pucnh below the waist...
importing your commonwealth dogs
to mark you out among all the other
europeans like some prized asset with
an inkling into h'american affairs...
thanks to you: i'm bored of looking up
the telescope of h'american ****
with their waning cultural export
of a worthwhile entertainment of appreciating
their music.
SELFISH EDUCATION MINUS POETICAL WISDOM
MAKES THE WORLD LAME

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; aopicho@yahoo.com)

Nothing is wrong with selfish education;
Career is an important part of a good life
Much of human life over the years
Is devoted to career acquisition
In oblivion of poetical wisdom
Philosophy does not make it any easier,ok
For apothecaries to remove a prostate gland;
Apothecarical education is long, arduous and dear in cost
Never temper it with apparent irrelevance
But poetical wisdom soothes the tools
Helps apothecaries to volite in dilemma
Poetical wisdom is essential for apothecary’s work
Without it; apothecary tells a mother-to-be
Your baby will be a dwarf dwarfishly
The apothecary explains the mother’s options yet in fault
Since it takes more than just knowledge of genetics
Since it requires an understanding of suffering,
Of disappointment and puerperal attachment
Apothecary tell a daughter but in sham; that
Your mother’s life support needs to be removed
It takes more than just knowledge of physiology
It too requires an understanding of emotional loss
A casualty room apothecary goofs to avoid despair
When faced with a baby battered nearly to death
By its own zinjathropus father
Such horror requires a faith in humanity
That cannot be learned in the selfish education
It’s not just apothecaries absolute
To benefit from a broader learning
It is but entire humanity
Studying drama would no help financiers
Devise capricious financial parasites
That doomed the world into financial mire
But, if they were familiar with Faust,
They may have thought twice about
The consequences of their vice,
Being able to sing from Shelley’s poems
Will not help politicians get elected
Carousing Ozymandias might make them more humble
And thoughtful about their accomplishments
Rupert Murdoch might not now be shaking his head
And whining; how I wish I new
Instead, he were to echo Shakespeare’s words
About how easy it is to be; done to death by a slanderous tongue,
I sing this poem in a crouch in the twilight
Around the world as my audience
Behold poetic eyebrows of my comrades,

A generation of humanity familiar poetical kingdoms
Of history, philosophy and literature is a wonderful vision
Doubts not that reading Goethe
And Shelley and Shakespeare guarantees wisdom
You are correct, kudos to you,

Reading, by itself, won’t make anyone a sage
Experience is a pertinent Florence
As Odysseus learns on his journey back to Ithaca,
Important lessons can only be learned the hard way
Through bitter experience, perhaps has a change,

Youth start out with ***, drugs, rock and roll
With experience they eventually emotions decadence
In calm appreciation that; nothing to excess,

Tragic exceptions like poor Amy Wine house;
Only serve to prove the rule, there is a problem,

Ergo, Experience alone cannot guarantee wisdom
Any more than reading books can
The lessons of life are only available
To those who are ready to learn them
If wisdom is the goal, then humanity must walk 10,000 miles,
To read 10,000 books
Said 17th century Chinese philosopher, GU Yanwu
Becoming wise requires more than set of adventures
But a cultured mind that is open and liberal
Readily able to absorb the lessons that experience teaches
Pasteur famously said that; Chance favours the prepared mind
Our job as learning humanity is to take his words seriously
Prepare mankind to learn from experience,

Humanity is to go beyond selfish education
To learn colours of hope in the poetical wisdom;
Life, death, tragedy, love, beauty, courage, loyalty
All of these are omitted from selfish education
yet, when it comes time to sum up our lives,
They are the only things that ever go places,

Catholic priesthood ever admonishes the flocks;
Thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return
A salutary reminder of what we all have in waiting f
Like the Preacher in the Ecclesiastes;
We spend our years trying to find some meaning in our lives
It is easy to fall into the bottomless pit
Life is tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing
But before humanity reaches Macbeth’s conclusion,
We must provide with the poetical glory
Musing fortunately as all humanities is anxious
There is a thirsty for poetical wisdom
Which parochial selfish education cannot quench,

There ought to be a list of great poetical works
From east, west, north and south of the world
Globalectically Nursing poetic urge of the earth
With which every piece of humanity should suckle
In wisdom that Books have the power to convey wisdom,

From these poetical sources that humanity learn about love
And loss, about memory and desire,
About loyalty and duty,
About our world and love-bound universe
And about what it means to be a human being
Mehma Kunwar Jun 2014
Kudos!
we reached the goal
Tightened the knot,
Sewed the hole
in the curtains
of life
And somehow
Hid the blot
that bothered
the people
rife
But what about
the tiny spot
still seen
in the midst
of white.
And
the glimmer
of long-lit
light
that peeps
through
the slightly
left,
unmended
hole of sin
into
the darkness
we shut
ourselves
in?
Derartu, Haile, Tirunesh
Kenenisa, Meseret, and all
With a similar footfall!

