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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
oh yeah, thanks...
pandering to the new loonies...
thanks...
you trying to heat up
the PSTD loon about to strike?!
seriously?
  old loonies don't buy into
the new loonies' *******...
we're the medicated ones...
back in the day,
p.s. the asylum...
we were the ones experimented
on, with drugs
that were supposed to
sedate the un-****** women,
and the men who
were under pharmacological
castration procedures...
look at you, ******* say-knees...
i have to write say-knees
because writing sanies comes
out as a spelling mistake...
so... your pharmacological
"solution" to the old crazies
is pharmacological
implementation...
keep them sedated, keep them calm...
but... with the new loonies?!
you're prescribing...
pandering?!
   seriously?!
for ****'s sake!
      your big pharmacological
explanation is...
the drug known as: pandering?!
great timing...
no, really, great timing...
i'm starting to consider the sane
as mad, and the mad as sane...
the new loonies are playing
game...
  with the advent of closing
asylums, the supposed society
of our time, is... the rejuvenation
of the asylum...
   you're all ******* mad...
so psychotropic drugs
for the schizophrenics...
but...
    pandering to the trans-gender...
pseudo-metaphysical
"gymnasts"...
     ******* applause... when necessary!
and by now...
it's ******* necessary!
i thought... maybe i should pity
these anglophone liberal
****-tards... lock them up with
lemon meringue ****,
allowing them the time to:
figure who was who,
and who was Napoleon...
but no... oh no no...
             once, a fine fine quote,
but Bukowski read:
the jews and the gays are running the show...
the jews are long gone
concerned about Israel...
the gays have their once covert
secret lives shattered by laws
that allow gay marriage...
ola the new crazies!
      you know... i know when i'm
being lied... but when i lied
so blatantly, and with no imagination...
do i have to nod in agreement?
i can't believe how the new loonies
gripped the sanity of
the centric balloon of a Behemoth's
worth of the populace...
so you feed the old loonies
their big pharmacological cocktail...
but prescribe the new loons...
the"drug"... pandering?
**** it... the melancholic,
the hyperbolic, the hypochondriac,
the schizophrenic,
           the... psychotic...
we'll send a few PTSD sufferers
to Blitzkrieg their attention...
       **** it... i'm doing
  the nigel farage... i'm bailing out...
this model of society is a sinking
ship... sinking, not sailing...
  i'm doing the one thing
high-profile politicians do best...
imitate rats...
they bail out...
                  i'm doing the nigel farage...
the david cameron magic trick...
which isn't exactly magic...
you just pander to the new
crazies...
you know how the old crazies
will react to your, "sane society"
pandering of ******* up grammar?!
   the old crazies, on their pharmacological
cocktails, not being pandered,
Chamberlain appeased with a flimsy
piece of paper from ******, like...
there's a song...
the remix...
   (audio bullies, feat. nancy sinatra) -

i was five and he was six
we rode on horses made of sticks
he wore black and i wore white
he would always win the fight
bang bang
   'e shot me down
bang bang
i hit the ground
bang bang...
     that awful sound
bang bang
                       my baby shot me down


pandering to these new crazies
will not get rid of the old crazies...
and the old crazies...
the old crazies...
       ah... such a beautiful impulsive
nature to exact an injustice
with a justification for,
what in their eyes... is the only
justice available.

so... when will you start medicating
the new loons like
you medicated, made a pharmacological-ly
attested a "necessary" intervention...
you see how the new loonies
are controlling the language
            of... hive-"individuals"?

but it's not fair... give them
the big pharmacological castration...
  sell them: the male the walking abortion...
the glorification of woman
as some Moloch deposit of "furthering"
life via an Arabic harem...

         god... put me on the Titanic...
i want to wave... wave...
                                            bye bye!
i simply do not possess
the desire for an existential imperative;
because i don't find
procreation to be the argument
to further this... bollocking of...
an example... that stretches into
similis *** ****,
the big bang...
      boiling water for tea in a kettle...
journalistic insomnia,
the study of history...
    the argument of state and taxes...
the remaining aristocracy in hiding,
and the emerging technocracy...
the passing on genes argument
(my mother ****** my
grandfathers genes)...
          
i am... doing the second Pontius Pilate
reminder...
             you find the purpose
to follow through...
i've already found enough reasons,
to bow out.
Yenson Sep 2018
So what's it they have, what's it all about
Work for the bossman.
Use your brawn Earn your pittance,
Then eat, Pub, drink, **** and pay the bills
Go footie, shout and scream, at one with your tribe
then  go sit in front of the telly, play at family
Week is done
Till the morrow when you do it all again

How about a soap opera, you direct and act
Gotta a Royal down the road ripe for the taking
Lets go invade, see how the other halves lives
Come, lets all join and become Kingmakers
Under our ***** thumbs he goes, we pull the strings
Entertainment for the masses, beats our mundane cages

