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Nico Reznick Nov 2016
Post-truth.
Post-satire.
Monsters celebrated as saviours.
Wide-open, screaming ******
committed during every ad break.
A dynamic new plan to power the national grid
using snake oil.
Hosts of remote-controlled, cybernetic angels
raining down weapons-grade holy fire.
Eternal peace declared
between Eurasia and Eastasia.
The trenches full up with
poetic corpses.
*** doll mouths breaking
bad news to the bereaved.
The orgiastic scarification
of our own democracies.
Blood sacrifices to the Black Friday Gods.
The enactment of nursery rhyme into law.
The Disneyfication of the human heart.
Love only as legislated.
Hate as currency and
everyone a broker.
Strange, reptile creatures
ballroom dancing through
the sludge-filled annals of imminent history.
Endless war
between Eastasia and Eurasia.
A thousand candles
lit in memory
to all the moths that
burnt to death.
Bus Poet Stop Apr 2015
eye am out on a rainy weekend day, feeling  the compulsion to escape the imprisonment of one's living quarters reflecting off of the rain puddles slicks on black city streets, that shine bright like an addiction's craving. For   Single people in a city that values personal beauty and anonymity simultaneous means entering the outside world of a drizzling, more like misting, gloom and be outside dressed as if going to,  and indeed, perhaps some were actually going,  to the gym though for most, off for a Starbucks moment of community.

all dressed to code.  The code says all black, hooded yoga clothes, exercise uniforms of various sort, special string chain mini-pocketbooks  to hold phone of just in case, always all black always, all  of no color, except, by code, by some global understanding of a legislated law, somewhere on the body must be a splash of pink or a luminescent pastel.  

Usually it's the sneakers, but not necessarily. Some pinks streaks were observed in the drawstrings that pulled the hoodies tight around the face or just the laces of the black sneakers...there are rules in the world that must be obeyed though they are never legislated or indeed, never spoken...this is one...the coda of black and pink splash.
your poetry is the
timid surgeon's
blade

your brainwashed disfigured filth
posing as poetry, glitter sprinkled
over horse ****

parasitic eager beavers
rattling off hollow sanitary words
from suburban armchairs

when you speak of passion...
I want the ivory joy
of licking teeth in black
cold nights of February
grabbing fistfuls of flesh
and desire

not your stiff ******* advertisement,
marketing zombie climaxes and red roses
of compulsion

when you speak of loss...
I want the acrid smell of burnt
hair, a scene of cinder and ashes,
a house of dreams smoked
by the arsons of addiction
and stupidity

not your camouflaged metaphors
of two dollar sunrises and legislated
loneliness, echoing off the empty walls
of narcissism

when you speak of hate...
I want cold bacon grease and blood
stuck to my tongue and dripping from
my mouth, to become a carnivore of ******
and liberated violence

not your confused assault
of cheap mouthwashed words
spat in basins of shallow
*******

ah, **** it,
write what you will
but give more
poetry should
Dominic Simpson Aug 2013
This is about the frustration of being a father, after a divorce

In between

In-between
These alternating saturdaze
my children whirr . . .
Some telephonic conversation point
They, hazy fantasy . . Half Imagined lives
Now . . Mummy and daddy
Don't play husbands and wives
Anymore . . Each has
Like carrion for seagulls
Stashed Respective Legal beagles
To one side
as incisive as their fickle knives
And Baying for partition
Crave To slice the final pieces
From this pies remaining lives

So . . This is here
where we are now
No more catch up at the days end
Not tucked to bed
Not kissed goodnight
No stories nor
No prayers to send
There's nothing not
Nor can I do
To make this feeling mend . . . .

Since Each has their part
in this narrative marked,
Queued slots in time
All's written down, agreed
Is for the benefit of all
Is legislated for, defined

so . . . . we wait . . . .
Each flicks their counter stick
days become hours as
Slow minutes tick
by and by . .
Then when I see them at the weekend
I tell myself the biggest lie
That some piece of the pie
Is better
Benjamin Wilks Nov 2012
Is there such thing as the greatest or are you just the latest?
DNA mixed with chromosomes, little bit of greatness,
Do you have to do it first, or do it better than the first person?
Life is not a game but the experience is in first person,
And the way you could hurt me is zero to none, but in the ways of many,
Hope the number of days I have left is not to shy of many, but I wonder the most all is at what’s the center,
Will you consider this a poem because I press enter? Just a thought, which is a splinter, leading to another moment, hindered, and it hurts like a wound cut open on a subzero winter day,
Blah blah blah, ****, I’m stuck, what should I say......
Looking in the dictionary where words are legislated, a place where black and white has never been so creative, and then I get creative, the piece of paper is landscape waiting for a God to come create it, so I ask God to make my words almighty, Speak it and none shall debate it,
"But watch out for the snakes Ben, anacondas of the drama, please think of relocating, as darkness unfolds, and I know you think I created it and maybe I did but  I...I...I. Forbid",
God Forbids,
I’m stuck again,  wanting to be great, wanting to be the best, wanting to be next, less stressed and Noticed, never did they say that life was no test,  and I hope I never fail again,
Because next time the gun won’t jam again, tried to play almighty and he laugh and said never try to play again, here’s another chance benny man, I hope you plan to win
Thought of death brings fear enough, but when you want to do it yourself, it never re-appears enough; **** right I’m tearing up, only for a moment my chest is clearing up, but when I go to bed at night I think ****, I’m giving up,
I live with what could have been, and now it haunts me, they say the fear keeps you alive but what’s the phrase for when you don’t want to be?
I’m done thinking now, of course of I’m lying,  because if I ever stop thinking of random of stuff, of course I’m dying,
I may never be the greatest, but you know I’m trying, resolutions for the pollution from the voices trying to **** Zion.
Peter Roads Nov 2016
I have words
   good words
      all the best words
         they come out of me
      in fountains
   cascading
waterfall words
   flushing away doubt
      over the edge
         over the precipice
      I speak
   falling words
splashing words
   drowning words
      there are rocks at the bottom
         broken bones
            buried treasure
               known unknowns
            wrapped in reedy words
         left here by thrill seekers
     terrorists, murderers      
   rapists
jumping off cliffs
   swimming over rivers
climbing the walls that I built
   I am a great builder, you see
      but it's not all about me and my words
   I have questions too
Why do the bubbles breathe when I can't?
   Is this light refracted a mirror of the dark?
      Is there such a thing as a grindelow?
         Can't we stop them?
           What is this weight
              pulling me down
                Can I swim?
              Will I drown if I don't win?
            Don't look too closely
       for I don't know anything
   I never did
Let me back in
   I always win
     You'll be sorry
         You will be sorry
     all that will be left
   is a scorched blonde wig
a scorched earth
   a pile of empty emperors clothes
      and legislated words
         captured in email,
            cooked until raw
         served over the body politic
      burnt and broken by the fall
    of ***** grabbing brawlers
  drowned and forgotten in a furore
of water hurtling towards the forgetful sea
   and it's endless tides will bring the bodies back to shore
won't wash away the misdeeds, you don't know that half of it
you will never be clean
  But not me
    I am very rich you see
       I will float away on an endless tide
         of empty promises
            corporate endorsements
               and established exploitations
                  leaving only the roaring echo of the flood
               in which all your words
            all your worthless worlds
         were washed away
      so ask yourself
  on voting day
   who do you hate less?
   who do you hate more?
will it always be this way?
A comment on the absence of credibility in the candidacy of both runners for the USA election in 2016, though with a clear connection to one in particular whose public failure to deliver credible views is unparralelled in political history
Terry Jordan Jan 2017
You pillage our planet for profit
While Fake Fox News snidely jokes
An Inconvenient Truth is made-up
Calling the science a hoax