Displaying a superb
Long-distance athletic feat
When many superstars
Awe inspiringly you beat
And as a result of it
When your sought-for
Fought-for
And nation- prayed-for
Dream proves a hit
And also with kudos
A stadium full of people opt
You to greet
And when spectators
Accord you a high five
It is for your country's  flag
You  immediately dive!
Also on the podium
while Ethiopia's row-wise
Green,Yellow and Red
Emblazoned flag,
Shoulder high,
Soars above
You express
Your  umbilical cord-tight
National love
With tears that
Trickle down each of
Your cheek,quick.

Is it because
Reminiscent of
Each living hero
With a life sacrifice
That brought colonial
Aggression to zero?

Is it because
The bounty of the land
You grew up
Seeing first hand?

Is it because
The cherished corner
You cut in the heart of
The poor but prideful
Ethiopian neighbour?

Is it because
The unity in diversity
That showcases
Ethiopia's identity
Or citizens hospitality?

Is it because
At heart strings a tug
Or ,among others
Gratefulness to
Your iron-strong lung
When you hear
Ethiopian anthem sung?

Is it because a secret another
Deep down you harbour?

Is it because the Fertility
Hope and Sovereignty ideals
The flag advance,
Also Ethiopia's being
A beacon of independence
What is more
The nation's renaissance
Which in a curtain of mist
Before your eyes dance?
A poem I prepared this time in connection  with the celebration of the flag day,Ethiopia
Jiminy Cricket Jun 2013
How is that you are always here, but never there.
Picking the insides of my sanity out.
Bit by bit, leaving only a memory of your presence.

Kudos on doing so well.
Replacing my sanity to a somewhat insanity.
Was it ever there in the first place?
Only you would know.
I only want you to know.
softcomponent Jan 2014
so let's start this stream on Monday night.. it's a new friends 21st birthday party (chanting, 'now you're legal everywhere! how does it feel?' 'meh.. overrated') and we're sitting on a freezing cold December beach trying to start a fire while my toes sweat inside my shoes and then begin to freeze oh so uncomfortable it's got to be an infected cut almost.. I've been chain-smoking all night for no particular reason save for perhaps that consistent headrush which pushes me into the kind of manic I like, rapping to an unlikely *****-funk instrumental in Pete's car on the way to the beach, it's the one thing I can do that everyone gives me kudos for, verbal versatility.. it's so cold, as in it's too cold to even be all that much fun, except in the dark when I think no one can really make out the details of my face (god I kno I'm not ugly, not that ugly, somewhat attractive I think actually depending but still) I begin opening up under the cover of some measure of anonymity, now endowed with a perceptive wit not quite felt so often.

There's some guy lounging around the fire that keeps saying he's thankful for drugs during 'gratitude circle' in which we each give our name and something we're thankful for and once we've all had a turn, we throw our hands up in unison and bellow, 'ahoy!' he finally admits that he's very high on acid but that it's too dark to trip out on anything all that interesting so he's enjoying the fire, and he goes off on some tangent about how all drugs should be legal, someone retorts back, 'I dunno if I could hand somebody a latte while high on acid.. work just wouldn't work' to which he replies (in all seriousness) 'really? I dunno, I think most things would be better if I was high all the time.. could just stick a blotter in my coffee every morning.' another fellow, one whom nobody knows, appears out of the darkness beyond the flame as we are blessing the air with a jam session.. he's too stereotypically hippy in my mind and I almost expect him to introduce himself by saying, 'hey man, consider the lilies' but instead he shakes my hand quite vigorously and begins telling everybody about how he is going out to a farm on the Sunshine Coast the following weekend to experience ayahuasca for the first time. I tell him I'm from the Sunshine Coast and am shocked ayahuasca is something that has ever existed anywhere near me.. I begin asking him how I'd go about organizing some such session for myself and he goes on some rant about 'it's all vibrations, man.. you put the intention out there, and people will come to you, you know? it'll just happen, you just have to be ready' seeming to be shutting my question down for confidentiality or sumthin so I respond with, 'well, you're sitting beside me right now, eh? vibrations, dude. all me.' he silently refuses to go much further.. probably ****** or too lazy to give any info, as confused as anyone would be in a situation like that.. he, too, later gives me kudos for a freestyle, calling me a 'real poet' and asking for 2 cigarettes in exchange for some ***, patting me on the back with 'I'm giving you more than 2 cigarettes worth but it's *** you deserve it.'