For once, we are the bosses and can pull the strings
Knowledge is Power and its all here in Mao's Red Book
Lies, fabrication, distortions and misinformation
Disinformation, half-truths, slander it ain't no matter
Everything he says will be taken down and used against him
This is control at our finger tips, this is power to play with
He's going through the Red mill, drilled and ground into dust

Look we've got him as the puppet, we destroy all his trappings
So gather round and join the fun, this is us like God
Lights, action, now you do this and this and watch us play him
what do you mean puppet ain't moving or re-acting
OK let's do this, you go there and you do this and do this now
Still no action, OK let's try this, if you go there and say ah
You drive here, you stand there, you watch here, you stand
Nothing still, OK you come here, you put this here
Still nothing, This puppet is NUMB, this puppetting is no fun

They had drawn up the master plan, written their ****** script
The puppet looked and laughed, what a bunch of prime morons
No substance, no value system, no morality or basic sense
Infantile, one track minded sociopaths full of flaws and manure
Go back to your drinking and ******* and your mundanity
The united pack of crooks, ****, racists and the vacuous coerced

Go look after the Leading Lady stuck with rehearsals and scripts
The imagined romantic interest paying debts for UK residency
Waiting for the Prince to come running and tomfoolery begins
The bit part actors are still playing, too stupid to realize
The control is on them, their time energy and effort all a sham
Our Directors are directing making it up as they go along
The supporting actress are still hopping and hoping
The new characters are still buying false scripts and playing
Playing with themselves as Puppet stands and watches it all

They wheel out their demented scribes and brain dead peoters
To write dirges, glooms, ******* and negativities galore
Casting their dark fantasies and the rancid spittles of their dregs
Muds from the festered pools of their putrid minds dresses up
Ready to visit nightmares of their making from their darknesses
Areas thankfully unknown to a mind and soul untainted, unsoiled
As is their bitter lives, valueless breeding and hate and prejudices One ignorance and neurotic existence, the depravities of depraves..

Poor, poor imbeciles, they really don't have much in their lives
Illusions and delusions by the bucket loads, anything would do
To remove them from their sad, miserable sorry realities
Hey its Clockwork orange, we are all stars in our *****
Diversions to their mundane, unrewarding and depressing realities
Their frustrations and powerlessness, their insignificance
At last a vent for their frustrated lives, miseries loves company
A release valve for pains of centuries being underdogs and serfs
A safe playground for psychos, control and pain in abundance
Let's call it Revolution and add Republic to make it more palatable

Down at the palace of Attrition, a blameless man sits and muses
Crazed dogs of war at the gates, salivating insanely, bloodthirsty
Watching Controllers tieing chains to masses and jerking them
Into frenzied hysteria, nothing beats permitted wickedness shared
Dropping poisons and acids into hungry jaws, patting heads
Shouting rallying calls, we got the Bastille of the blinds going on
Scientists please take notes, this is Herd mentality and Groupthink
This is how to manipulate the masses and incite Hate unawares
Majority wins here, this is Democracy, this is people power

Do, you are ******, don't, you are ******, Hate abides all.
Puppet sees injustices but better to play dumb and numb
They can't abide a black do well, hate spews from fear
Hate festered by the unique decency of a successful blackman
Who had all they wished for but could never have or be
Riddled with lust and envy they merely went on to steal his
But that wasn't enough, the bullies and cowards had to ruin.
Under the pretext of them and us, blue versus Red they lied
Rabid racists takes another black man down, green bottle falls

Man proposes, God disposes, UK, KKK now play god
Thy will will be done O'Lord, I am but your servant
It's rather flattering being The Real Deal in this production
Confirmation of differences betwixt Gifted and the Depraves
A Travesty full of sound, false images and fury by the loonies
A Red Racist Production by Idiots and psychos for fools and sociopaths.

Lights, camera, action
Yawn.......................
"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
“Neither a man nor a crowd nor a nation can be trusted to act humanely or to think sanely under the influence of a great fear.” .
Yenson Mar 2019
It's So Simple
It's so simple
yet it all goes over their heads
like the blue skies above
like the unseen winds that lingers

You see me
notice me and I freely occupy your mind
I roam in your thoughts
and sometimes I rush in your veins
hot or cold depending your moods

It because, like it or not
I am unique, memorable, outstanding
Quietly Charismatic, now larger than life
A David amongst men
just not like anybody else
because of this, I have made an impression
on you and become an invitee into your selves
a tenant in your minds, a sitting thought edifice
that pillars a saloon in your willing minds