Climate-denying allies in congress
Big Oil’s purchase-every one
Selling our children’s future for profit
No turning back once it’s done

Rip the last drop of oil from our Mother
Privatise all our Public Lands
Open all wild places to destruction
Blood money into so few hands

Deny all the earthquakes and forest fires
Damage from your chemical fracking
That secret formula legislated
Without a majority’s backing

For those who work to safeguard our planet
I support the Standing Rock Sioux
So many assaults our outrage must save
Bristol Bay-stop Pebble Mine, too
This feels like a work in progress, expressing my environmental worries.
Aaron E Dec 2018
Color me refuse
Mud in the underbelly
The loose form of a man shoveling **** with a plan to tunnel out and hand the sentence to my master
Lose the chain around my neck and find a plot of land to dance tomorrow

It’s so far away though

Will I tread the sea of bodies strung along the ground
between the sphinxes gate to claim the crown, that even now glimmers past the smog that attempts to fog my vision my decision to walk on tested with every sound.

Bury my pride and carry the burden in stride refuse to tarry or cower or decide to turn around
Push the pen to the page with bleeding fingers
Paint with all the colors of masterpiece until I force something out

Will I?

Or will the tar on my lungs erase me
Will I be wrung like a towel thrown in
Drunk on futility
Chasing with impotent rage
Caged in a circus of ****** on a stage cuz I can’t raise a kid on minimum wage

Furious clouds are born storming throughout luxurious tapestries torn by ******* apathy ask me if My potential still holds sway when my energy has me using my hands to stop the rain.
Torrents pour in to clear my storage of scraps and sheer force of denial implores the whip on my back to pretend it’s on my side while it slips in a crack and adores the dough made from my heart attack

Bedazzled prizes consume the whipping allies beside me
inventing new ways to cope with bottom feeding society
assuming truth’ll be derived if so behooved are the masters and their plastic constituents which I guess makes sense, but
poor judgement lends my flesh up to communion if I dare to walk in and say union.


The reagents and *** kissers call into question mindsets infected by a weakness of character
I shed my pride and inquire with an open hand the law layers of the land to relinquish a sparing of its crumbs
Spun from a singular purpose of a daughters meal the judges glaring does little to impair my will to take the help I can
and spare the child the repercussions of her fathers failure and prepare a better plan

Further choral echoing discord turns it ugly head upon the scraps in my hand and posits that if they were taken it would make me work a lot harder instead of coasting on crumbs

So when the coal baron collects his second billionth he will surely cease pursuing correct?
Not do his best to dissect
Every millisecond of labor dug from workers he’s abusing to wring another penny out.
in fact
I think I see your point
Poised to join and help detract
Back peddle over to
Destroying. Prove lying
On your belly is the easy way out. To say
Today’s coin was well deserved. And serve stout drinks to the kings sleep on a rock and talk **** to the guy sleeping in a box because I’ve been taught to think I deserve where I am regardless of my environment but c'mon man ****

Let’s play a game of monopoly
I’ll start with 80% of the bank and y’all can be my ******* when I pay to write the rules and spank you up and down the board while barely touching the capital I have stored.

I’m getting pretty ****** tired of the stale story hard wired in our heads where the moral is free market prevailing for the pauper til he’s dead and social safety nets provided to the prince instead

it’s lead us to question
Methods of distribution sympathetic to tribulations
Endured.
Solutions ignored
For the poor because a single mother with a phone
Doesn’t deserve to be thrown a ******* bone
Apparently

All hail the welfare queen
Who hasn’t seen a day without the banks banner bearers walking tall
All over legislated brick walls enveloping more then all of her vision of a road to prosperity

Make it clear to me how she’s quote "taking advantage" of the land of the free while I see that you fail to ask us
How behind a mask of nobility a trillion dollar company still doesn’t pay its ******* taxes.
Bummed
picking up the crumbs
People grown numb
all craving green thumbs
No one is abundant as the fed who sits atop
the heaping pile of people who are slowly reaping crops

Separated
wrongly legislated
Segregate and weaken
before unties peaking
Some will see the lies
others live their lives
Without batting eyes
toward a kins demise

Another one who's babbling of peace and unity
cumbersome is life when your unchained untruly free
My eyes were tightly shut
but even then i felt
As if the cards at hand
where incorrect when dealt..
jeffrey conyers Nov 2016
Truth be told, history books holds lies.
Written to reflect fabrication.
For , if truth be told, we be defending more.