Eventually Pete and the rest of the friends I'd arrived with decide to venture home, probably the cold and frankly I can't blame them.. I consider following, but end up reckoning I might have a better time if I stay (despite the fact that I work at 12:30 the following afternoon and it's already close to midnight and my place is on the other side of town and oh well in the actual **** it's'all good that's why jesus invented taxis)
excerpt- - 'the mystic hat of esquimalt'
NitaAnn Aug 2013
Really? Well, don’t be, because it doesn’t help to be sorry. Sorry doesn’t change it. Sorry doesn’t make it go away. Sorry doesn’t “undo” what’s already been done. Sorry doesn’t erase my memory. Sorry doesn’t take away the searing pain in my chest. Sorry *****! I don't want your pity or to hear that no child should ever have to endure what I did. Because **** happens. It happened to me …it happens to millions of other kids. Shoulda…woulda…coulda…

You’re right – I do have so much going for me. I have an education, a career, financial security – the beautiful house w/the picket fence, the 2 kids and the dogs. And it’s all a huge sham! You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. And that’s what I’m to be commended for??? That doesn’t make me special. I should be commended because I have an education? Things could sure be a lot worse, huh? I could be a crack ***** living on the street with 10 kids in foster care, unable to afford therapy even if I wanted to go. I could be like “them”.

Wow! I’m so awesome. Yay for me! Kudos to the smart chick that spent years being molested by her father and ACTUALLY made something of her life. It’s a miracle!

It’s all such a sham – a dog and pony show. Smoke and Mirrors, my dear! Put on a stylish outfit, and  paste on a cheerful smile, and everyone thinks you have it all together….. No one would ever know different. You wouldn’t have known. If I’d have kept my big fat mouth shut!!!!! I should have known better….I should have sat down and weighed the risks, possible opportunities, the roadblocks the problems, and definitely a cost analysis of plan A – trying to work through the ******* of the past, B – continue to live in denial, C – **** myself. …. That’s what a smart business woman would have done. And after all, I’m super smart, huh? A real genius!
K Balachandran Jul 2014
She stupefy truth
with her finely crafted lies
that stand head held high
without even
the slightest sign
of embarrassment.
She waters the seeds
with acid, deliberately
even manage to get kudos
for her 'kind intervention'
Her 'collected venom'
in real, is a counterfeit concoction
more deadly than the real,
that attracts unlimited attention
and the loudest rounds of applause,
for it's new shade of blue
when displayed with special effects
for all to view.
In her presence, fairness loses its meaning
foulness like her, usurps it, makes its own,
becomes the reigning queen!
Whatever she does
has a dark beauty,
even the true angel of evil
would greatly envy her.
Michael McLean Jul 2014
we love a guy with a black eye blood shot

those cute five-finger dimples in his jawline up in millennial graphs

of x-time and y-self worth

increasing steadily in units knuckles and palms

lips and prods in a smooth

arching crescent down-facing hieroglyph of his swollen socket as

the plane descending for Cropper and kudos

touchdown
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
My complex brain keeps me thinking deeply
For hours it keeps spitting **** perpetually.
I think outside the box and write always,
look at things in 3D and cross the streets sideways.

This is the universe at work in another way.
Maybe I'm being rewarded, if I may,
For the countless hours put into thinking
About a fraction of mankind's problems.
And the thoughts about seeking answers to questions,
That will someday bring a resolution to our problems,
For the universal betterment and the good of mankind.
Maybe I'm a product of some social and scientific
Or intellectual experiments or the combination of all three.

All that was yesterday, when I was something else
If I was ever made a saint then for my past good deeds,
I have no recollection of what transpired down those dark Corridors of the part of the multiverse I came from.
So, if I ever did some positive things in my past life,
Kudos to that mass or ball of energy I once was.

Today, maybe I'm just one idiot with a laptop
Who has time to write things some people may deem
obnoxious, senseless and otherwise incomprehensible?
Maybe I'm an outlet for deep thoughts
And a vessel of wisdom for some people.
Through perseverance and the little time, I have on hand,
I have helped save lotta folks some precious time
In coming to acknowledge the reality of our time.
Thus, making it easier for them to see,
That things are messed up and that despite this,
hope looms!
If this is not a poem, it ends with a line that says hope looms.
POEMOCRACRY AND POEMOCRATS


Alexander   K   Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

It is freedom of universal poetry
And the political democratic space
In the economic government of poetry
By the poetrizens for the poetrizens.
Ascription to which I get Faiz of Urdu a true poemocrat
The male mistress of poetry’s counter-narrative
To its extremism in the Nerudaistic poemocracy
Known in the West as the 'Neruda of Urdu poetry
Faiz wrote romantic lyrics with a different a touch
He fused it with contemporary social issues
Progressive Pakistanis have commemorated
His jolly and poemocratic 29th death anniversary
Faiz Ahmad Faiz, a progressive Pakistani poemocrat
Has inspired almost three generations of Pakistanis
He believe in secular and liberal values poemocratically
A proclaimed poemocratic Marxist Faiz received
The Lenin Peace Prize from the then Soviet Union in 1962
The poet was also involved in many political struggles
And was jailed by Pakistani rulers a number of times.