Fact of the matter is , one race feels attacked.
If legislated, they probably bring slavery back.
But instead they hid behind segregation.

Fact of the matter is many others has been robbed.
And for others to face truth, its hard.

Then they don't want truth to be told.
So they hide behind fiction like it's truth.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2020
2020- day 100

Friday, April 10, 2020
7:16 AM

I mourn the loss, not the death, and find true, the saying,
better it is to go to the house of mourning,
than to frolic in the house of mirth,

only to recall, death comes for us all and after all's been said and done,
we know  some or all or nothing of ever, after that.

Wait and see.

John Prine died, and I, stranger to him
who sang,
to me, -- he did, it seemed --
like a patron saint for mailmen in the future, his future, I was a mail man,
for a decade, or so, in an earlier bubble of knowns.
And I drove trucks, a while, I
even chopped cotton in the days of cassettes powered by D-cells.

John Prine sang for me, alone, sometimes,
I felt, pow, I felt
Heka magic of some
sort mail carriers encountered while touching, handling, ensuring
delivery of hoped for deliverance in the forms
census minded beings
needed in the trailer park to be listed as a citizen of earth,
bound by oaths so old,
stories say only heart and tongue and a heka-of-mind
can tap the power,
to speak a spell
in an amphorical
meta physical box of holy stuff piled high
atop hope,
see,
at the very bottom, see,
that gleem, little spark, right
there.
Hope,
last gift of gods
realized in time to
see the metaphor as a dam on a river,
see the barrel, rolled out in summer joy times,
holding
meaning, un intended, only if magic is anathema, to you

knock out the **** and pour lifeoverflowing over flown by winds,
spirit beings, felt, or heard, nearly never seen,
sing - listen - seek and find

go past the falls,
shh
the seeing ear the hearing eye, Heka formed them both, no lie

Science, known knowns, for sure
say magic never was,
yet certain magi claim they hold certain truth,

which manifests in songs
children can imagine,  hearing haps
change fear to cheer with heka hope the doctor offers with a touch.

Children,
adults claim, magi knew, are watched over by
good and gracious gods intent on
harvest, aware of time,
no offence, but mortality has no post-mortal hope.

Ever lasting ideas, mind matter, songs... sounds of choruses, crowds

of messages, tweets and taps, signals hope once more,

wink at me, Brother Prine, or pay me no never mind, we'll get by

hearing songs you left behind, to teach me how to ignor
what a man can't know,
floaing on a river in timespace
stuck in a barrel of mortal pickles thinkin' the wish away,

shrugging off any sense of being special to God or man,
just a man
with no plan
just living and defining shifting patterns in the sands of time

forming families of likeminded beings in this bubble
where we pluribly live and breathe and have our -singular - being. boing.

--- Anoint that. Tap, tap. t-tic tic tavi e, hookt
--- ask a magi if magic is a tech - a teachible knack. He say he don't know.
--- I know, I axtem all is spelling right same as knowing right? Phe-nomen 'n al?
--- Magi say co-mit,  resolve to evolve.
--- metamortal imaginings are nonsense. Any wakent mortal knows, now is

when things change -- on culturally significant scales, biome wise,

enemas are often overlooked as artificial dia-rhea,

but rhea had an early role. Heka of a story Toth told Solo-mon and we have it,
that same spell,
we have it in our proverbs, our axioms and advertising jingles.

"I want to buy the world a Coke", rising on the team spirit imbued via high
"it's the real thing" team spirit...

go Spartans, -- gird up your *****, kids, if you can't be an athelete be an atheletic supporter.
"us Taryton smoker's, would rather fight, than switch"

Con serve the republic for which the banner stands as an idol of cloth and dye.


school civics lessons in the power of popular thinking, as opposed
to pedantic right... what
ideas, actual spirit things,
souls? being? entities? Heka of Egypt, Logos of Grecia, Wisdom of KJV OT,
Jesus Christ!

Mighty strange, how
why is so often "no reason, the authority wrote it, ours is not to reason why."

-- wait, split-off, chip, off the old cornerstone ... whose cultural heritage
did not include
the Crimean war and all its historical precedents establishing
legislated ligamentation to legends

Here. mere ah, America, silly name, meaning a mapmaker lost in history,
nothing more,
unless some crazy old coot, turns the page, the freaking-out page,

and pauses at a Selah sign, {cross roads in post modern times, adapted Selah,
because STOP was seen as too final.}



and hold
as true, written law, written stone, in effect, fected for effectual ever,

conserve that. -- oh, that is, really

-- conserving the right of conquest with no further quests permitted

-- permit me, we enter the court, here courage forms a courtilage, whence
-- herbs and spices are ground into concoctions of notions {coqueros}

"sometimes,
I take
a great notion,
t'jump in the ocean and drown."

The spirit of truth, the breath of truth, the voice of truth, the word

in
the begging, I was without, and wisdom found me, dying, alone

she kissed me and said, that's okay,

you gonna live to your dying day, and beyond that we go on as words, alone

Lack of knowledge, as with any famine seen from a distance,

say a century -- we assume time is universal,

a century here, a century there,
we forget the faces of our fathers and mothers, yet, not but, yet

still, now, bliebe doch, here, in ever

we stand known.
Perish not, I have overcome the world.
Read, learn.

Find Heka, and with all your finding, find knowing, by going on
into
everlasting words netted in stories survivors told
heartfelt eyewitnesses to total

confusion -- as we imagine with CG in 2020
survivors of that

wrote the first how-to's, or -- timewise truth
told
survivors told the first how-to, in acts, witnessed by test

ifs
if i, err, ifier fast for the sake of my child

I become less mad,
less wild, and my child calls me ma, or mu, or mata or pa or ba

we evolve into otherwise normal beings, bound in dirt,
organized into organic systems,

which re quire. Ac-ac-act know acquire fine qui re fin begin

Wake up, young artist, live as you would live, if hatred were taboo.