Good poetry can always be used as an agent for self- awareness
In terms of the poemocratic quality of his poetry
And his poetical expressions he is unparalleled
In the whole history of Urdu poemocracy.
His metaphors, the string of nouns that he uses,
The rhythm and the structure will never go stale
Faiz will remain relevant mostly because of his themes
- He wrote extensively about human misery,
Despair, squalor, Inequality and injustice
These are timeless democratic issues
These are universal issues and are not restricted
to a parochial nor Provencal  country or  group.

Good poetry can always be used as an agent for awareness,
But Faiz is more relevant in this context
Because he speaks in contemporary poemocratic idiom
But let me be clear that Faiz is exceptionally among the equals
Poemocratic like Meer, Ghalib and Hafiz make us open-minded
They make us appreciate and cherish the poemocratic diversity
And differences that we have in the world mother earth’s sire.




Faiz weeps over oppressive problems in Africa
And talks about the oppressive racism in Palestine issue.
Faiz’s poetry makes us feel the pain of others
Indeed Faiz's poetry serves the world a bonanza ever
As a counter-narrative to extreme Islamist ideologies
Faiz and Neruda both belonged to the poor World
The conditions he was dealing with during his life,
was The colonial hangover as it  was
Something Neruda also faced in his country.

Faiz talks about the concrete realities around him
And not only about some imaginative issues
This is also true of poemocratic Pablo Neruda
They both deal with real issues of bread and butter,
Of poverty, hunger, nakedness, jiggers, peace and security.
Not only are the sensibilities of the two poemocrats is ditto,
But also the socio-political fabrics they lived under
Kudos to German poetry and fiction
That always had good influence
On the poemocratic Urdu-Chilean literature
Soul literature has inspired countless Urdu writers and poets.
Its influence was starker during the 20th century
Faiz was not only inspired by soul writers and philosophers,
But also by praxis of poverty and agonies of diverse oppression.
Jowlough Jul 2011
You're a hotshot,
straight from nowhere.
told the firsts,
Cheers, lies have no fare.

It's only you,
Said you are the best.
Thank you for taking part,
by doing the self-tests.

Because you're a self proclaimed pioneer,
Never a second best.
you're unique
just like everyone else.

Congratulations buddy,
For taking the time you got,
Job well done,
for keeping your mouth shut
(c) Kudos! - jcjuatco 7-25-11
Sa mga tala hihingi ako ng paunawa
Mga bagay na di ko na dapat ginawa
Pero sabi nga
Baka naman daw masyado lang akong walang tiwala
Sa sarili kong balisang balisa
Mga bagay na di ko na maipaliwanag
Kaya bang linawin ng ng mga talang aking laging tinatawag?
Sabi ko gusto ko nang lumayo ngunit sabi ko din "wag"
Di ko lubos maintindihan
Kung ano ang dahilan
Paano na ba iyan?                                
Maipaliliwanag mo ba kung bakit ngayon wala nang laman?
Kasi nung huli kong tinignan
Lahat tayo'y masaya laging nandyan
Ngayon... bakit?
Bakit wala nang laman???            
Pati puso ko di ko na maramdaman
Sobrang sakit na hindi maipaliliwanag nino man
Ayokong umalis nang hindi ito ayos
Pero di ko talaga alam kung anong gagawin kong kilos        
Dahil sa tuwing ika'y kaharap na
Lahat ng aking mga tanong ay biglang nawawala nang parang bula
Di ko alam kung paano ka kakausapin tungkol dyan sa sitwasyong di kaunaunawa
Kalagayan natin ngayo'y kaawa awa...

Di ko na talaga alam...
Sa tingin ko'y ako na'y naging mangmang
Kaya isang kudos na lamang
Para sa ating lahat
Victor Thorn Jan 2013
Deny it; it makes no difference:
the American government pitches its deceitful realtor-reality to the world:
flaunting our flag as the banner of the free, but avoiding
our faults and failures as a country.
“Oh yes! We’re rollin’ in the (borrowed) bucks!
We’re a proud superpower capable of chaos; calamity!”
Well, kudos on your catastrophes: we all know it’s a hollow show.

See, we’re slaves to China, bound by China’s chains
to billions of dollars, the deficit deepening daily.
And who’s to blame?
“Not I!” says the Democrat.
“Not I!” says the Republican.
“Not I” say I, but we
weaved our financial woes together.
It’s not stupidity; if we could see into the future, we’d be shakin’ our money makers.
But have you seen the current fiscal guillotine
whose blade looms low and approaching our throats?
Oh, irony of ironies: the American government isn’t free.
Oh mah gee.
Freak out!
Calm down...
Forbes informs me that federal spending spurs private sector growth.
But when fifty-four thousand buckaroos from you
and you
and you
and me too is just enough
to cover Congress’ **** until the dimwits there do another... (insert something dumb),
it’s time to draw the line.