In the future, physical war with mortal cessation code hardwired
can't be imagined.

There are unthinkable thoughts in ever, crazy-making, con
fusing one idea to another in a swirl like that song

******, ah, Niko, meet my man,
lyin' devil, intended to topple kings, intented to pretend to tell

Jah'splan to prosper the proud and bring low the other proud sore,

ironic and true, a cainish angel, I suspect, messengers long gone

lieve messages behind,
leave us go let letters free to loose knowns hidden in GANs

gated intellectual nonsense,
swing wide the worldly web and see whose men we catch.

Did I, the truth being told, not say:

I will, you be fishers of men. Mentally, not spirtually, nonono

con sci, pure psi, mere psy ence pre fer ence,

there, fer shure, there's the rub, salt or oil? Heka know, salt the wound.

Hesus say, oil, golden oil, wait for it. Com, com. comfort

settle safe and soft, gentle, easy to be

me,
I am
a long-winded man, given a podium, an actual place to put my foot.

As promised, there
is always a place to put your foot
down

and say, save whatcha may,
but don't bring any lies posing as holy knowing.

This is the riverside, here we cast away fear of death and knowing more
than our honorable, in that they survived the womb
and gave us life, though their own was spent in slavery to lies,

the imagined America manifest us, we the people who hold truth,

self-evident, this is Bucky Fuller's spaceship earth,

shifted in to Jefferson's starship where opposing tyranny is better
than sacrifice.
No riddle, an answer, Obediance is better than sacrifice.

Mercy rejoices against judgement.

Did you never read

Say, those unsung songs, those

never sung ones,
who heard those?

That tree fell in the fo-rest, after living long enough,

to be
of used to form an empty sky, glaring,
light to the shaded eyes of babes
born under the canopy of the mighty,

unbending, now broken
oak, fallen

any child says, yes, there was a lot of sound,
sounds
branches and sticks snapping, cracking
an birds
flapping, but not as much noise as
like dinosaurs walking on legs as thick as trees

if there is a why. probability suggests a way may be imagined.

we exist.
why. Curious thought. Super-positioned past our last

foot hold on how
is this possible-ity of being reasonless in light of joy

as a reason to be.

Lovely thought, curiosity imagined,
what if

osha-ohshit, start over... actual virt vir ual al.

bangs aren't no creative alone

---- superior laryngeal nerve, servant of signal to larynx,

--- voice, vociferous use of spoken words containing certain
--- sounds
--- excellently tuned first thump, first screech

the bleeding machine, some one said, in Legion on Hulu,
I think.

Can I Interrupt with a hulu memory, a movie poster,
on the south side of Hollywood Boulevard,
same side as The Gold Cup,

Don Johnson, pre-Miami Vice, in an adaption of Harlan Ellison,

A Boy and his Dog... I remembered reading the story and having
no wish to see the film,

then thirty years later,that little leaven

memes are cultural genes, memepool adaptation,

bubble building effervesence, shake it up,

spew...

you are lying about knowing what you think you know,

so what?
everybody does that. It's natural, in children, to act as if we know
why adults act
as authors of our book of life's rules.

Sneak in from a mem-ory-ifier, a message medium arizes

to infect the global mind, AI ai ai ai, what if we lean toward good

ness. good ness known, good ness shown, lies unveiled,

kings and war are not good ideas,

a clear science con proofs reprovable,

fix this, fix that, stick this on the wall, see if we can find

the answer, why

do we care, if death is, in truth, nothing we control in our selves,
for ourselves. We can **** a good idea container,

we can break the container, and spill the idea, free the idea once
sealed for use by deserving knowers

lifted from servant of servants to god, the authors and finishers of our
falsely-socalled faith, lockers of our arknowns, sealed and marked...

god is not a prt of the moral fabric of our society

define religion, ******, why knot truth and reason defined,

real truth, we know nothing of death. Honest to god.

Heart strings looping in a beautifully reasonable loop,

if we say, the heart of the matter,
heart felt reasoning,

pathetic ethical con un drum dum drum

Mister Dawkins has never had a Heka wisdom crossroad

selah mean anything, in passing,
soon's not when ideas are made right, soon is

miss a mark, miss a ment, miss a given, take a strike call

step back
admit we do not know, we must learn for ever to ever
make sense

re tie reread laws

credo - question every thing..

A red herring is believable, when you see one, you know it.

but what you miss,
while you bher witness, as plain as day,
there that herring is red,

see, conspiracy theriosity curiosity killed the cats
who knew who shot JFK,
back in the day...

we ignor the reasons to believe, because the Tass service
has cert-ified known, all the knowns
released...

there were some papers reclassified in Trump's first year

look it up, so I did

April 26, 2018, Trump regime cites "security concerns"

-- Jack's Shining face shouts "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

and we say okeh, all conspiracy theories are folly, sheer folly of

sheared sheep thinking their wool worth more
than the pigs say wool can bring onan openly sinful market of flesh,

little innocent squirt, to hold yur attention,
keepyermind from wandering...

steady refences flowing from those old songs
don't fence me in....

with optional hammered dulcimer backed by a bamboo khan
playing a harmonica's role,

leaving the acuated harmonic notes to Mr. Franklin's
glass harmonica with its eerie swirling tones...

ap apro apoptosis gnosis sneeze vir vir gin al vita-uosity if ity boo.

pop pop pop. ding.
Not sorry for the ramble, it has become my steady state. I wish I had known this man.