And time to erase lines previously drawn:
George Washington warned us once before:
“...the common and continual mischiefs of [political] parties are sufficient to make it the... duty of a wise people to discourage... it.”
Yet here we are: the media’s reporting majority wars
that serve only to sail us further offshore from Pristine America
and a time when things really seemed to matter, especially when they did.
Deny it; it doesn’t matter; it doesn’t change
our chances of escaping another Cuban
Missile
Crisis. If we waged World
                               War
                                            Three, what would we
                                                       do?
                                                               One
thing: debate, procrastinate, our fate
a fragile plaything fought over
by infantile, full-grown fanatics who never quite phased out of high school debate.
They never learned to lose, and so they play the inane blame game,
I say quite frankly: gurl. Dat cray-cray.

Dear Democracy, when will my words hold water?
When will the weight of a rainbow OREO or a
monogamous monotone monotheistic chicken sandwich
on my guilty conscience be lifted?
Must I muster a hungry lackluster life in the land of opportunity
to oppose tyranny
and uphold justice? I turned eighteen last December,
but for as long as I can remember
I’ve been voting with the dollar bill, my ballot
traveling through the bloodstream, fueling the body of big business, who fuel the daring charities, who fuel their bills in congress.

Democracy, do you know me?

For this faux-democratic nation where the population waits for the government to lay itself to waste, the Founding Fathers sob, disgraced.
                                                       Oh, God Bless America!
the nation where when faced with any
[man, woman, child, intersex, genderqueer, etc.] who dares defile the status quo,
accept the stigma like a crown of thorns, on top of all the scorn
                                                                    We The People
donate millions to “charities” who dare to speak for
Jesus,
the meek and mild. John chapter eight, verses one through eight:
he drew a
fine line in the
sand, man:
it’s where your rights end and mine begin. Irony, irony: they are as good as
mine.
For this faux-democratic nation where the population waits for the government to lay itself to waste, the Founding Fathers sob, disgraced.
I have days.
Megan Galema Jan 2013
I'll never understand the struggles you've had
or the depths of hurt on your worse day.
I'll never know the hurt that you have felt,
or the pain and the suffering that left you with welts.
I'll never know how strong you can be,
after knowing where you stand in social hierarchy.
You're inspiration at its best,
exceeding expectations, none the less.
I aspire to be strong like you,
to endure the things you have gone through.
And when the day is done,
I will rest my head, knowing that I have won
I know that I can be strong, persevere on.
All of this, I owe to you.
ponny jo Jul 2014
Winding words
Follow winding paths
Winding minds
Filled with winding laughs
Winding cries
Covered with winding masks
Winding hands
Making winding acts
Winding lives
Wind up winding up
Wound winds wind winding hearts
Unwinding destroys
when winding becomes
And winding it's lived
And winding known
Winding winds from muscle memory
And when we wind from winding habits
We become the winding we wind
Westley Barnes Apr 2013
You measure in
vast spaces that my memory fills
Revolving.
I take you where
you thought before you might
get left behind.

Instead
Our Love is
sly references
to Private Jokes and
how your eyes light up
as you twirl around inside
your favorite Polka Dot Dress.
Knowing
“That’s when I think you look your best.”

With Egyptian eyeliner
to illuminate the understatement.

Kudos.
Deserved,
after all you do accept
(Not without forgiving humour...)
A latent tendency in myself
to elongate an awkward silence
after committing whichever topical
and firmly established social faux pas
given the setting.

Not forgetting,
my oft lauded lack of a certain finesse
Establishes
around my name a peculiar sentiment
Windswept spiky hair and caught-out schoolboy face
Notwithstanding.

Perhaps,
“it’s clever not to deny the girl”
her entertainment.
Magnetizing physics
Magnetic chemistry
Precise mathematics
Bubbling biology
Histrionic history
Attired economics
Refined fine arts
Electrifying looks
Electronic vision
Scintillating psychology
Ventilating physiology
Tantalizing mechanics
Tranquilizing metabolism
Dynamic damsel
Oh! What a scientific disposition?
Kudos to the Big-Bang Beautician.
tracy Jul 2014
You have always been unpredictably cool and golden retriever status loyal. You hid in closets with me when Mom and Dad were yelling and you held my hand through each silent treatment and each “let’s sit down, we need to have a talk” moments. You came to me when you needed help reading and to pick out clothes for school dances.

You were the first person to laugh at all my jokes and the first to tell me that that dress did make my *** look big—you were also the first to remind me that I was beautiful, especially when I didn’t believe it myself. You didn’t stop crying when I hugged you, but we’d both just end up in a teary, sobbing mess because when one hurt, so did the other. You put up with my obnoxious free-spirited ways that collided with each of your organized, to-the-point methods all these years and never once questioned me. You had my back even when I was in the wrong. You believed in me when no one else did.