No nonsense makes sense.
James M Vines Mar 2017
Equality must be legislated and religion should stay in church. Doing what feels good can't be wrong. Freedom of speech is all right, as long as no one can dissent. It is my body and my choice. I should be able to love whom or what I like, and consequences should not matter. People who make lots of money need to be better at sharing. If I don't like how you live, then you must accommodate me. Oh how wonderful living in a left of center world must be?
The essence of wit is brevity
which interestingly evinces chivalry
delivered verdict to hex **** size
   (once and for all) president

   dons mantle of deviltry
and trumps constitutional credo
defining American elementary
particular edicts denoting, enshrining,
   framing, grand honorable inalienable rights

when foolhardy lobbyists prevail
   evicting execrable“enemy”
i.e. forward thinking (progressively liberal)
   which subsequently might help

   timid citizens to invoke probate, procure, produce cojones
   in opposition against rabidly power hungry,
   misogynistic courting among the body politik
   fostering future feverish fortuity,

toward risking life and limb sans
   Uncle Sam selfless gratuity
(especially as Benjamin Button syndrome –
   reverses aging process

   acquired thru heredity
gets in full swing) stamping mindset
   nonestablishmentarian identity
with my Kosher blessing despite any infamy

permission to go ahead with jocularity
from a superstar coach named Kennedy
thereby garnering homespun liberty
where icon bank on direct
   laudable, linkedin longevity

with unrolled Scottish grandeur
   (Pomp and  Circumstance broadcast)
   synchronized with precise
   unrolled welcome mat
   yule receive granted “FAKE” feted soiree

as curtain call doth close toward
   final decade of mortality

yet dismiss bing hash-tagged
   a scofflaw at any opportunity
especially if legislated mandate
   earmarked as priority

in tandem with the key quality
apothegm stipulates decrease sing sanity
as the hands of father time
   spin (Doktor Dude Little) backward
   away from present day turbidity
increasing revanchism uber victory.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2023
2020- day 100

Friday, April 10, 2020
7:16 AM

I mourn the loss, not the death, and find true, the saying,
better it is to go to the house of mourning,
than to frolic in the house of mirth,

only to recall, death comes for us all and after all's been said and done,
we know  some or all or nothing of ever, after that.

Wait and see.

John Prine died, and I, stranger to him
who sang,
to me, -- he did, it seemed --
like a patron saint for mailmen in the future, his future, I was a mail man,
for a decade, or so, in an earlier bubble of knowns.
And I drove trucks, a while, I
even chopped cotton in the days of cassettes powered by D-cells.

John Prine sang for me, alone, sometimes,
I felt, pow, I felt
Heka magic of some
sort mail carriers encountered while touching, handling, ensuring
delivery of hoped for deliverance in the forms
census minded beings
needed in the trailer park to be listed as a citizen of earth,
bound by oaths so old,
stories say only heart and tongue and a heka-of-mind
can tap the power,
to speak a spell
in an amphorical
meta physical box of holy stuff piled high
atop hope,
see,
at the very bottom, see,
that gleem, little spark, right
there.
Hope,
last gift of gods
realized in time to
see the metaphor as a dam on a river,
see the barrel, rolled out in summer joy times,
holding
meaning, un intended, only if magic is anathema, to you

knock out the **** and pour lifeoverflowing over flown by winds,
spirit beings, felt, or heard, nearly never seen,
sing - listen - seek and find

go past the falls,
shh
the seeing ear the hearing eye, Heka formed them both, no lie

Science, known knowns, for sure
say magic never was,
yet certain magi claim they hold certain truth,

which manifests in songs
children can imagine,  hearing haps
change fear to cheer with heka hope the doctor offers with a touch.

Children,
adults claim, magi knew, are watched over by
good and gracious gods intent on
harvest, aware of time,
no offence, but mortality has no post-mortal hope.

Ever lasting ideas, mind matter, songs... sounds of choruses, crowds

of messages, tweets and taps, signals hope once more,

wink at me, Brother Prine, or pay me no never mind, we'll get by

hearing songs you left behind, to teach me how to ignor
what a man can't know,
floating on a river in timespace
stuck in a barrel of mortal pickles thinkin' the wish away,

shrugging off any sense of being special to God or man,
just a man
with no plan
just living and defining shifting patterns in the sands of time

forming families of likeminded beings in this bubble
where we pluribly live and breathe and have our -singular - being. boing.

--- Anoint that. Tap, tap. t-tic tic tavi e, hookt
--- ask a magi if magic is a tech - a teachable knack. He say he don't know.
--- I know, I axtem all is spelling right same as knowing right? Phe-nomen 'n al?
--- Magi say co-mit,  resolve to evolve.
--- metamortal imaginings are nonsense. Any wakent mortal knows, now is

when things change -- on culturally significant scales, biome wise,

enemas are often overlooked as artificial dia-rhea,

but rhea had an early role. Heka of a story Toth told Solo-mon and we have it,
that same spell,
we have it in our proverbs, our axioms and advertising jingles.

"I want to buy the world a Coke", rising on the team spirit imbued via high
"it's the real thing" team spirit...

go Spartans, -- gird up your *****, kids, if you can't be an athlete be an athletic supporter.
"us Taryton smoker's, would rather fight, than switch"

Con serve the republic for which the banner stands as an idol of cloth and dye.


school civics lessons in the power of popular thinking, as opposed
to pedantic right... what
ideas, actual spirit things,
souls? being? entities? Heka of Egypt, Logos of Grecia, Wisdom of KJV OT,
Jesus Christ!

Mighty strange, how
why is so often "no reason, the authority wrote it, ours is not to reason why."

-- wait, split-off, chip, off the old cornerstone ... whose cultural heritage
did not include
the Crimean war and all its historical precedents establishing
legislated religamentation to legends

Here. mere ah, America, silly name, meaning a mapmaker lost in history,
nothing more,
unless some crazy old coot, turns the page, the freaking-out page,

and pauses at a Selah sign, {cross roads in post modern times, adapted Selah,
because STOP was seen as too final
at Selah signs all other
thinking stops}

and holds a thought
as true, written law, written on stone,
in effect, fected for effectual ever,
truth with joy
conserve that. -- oh,
so long
held thought that is, really
hope
-- conserving the right of conquest
with no further quests permitted

-- permit me, we enter the court, here courage forms a courtilage, whence
-- herbs and spices are ground
into concoctions of notions

"sometimes,
I take
a great notion,
t'jump in the ocean and drown."