You grew up to be amazing. Whatever you wanted to do, you did it. You studied and you learned and you just grew into this person that I knew you could be. You’ve had a number of set backs but your ability to keep moving forward is what makes me admire you. The world is at your disposal—you are now in control. The dreams you’ve had for a while now are finally coming true, and it’s because of you that they are. I couldn’t be prouder.

Your attention to detail always fascinated me. You never forgot a single appointment, a birthday, a dollar loaned, where Dad left his car keys—whenever I was lost, you help me find my way again. Although you’re the “little” sister, you’ve always been the one I looked up to.

When people walk all over your heart and took you for granted, I was proud of you for standing up for yourself and removing those who aimed to bring you down. Although you lost a number of friends, you never lost yourself. You found solace in those who truly deserve to be in your life, learning a lesson that took years for me to learn.

To this day, there’s no one who can get under my skin more than you do. There’s no one who knows better than you what buttons to push with me, but there’s also no one who knows better how to cheer me up after a long, exhausting day. Fighting with you is more aggravating than with anyone else—the world is only correctly in place when we’re in sync, so kudos to us for not being able to be mad at each other for more than a few hours.

We used to say that if we weren’t sisters, we probably wouldn’t even be friends so I’m glad that the universe blessed me with someone like you. I can’t imagine sharing parents with anyone else, because who else could do what you do? I thank my lucky stars that I have you around, because with parents like ours, I’ll need someone to talk about whatever embarrassing or nurturing or cute or terrible or weird or unfair thing they’re up to next.

What else can I say? Even though you’re 3,000 miles away and we’re about to begin the rest of our lives, I know that one day we’re going to be the weird old ladies on the block still listening to the Backstreet Boys and making bad impersonations of our relatives.
Everyone, after all, was killed:
he who was crucified,
he who died without skin,
he who died without a head,
he who was drowned,
he who was thrown down
from the wall of the Temple,
which shortly after that
ceased to exist.
Everyone, after all, was tormented;
he who was put at the mercy
of lions and Neros,
he who was roasted on the bonfire,
he whose eyes were gouged out.
Everything was justified
on the excuse that no one
can live eternally
and that it is impossible
to avoid death.
Through the narrow gates of paradise
passed so many martyrs
that the gates in the end
had to be widened.
Kudos to the executioners!
Steve D'Beard Jan 2014
In the pale of your shadows
In the absence of your light
reckless words left unspoken
lead fingertips to undress
under the crescent moon
and the awakenings of night.

In memory of your passing
In the kudos of your heart
abstinence of time left to falter
the clutches of desire
and the tears of regret
that sees two loves apart.

In the starlight of your beauty
In the creativity of your life
In another world
and the sliding of doors to here
I can but imagine possibility
without the ruination of reality
and the fear of unbridled strife.
Äŧül Nov 2016
She had kissed me as I slept near her father,
More than now I have not felt any farther.
She pursues her dreams self-focussed,
And she has moved on in that life of hers,
My best wish is that only her I wished.
She so dedicatedly chases all her dreams,
Mine she was the only dream I ever pursued.

That kiss was more gratituos than sensuous,
She had woken me up for an active kiss.
Those wee hours I cannot forget ever,
Because just like a surreal dream it was,
She became a one night angel for me.
Those moments one could never forget,
She is the new generation – maybe she can.
I refuse to become next generation when it comes to love.
If I am supposed to be alone all my life, then so be it.
I am not going to move on when I was not at fault until I am granted justice.

HP Poem #1239
©Atul Kaushal
t m h Jul 2014
even with the full display of shine from sun
this town feels like english rain
i ate a cold sandwich today that was too much for yesterdays lunch
i am not sure where this is going
only knew that i had to get something down.
i've been feeling as though life is a ride,
and mine has become one that goes around in a circle
and never gets quite exciting.
the freedom after the break has now lost it's allure
and i am stuck in a habit that i just cant shake
i miss her, and when i say that,
i miss the feeling of thinking you've found something you've been looking for, i should stop looking
good things come to those who wait, great things come to those who fail
and the most wonderful things can happen when you've fallen flat on your face and you can get up and laugh about it.
i'm not sure if dreams come true, however life is no nightmare
find things you love and hold onto them, if following your heart is the worst thing you ever do i envy you
Q Nov 2013
We're getting to be good friends, but first, I must say:

There's nothing wrong with you
Lift your head up high

You always seem so trapped
But just this once, you can fly

You're quiet and reserved in person
But, ****, do you get by

You're unique and that's alright
(Jesus, how much incense do you light?)

You're art is amazing, kudos and kudos again
Did you need to hear that tonight?

You're intelligent as hell
And you don't even try

You don't spout *******
Though others always lie

You're not egotistical at all
You don't use "I" all the time

So yeah, I just wanted to say
You're doing good in life.

Now I'm hoping you don't read this
Because this is literally just what I thought
Of you with a little rhyme scheme
As well as what I think you're not

But if you do read this
I kinda admire you
You're one of those surreal people
Who still lets reality through
If you do read this, seeing as I gave you my poetry alias, here's you're new favourite song: Green Green Grass of Tunnel by Mum
L/ yesterdave, I can picture Glaswegian Dave
w/ his Robert Plant locks (sebaceous oils hairoically
serving this roughsleeping ****), embroiled in t/ usual
skelartries of vagrants w/ SKOL arteries:
sherry, ******, needlesheroin shenanigans
& shenanipettycrime. Tucking into some horse
w/ no need f/ a pairofteeth, after a Specialbrew aperitif,
then some post 'iccup pisticuffs w/ crabby cabbies
down Tesco taxirank. They drove away, but he drank
& stayed & stayed & stayed. Dave
also got my grunger brother from another mother,
Koopa Trooper's lil' sis in t/ familyway at 14. Kudos
to underage Liz tho', being wooed
by such a tatterdemalionmaned skaggis,
Sideshow Boabbarneted smackonteur
- love is, after all, showbiz. Anyhoo, 1 time
Glaswegian Dave regaled me w/ a gouch down memorylane,
of riding pillion on a furshlugginer chromeboneshaker deathtrap,
revved by a fellow ******* porridgewog across
t/ Forth Bridge at breakneck Braveheart brums,
a Highlandwind afroing his Robert Plant mane
(preserved so remarkably,  I must reremark,  
by sebaceous oils, despite a lifetime
on t/ slabs & on t/ tiles), w/ a deathwrap
of Deadly Nightshade, belladonna sellotaped
under his armpit. Dave davulged that  t/ trick
was to rip that bellotaped selladonna
off t/ 2nd  you felt toxin titillate
t/ ******-attic sweet spot, or
'Ma hert widhae exploded, laddie, at 90 miles an oor!
Hootsmonseeyoujimmygroundskeeperwillieetc.'  

A typical Gen Xer deathwish teen at t/ time,
that oxterry devil's cherry deathcultmystery
& armpit raspberry to life, Atropic trip
on a murderbike sounded l/ a ride home to me.
If anyone considers 'porridgewog' racist, they really need to get a life.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.it turns out German, is a language worthy of opera... but, my god... to my surprised liking, who would have thought that Peter O'Toole could play a baddy, in the **** fetish TCM film from 1967... the night of the Generals... great... but i still think movies were better in Technicolor... i haste CGI... give me a Technicolor film and i'm like: agape... someone telling me to shut my mouth, so that a passing seagull cannot drop a dump into it... yeah yeah, Jack Lemon, Shirley MacLaine (god, she was hot... those dreamy eyes, akin to Claire Forlani) in the Apartment... but the ultimate Technicolor classic has to be Bell, Book and Candle... James Stewart, Kim Novak... sure, sure, the coloring seems excessive, but it's the excessive aspect of Technicolor that's so... comic book... eh... modern films... like the Artist or Schindler's List attempting to revive black & white... how about... reviving Technicolor?!

a recurring theme of internet usage...
lately i've been having
a problem taking a **** in one
sessions...
    oh god, i tried playing video games,
listening to music
while reading some Heidegger...
but it's like... i need to go back,
and sit on the throne of thrones...
and expect some inverted **** ***...
mind you...
i really admire the homosexuals...
i wouldn't have the ***** to ****
****, or there lack of...
kudos gents, kudos...
         but the whole drama ends while
i massage my **** while sitting
on my heel on a windowsill...
ha ha! that rhymes!
        and i obviously need to do the following...
preliminary drinking...
a beer, two shots of ms. amber,
another beer...
   and some alt. media political
commentary videos...
       and when i'm done... the menu comes
to my attention...
  and that sweet, sweet grand release
of not giving a **** about freedoms like
the freedom of speech...
crescendo cascada...
   cascade of sounds, ambivalences...
music becomes water...
   ars musica, est aqua repraesentatio...
you'd think of ventus...
how European music could be
described as representing the winds...
well... prior to the African-import
revision and incorporation of the drums...
you could see it as such...
but...
    when you counter the H'american
freedom of speech...
                 argumentation...
        and listen to some of the internet
commentaries...
  have enough drink in you...
and abruptly put on some Beethoven?
the ******* dam bursts...
   aqua, anti claudo...
                    so while the Africans are
all smug about their melatonin
concentration, their perfected skin
not riddle by acne...
           who's who in the lactose race?
you can contain almost all other elements...
but water?
    compared to these internet
commentaries, with a shy intake of drinks
in me... i put on Beethoven and
explode into a fury of joviality and hope...
music is the representation of water...
oddly enough...
with all the brass and woodwinds it
ought to be wind...
               but come the crescendo...
what do i see?
  or a preliminary crescendo teaser
without the choir, in Beethoven?
                    the bursting Hoover dam...
oddly enough... the addition
of the African accent of excessive drumming?
i think loop, i think tornado,
i think...
           there story of the reel...
repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat...
the end sounds just like the beginning...
with some sort of variant in the middle...
well...
   here's to that second beer.
Bathsheba Feb 2011
Perusing poet’s pandemic prose
A question in my mind arose
Angst aside what have they got
Ill tell you friend
It’s not a lot
Excuses for the lives they lead
Plant the idea
Nurture the seed