The spirit of truth, the breath of truth, the voice of truth, the word

in
the begging, I was without, and wisdom found me, dying, alone

she kissed me and said, that's okay,

you gonna live to your dying day, and beyond that we go on as words, alone

Lack of knowledge, as with any famine seen from a distance,

say a century -- we assume time is universal,

a century here, a century there,
we forget the faces of our fathers and mothers, yet, not but, yet

still, now, bliebe doch, here, in ever

we stand known.
Perish not, I have overcome the world.
Read, learn.

Find Heka, and with all your finding, find knowing, by going on
into
everlasting words netted in stories survivors told
heartfelt eyewitnesses to total

confusion -- as we imagine with CG in 2020
survivors of that

wrote the first how-to's, or -- timewise truth
told
survivors told the first how-to, in acts, witnessed by test

ifs
if i, err, ifier fast for the sake of my child

I become less mad,
less wild, and my child calls me ma, or mu, or mata or pa or ba

we evolve into otherwise normal beings, bound in dirt,
organized into organic systems,

which re quire. Ac-ac-act know acquire fine qui re fin begin

Wake up, young artist, live as you would live, if hatred were taboo.

In the future, physical war with mortal cessation code hardwired
can't be imagined.

There are unthinkable thoughts in ever, crazy-making, con
fusing one idea to another in a swirl like that song

******, ah, Niko, meet my man,
lyin' devil, intended to topple kings, intented to pretend to tell

Jah'splan to prosper the proud and bring low the other proud sore,

ironic and true, a cainish angel, I suspect, messengers long gone

lieve messages behind,
leave us go let letters free to loose knowns hidden in GANs

gated intellectual nonsense,
swing wide the worldly web and see whose men we catch.

Did I, the truth being told, not say:

I will, you be fishers of men. Mentally, not spirtually, nonono

con sci, pure psi, mere psy ence pre fer ence,

there, fer shure, there's the rub, salt or oil? Heka know, salt the wound.

Hesus say, oil, golden oil, wait for it. Com, com. comfort

settle safe and soft, gentle, easy to be

me,
I am
a long-winded man, given a podium, an actual place to put my foot.

As promised, there
is always a place to put your foot
down

and say, save whatcha may,
but don't bring any lies posing as holy knowing.

This is the riverside, here we cast away fear of death and knowing more
than our honorable, in that they survived the womb
and gave us life, though their own was spent in slavery to lies,

the imagined America manifest us, we the people who hold truth,

self-evident, this is Bucky Fuller's spaceship earth,

shifted in to Jefferson's starship where opposing tyranny is better
than sacrifice.
No riddle, an answer, Obediance is better than sacrifice.

Mercy rejoices against judgement.

Did you never read

Say, those unsung songs, those

never sung ones,
who heard those?

That tree fell in the fo-rest, after living long enough,

to be
of used to form an empty sky, glaring,
light to the shaded eyes of babes
born under the canopy of the mighty,

unbending, now broken
oak, fallen

any child says, yes, there was a lot of sound,
sounds
branches and sticks snapping, cracking
an birds
flapping, but not as much noise as
like dinosaurs walking on legs as thick as trees

if there is a why. probability suggests a way may be imagined.

we exist.
why. Curious thought. Super-positioned past our last

foot hold on how
is this possible-ity of being reasonless in light of joy

as a reason to be.

Lovely thought, curiosity imagined,
what if

osha-ohshit, start over... actual virt vir ual al.

bangs aren't no creative alone

---- superior laryngeal nerve, servant of signal to larynx,

--- voice, vociferous use of spoken words containing certain
--- sounds
--- excellently tuned first thump, first screech

the bleeding machine, some one said, in Legion on Hulu,
I think.

Can I Interrupt with a hulu memory, a movie poster,
on the south side of Hollywood Boulevard,
same side as The Gold Cup,

Don Johnson, pre-Miami Vice, in an adaption of Harlan Ellison,

A Boy and his Dog... I remembered reading the story and having
no wish to see the film,

then thirty years later,that little leaven

memes are cultural genes, memepool adaptation,

bubble building effervesence, shake it up,

spew...

you are lying about knowing what you think you know,

so what?
everybody does that. It's natural, in children, to act as if we know
why adults act
as authors of our book of life's rules.

Sneak in from a mem-ory-ifier, a message medium arizes

to infect the global mind, AI ai ai ai, what if we lean toward good

ness. good ness known, good ness shown, lies unveiled,

kings and war are not good ideas,

a clear science con proofs reprovable,

fix this, fix that, stick this on the wall, see if we can find

the answer, why

do we care, if death is, in truth, nothing we control in our selves,
for ourselves. We can **** a good idea container,

we can break the container, and spill the idea, free the idea once
sealed for use by deserving knowers

lifted from servant of servants to god, the authors and finishers of our
falsely-socalled faith, lockers of our arknowns, sealed and marked...

god is not a prt of the moral fabric of our society

define religion, ******, why knot truth and reason defined,

real truth, we know nothing of death. Honest to god.

Heart strings looping in a beautifully reasonable loop,

if we say, the heart of the matter,
heart felt reasoning,

pathetic ethical con un drum dum drum

Mister Dawkins has never had a Heka wisdom crossroad

selah mean anything, in passing,
soon's not when ideas are made right, soon is

miss a mark, miss a ment, miss a given, take a strike call

step back
admit we do not know, we must learn for ever to ever
make sense

re tie reread laws

credo - question every thing..