Willing victims succumb to their charm
Understandingly
Unerringly
Blind to the harm
The harm of a contrived reality
Dressed up as spirituality
Pretence of a world that doesn’t exist
Sensibility shrouded in gullible mist

Hurt worn as a badge of pride
Careful it’s not misapplied
Lest they see your
Jekyll and Hyde
Wary what’s put out in rhyme
Slowly ******* you in
One at a time

Once the carrot is gobbled up
Once they drunkest from the cup
No holds barred
The game is on
Universally singing the same old song

This life I lead has ****** me dry
Left me often wondering why
Life lived only on the edge
Carefully honouring the kudos pledge
Passion intense is
Their line of defence
Bruised and battered
Tattered and torn
Eternally waiting for life to return

So…Readers beware of the poets lure
Their chosen words are not the cure
This Forum is their new aged lair
In shadows waiting to ensnare
Whilst drowning in narcissistic despair

You’re a fragile soul
With a fragile life
And they will wield their pen
Like a well butchered knife

So please… do not believe that you are The One
You are merely a chapter in a story that’s already begun
Be very careful of all fakes and fraudsters who operate on Poetry Sites !!!
Heike Borgard Jun 2014
Most poets or writers here have my respect
but some are producing some strange effects
to call just 2 words a poem someone really needs guts
want to know how I call this? I name it -  It's nuts!
Has got 103 likes? Research and you'll detect
He/she liked 804 poems before..
you can start now to flame me but it's a fact.

Have been reading here a lot around
did not click “like” on every poem I found
but those that I liked no matter the subject
was “***” or a “Flower”
made me laugh or think twice or surprised me
with its strong expressive power
and a few, I admit, really touched me inside
Kudos! Poets you can take the pride!

Don't care if I am trendy
perhaps my language is bad and my grammar obscure
Typing errors – if you find some, please take them
Don't give a  a sh*t – they are yours.
Thanks for “likes” that are honest
and for taking your time
should be poetry not Facebook
and now to hell with the rhyme.


(© Moon aka Heike Borgard 2014)
Warm greetings to my followers, even if I do not follow
you, I will follow your poems and you are on my mind.
he turned up a winning
ace on his arrival
he turned up an ace
the ace of revival

everyone engrossed
with all that he wrote
oh yeah there was a real
classiness to his tote

he'd arrived at other forums
not getting applause
those places weren't aiding
his penning cause

he turned up a winning
ace on his arrival
he turned up an ace
the ace of revival

when he found the site
where the mob noticed him
there stayed he to garner
kudos on his trim

of the adoring hordes
his arrival did infatuate
a diamond ace card
dealt him triumph's fate

he turned up a winning
ace on his arrival
he turned up an ace
the ace of revival
Tommy Randell May 2017
It's all bells and whistles these days
Near rhymes and Doc files
Synonyms for that perfect flow.
It's hard sometimes to cast a line
That gets spoken, that hooks an ear
And becomes a Poem.

Harder still to make it to the page
In these electronic times
To get that kudos paper bestows
That magic pass from print to eye
As words become potent and more clear
And the mysterious becomes the known.

Tommy Randell 11th May 2017
Dew drops sit patiently on the earth
My thoughts race, incomplete
without a story line.
What’s the difference between an animal
and a man, you ask?
Men can carry guns
The revolution falls short as the much anticipated
Apocalypse begins

Zombies moan and groan as their limbs
creak with their shuffling art.
They say zombies are the living dead
Why, you ask?
They’re dead on the inside.
Like Davy Jones, they’ve ripped their hearts out
and hid them away from the world.
I’ve met a zombie or few.
They inject sunburnt life into their veins;
They inhale the emotions they can’t convey
I see right through their drug induced façade.
Life can’t be bought because the government can’t even afford it.
Kudos to China for figuring that out

A joke tumbles from the lips of the self-righteous
An apology pours from the mouth of the condemned
A question slides from the tongue of the forgetful
Remember me?
I jumped because the Hermes of death seeped into my mind
Go down in flames or fall for a thousand Arabian nights
Calm before the storm chosen over
Panic during the tornado.
Take the credit, you *******, and we’ll take your lives.
Congratulations, Westboro Baptists are humming dirges
at your last bed
You’ll be missed.

Now what, you ask?
Come on home, boys,
I’ve got a country to please

— The End —