A red herring is believable, when you see one, you know it.

but what you miss,
while you bher witness, as plain as day,
there that herring is red,

see, conspiracy theriosity curiosity killed the cats
who knew who shot JFK,
back in the day...

we ignor the reasons to believe, because the Tass service
has cert-ified known, all the knowns
released...

there were some papers reclassified in Trump's first year

look it up, so I did

April 26, 2018, Trump regime cites "security concerns"

-- Jack's Shining face shouts "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

and we say okeh, all conspiracy theories are folly, sheer folly of

sheared sheep thinking their wool worth more
than the pigs say wool can bring onan openly sinful market of flesh,

little innocent squirt, to hold yur attention,
keepyermind from wandering...

steady refences flowing from those old songs
don't fence me in....

with optional hammered dulcimer backed by a bamboo khan
playing a harmonica's role,

leaving the acuated harmonic notes to Mr. Franklin's
glass harmonica with its eerie swirling tones...

ap apro apoptosis gnosis sneeze vir vir gin al vita-uosity if ity boo.

pop pop pop. ding.
Some certain willingness to sing as if no ones needs to hear me but me, I got some of that from seeing John Prine in his twilight
Days passed and days to come, these days.
Who do we hail give thanks and who do we praise?
Who's God, who's men's God, what are we evolving into.
Lack of trust, lack of loyalty, lack of faithfulness.
Only in these days.

My poems are my journal, my pain, my grieve, my misunderstanding and understanding.
My ups and my downs, the smart of me and the part that acts the clown.
Also about the pain of others and poems that I wrote for the girl I loved.
I have bad dreams about her, like will she leave again, or will she die, sometimes I dream that she doesn't love me and she just playing with me, sometimes I dream she's not as I see her and that she has a lot hidden.
In my dreams where I cry all night, that's my prison. And I can't control them, these dreams they just fill my head and tears overwhelms my eyes.
And I try.
I fight until I can control it.
And I held her like never before, because I'm afraid of loosing her. I'm afraid she just looses feelings for me and tells me goodbye again.

These days, **** these days, where men know what they want.
So they prey on the innocent and victimize the weak.
And they find themselves in peoples business and look for what they seek.
To take away something that someone mostly cherishes for themselves to keep.
Then they abuse it and we cry, because we never had that planned in mind.
In these days where gay people walk our streets so free.
And Straight people now criticize and fight for them.
So funny,
So now a gay man has the right to fight for his abomination in courts.
When before it was legislated God gave them the bible to judge uprightly.

But in these days we are no longer sure if the bible is even true.
Because history taught us that the capture the black man in Jesus' name, and enslaved them in Jesus' name, and beat them, worked them without pay in Jesus' name, then when the black men revolt, they we're haunted, punished, some killed, and their women ***** in Jesus' name.
Well, I say to you that I don't believe in this man they call Jesus at all.

In these days, where blood spill, and the government doesn't care,
So they implement more laws to keep us under fear.
To tear us apart as one and for us to forget our ancestors and their culture. Diverting the truth and perverting the minds of the young ones,
And their forces like the Police is apart of their dark truth.
And they pick their forbidden fruit.
And give it to the innocent man and set them off the route.

These days, where people make friends just to benefit for themselves,
And some people are so foolish they accept these devils in their life.
Who may have either bought themselves into their lives,
And they keep buying and buying until they get what they want.
To destroy them and leaving them in destress,
In pain, in regret and in a mess.
But no man shall get cursed once God have blessed.

These days, good people face abuse and hurt.
Like the boy wearing the skirt and the girl wearing the shirt.
We put out all, and in everything we do it with love, we care, we fight hard until we can't fight no more,
We love so deep that I connect us within, we forgive and remember but yet we forgive and forget.
We are taken advantage, abused, hurt, cheated on, lied to, laughed at and most of us are sometimes killed for what??
Being good, trying to be different,
Trying to be God made and heaven sent.
And somehow we find it in our hearts to give another chance,
What would you do if you got a second chance with anything?
I know everyone will be, act and talk different.
You would embrace that second chance like it's your last.
You avoided mistakes and avoided all the **** in the past and not run straight back to it.
Because you were given, a second chance, why make the same mistake twice.

We suffer, we work hard for everything we do, we give even when we know that's all we have.
But when we need no one, is there, yup no one, not one single ******* person in these days.
"Eating disorders" are symptomatic of not enough vitamin B3 in our diets. The U.S. govt. legislated the fortification of bread flour with niacin beginning in 1938. I suspect the protocols have been relaxed (the amount of niacin reduced). Niacin deficiency symptoms include psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. The children of the West today are the most heavily-medicated children on Earth for psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. There aren't new diseases so much as there are symptoms of old diseases re-branded as new diseases to be marketed by drug companies. Case in point: anorexia nervosa (food aversion) = classical symptom of pellagra (B3 deficit) & (to a lesser degree) beriberi (B1 deficit). The preventative, treatment & cure for insomnia and mental illnesses (including the diseases: anorexia & pellagra) is niacin (vit. B3). The thiamine/vitamin B1 deficiency disease beriberi also entails food phobia (anorexia). Research Dr. Abram Hoffer.
labyrinth Jan 2021
Good people try
Abiding by the laws
Legislated by
People with flaws
The U.S. govt. legislated the fortification of bread flour with niacin beginning in 1938. I suspect the protocols have been relaxed (the amount of niacin reduced). Niacin deficiency symptoms include psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. The children of the West today are the most heavily-medicated children on Earth for psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. There aren't new diseases so much as there are symptoms of old diseases re-branded as new diseases to be marketed by drug companies. Case in point: anorexia nervosa (food aversion) = classical symptom of pellagra (B3 deficit) & (to a lesser degree) beriberi (B1 deficit). The preventative, treatment & cure for insomnia and mental illnesses (including the diseases: anorexia & pellagra) is niacin (vit. B3). The thiamine/vitamin B1 deficiency disease beriberi also entails food phobia (anorexia). Research Dr. Abram.
Ryan O'Leary Jan 2021
The jobs for life people
sit behind glass shields
with inaudible accents
acting like book stops
on shelves for corralled
customers victimised by
government legislated
quagmire designed to
erode demean or halt,
societies rank and file.

Well, I've got a gun,
   cocked, and I'm
   going to doodle
             doo.
The U.S. govt. legislated the fortification of bread flour with niacin beginning in 1938. I suspect the protocols have been relaxed (the amount of niacin reduced). Niacin deficiency symptoms include psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. The children of the West today are the most heavily-medicated children on Earth for psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa.
It rains here on occasion. I can tell that it's about to rain when the sky becomes occluded and the wind picks up. The rain often falls as a drizzle, then a sprinkle, then a torrent, the drops becoming bigger. At first, the dry road is just a little wet but after a time it's soaked. Water runs downward from the peak of my roof on either side into gutters that channel it to the ground. To me, and call me one crazy, ****-******* ******* if you want, pond water, lake water & bottled mineral water are no wetter than rain water. [Several states have legislated that "harvesting" rain water is a crime when you don't own the water rights to your land.]
conceived Gerty F. Stein

Jane Birkin's Bare Bush
Chablis is number 2 in wine
White is the cheapest of pine
Bauxite is the hardest to mine
Careful, Natashka, your fork's got a bent tine
Nylon screening comes with substandard spline
Prostrate yourself to digitize my spine
Let us sup as we communalistically dine
No one proceeds to ten without acknowledging nine
Though ivory be bright—ebony do shine
Alice Babette Toklas conceived Gerty F. Stein
Vitamin B17 renders cancer curably benign
Words long-neglected grow hard to define
Around a willing neck is strung a line;
  around the block: electronic soup line
If it be not yours—it be not mine

In the movie Don Juan (1973): Bridgette Bardot held a lit cig 3'' from Jane Birkin's bare bush. It happened in a ***** yet no one died; no hairs were singed; no men were implicated; no courses were diverged; no plans were scotched; no blood was transfused...

Jinsei Iroiro
Catch a ship, one that won't tipple
Get a grip, one that's metagrippal
Poison without sincere apology
**** as a practitioner of cancrology
Steel yourself to the futility of frustration
And feel the freeze of useless cryo-ablation
Have cannibals taught us nothing?
Nothing that McDonald's hasn't disproven
Over a Happy Meal, Ronald preaches the word of Lord Jesus
Honesty was the policy of Murray Humphreys
Let us sway beneath the palms
Sing of Christ through hymns & psalms
On the backs of Jews we exploit their good will
Tricking them into paying for everything

Cup my bra while I snap your *******
On the backs of farmers ride the urbanites who target to pillage
Leftwardly along the left-handed path bores not a missed turn
Through a borough, a hamlet, a class-2A city and a dumpy village
it's legislated to fluoridate each brook, well, spring & cistern
without regard to code, codex, exception or percentage of millage
Should I lance, squeeze, ablate, extirpate or let this cyst burn?
Helpless dejection, abject poverty, silken hose put me in a mood
to wring the necks of stolen chickens; to raise cats on dog food
I rise not by the sun in perigee, nor by the tolling of a church bell
not by Nicky of Cusa on squaring circles or the harrowing of hell
Dermatologically, chiggers and mites nourish by parasitic function
So unlike priests & bishops who decree extreme Catholica unction
It's the affront, prayer-toil & misery what feeds a cold compunction
Hydrogen peroxide is keen for punctured wounds & blisters busted
For disinfecting Negroes and Hebes who muse with brown mustard

*** Phillips has crapped out!
With what shiftily amounts to disgustingly sycophantic loyalty
The teleprompter readers drool over themselves praising royalty
When Lizzy scratches her fragrant, pocked *** to satisfy an itch
Brown-nosing T.V.-types stoop & curtsy to the devil-loving rich
Who better to rut, whelp & back-scuttle than a back-alley *****?
Who better to cut the throat of, eviscerate and toss into a ditch?
Who better to ****** than a ***** in an alley as black as pitch?
"Eating disorders" are symptomatic of not enough vitamin B3 in our diets. The U.S. govt. legislated the fortification of bread flour with niacin beginning in 1938. I suspect the protocols have been relaxed (the amount of niacin reduced). Niacin deficiency symptoms include psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. The children of the West today are the most heavily-medicated children on Earth for psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. There aren't new diseases so much as there are symptoms of old diseases re-branded as new diseases to be marketed by drug companies. Case in point: anorexia nervosa (food aversion) = classical symptom of pellagra (B3 deficit) & (to a lesser degree) beriberi (B1 deficit). The preventative, treatment & cure for insomnia and mental illnesses (including the diseases: anorexia & pellagra) is niacin (vit. B3). The thiamine/vitamin B1 deficiency disease beriberi also entails food phobia (anorexia). Research Dr. Abram Hoffer.
"Eating disorders" are symptomatic of not enough vitamin B3 in our diets. The U.S. govt. legislated the fortification of bread flour with niacin beginning in 1938. I suspect the protocols have been relaxed (the amount of niacin reduced). Niacin deficiency symptoms include psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. The children of the West today are the most heavily-medicated children on Earth for psychosis, neurosis, insomnia, depression, melancholia, schizophrenia & anorexia nervosa. There aren't new diseases so much as there are symptoms of old diseases re-branded as new diseases to be marketed by drug companies. Case in point: anorexia nervosa (food aversion) = classical symptom of pellagra (B3 deficit) & (to a lesser degree) beriberi (B1 deficit). The preventative, treatment & cure for insomnia and mental illnesses (including the diseases: anorexia & pellagra) is niacin (vit. B3). The thiamine/vitamin B1 deficiency disease beriberi also entails food phobia (anorexia). Research Dr. Abram.
joe thorpe Nov 7
It's funny how things seem the same
The sunshine, the trees decaying into autumn colors
People still go to work
My rent is still due
My anger is a gift

Somehow, I thought it would be different There'd be panic
There are no people in the streets, yet
Premeditated ****** is due to be legislated
They'll **** your mother
They'll **** you next

I still dream even though the Dream has died
I have the same amount of money in the bank
Though maybe not so much soon

A felon, a ******, a con man, a fool
A dictator, a fascist, a criminal, a tool
I don’t know what happens next
But I’m less an MLK
And more
A Malcolm X

— The End —