With me though, it's not the same
Why would I see you in my thoughts and mind
there's nothing charismatic or remarkable
edifying, impressionable or admirable here
a bunch of fooled acolytes, some serving staffs
some unengaging neighbourhood trawls
some outsiders grateful for inclusions
some anodyne trolls, some nutcases looking to vent
a mish-mash of brain-washed strangers

All these don't impact my consciousness
I know them not, they know the clone sold to them
They utter *******, it stays *******
they act their dramas, I ain't got a clue
people I give real attention to, don't behave stupid
You sit to watch me leave to bang a door
Good for you, you got the time and a door to bang
thank God I'm not reduced to being you
the trolls write their fantasies, I think Plato, Descartes,
Kant, Nietzsche and a host of others, God stays always

Anchoring my mind to mediocrity is pointless
what gains do I get from immaturity being immaturity
what interest are fooled adult males displaying ignorance
who dances with fools and then complain they are limbless
how can the drivel from scums give me sleepless nights
or be moved by the scripted lies of a double-bluff scripted lies
or play the game of hearts when my heart is not in it
They believe they are playing Checkmate on a King
There is no King, just an ordinary man that THIEVES want
you to harass, intimidate and drive away, so their guilts
and fears stops burning them

If I am fractured mentally, spiritually or physically
I would not be here, I have another home to go to
If I was any of what they say I am or was, I would not stay to
weather a crazy, unjust and unfair storm
If I was a greedy leech, why was I working twelve hour nights
while the Thieves next door where drinking and stealing
If I was some chauvinistic pig why was this only known after
eighteen years of marriage, when my wife was threatened and bullied
How many others have claimed I was this bad tempered Ogre
until I forcefully gave racist and bullying criminals a piece of my mind
If I had done anything wrong I would have gone a long long time ago
Criminals want to drive me OUT to justify their lies and cover their disgraceful crime and shame
I am me, I am here and I stay for I am not afraid of the truth, They are...........
Mud
For Katharine R. Cole

If gormless is as gormless does unite
That past of him and present me, I’ll turn
His other cheek against his waning sight;
I’ll **** his Hamlet soul to cringe and burn.

But dripping cannot thick or think in depth.
Blobs like blackened bulbous beads of eyes
Persist on shrinking into transits swept,
And down through dullard pools of choking fire.
Yet treacle binds my bole wood vocal chords
In rapture from such silence to withdraw
From sand that quickens, thickens, and distorts.
Can earth and water’s union mask my flaws?
The answer dares to dream but I refrain.
My name is Mud. Dear God, that is my name.

The foot: an endlessly dull point
Breathing technique, perfected by Roman Bill,
And a tall, sinewy, fine china ***** heel,
Cheap to most and worthless when submerged, submerges.
The tough Elephant hide surface
Of a swamp-like state and state.

Q. How does one become embroiled in such a located province of mind?
A. Alcohol’s venomous beauty and cheap living costs.
     The South.
    
An Elephant on a scooter stares blindly
At its own reflection circling the limb,
Shrugging dew drop eyes at what man had forgotten.
Not once, but twice.
    
The foot becomes a divulging calf of information
Sputtering in this bubbling torment of beige,
And pulsating around like an African tunnel
Waiting to be filled – fulfilled – ******.

    
The knee complies,
                      Sinking,
                                 Slowly,
                                          Not painlessly,
                                                             Not quick.

     The mercy of a lethal injection’s lie becomes
Absurd when one’s limb is the needle;
One’s brain the plunger of acceptance.
His gasp, a roar of silent fruit ripening in a
Mode too fast, cutting life and laundering
Expectancy whilst hanged from a
Whined whimper of Penance.
Purgatory’s whistle blows for time.  

II

A small red car clenched tightly
In the hands of a tightly tiny black boy,
His eyes huge and deep, but white; untouched by
Time’s clock or the weight of granite black that
He leans upon. Plastic tires screech horizontally along the
Structure of a Library’s historic insight.
Below, the ground is dry.
Beneath him, the ground is solid.
    
        Meanwhile, molten muck pulsates around
Our swirling antipathy of soul crushing
Nullness, with a lack of guilt unimaginable.
It bubbles, it bubbles: it toils in boiling rubbles
Of the past’s present and All I Could Have Been.
And I have never, could never
Sink lower in reality;
Blow harder against punishment’s wind;
Cry for this other as a **** filled wound weeps down her face.
    
The swirl of liquefied dirt and sand bags me,
Drags me, as if some *** lover of Hades is not done
With what is left of me. Disease to spread: just a little, just
A little more, like the detrimental bottle that
Knew me.
    

      As the hip is engulfed, an angle of almost perfect
Ninety creates  itself against the horizontal extremity
And puny ballsacksquash entails. Useless yet overused;
Timeless yet impressionable, pensionable. Gone.
Nothing knows me but this thickness’ quickness.
          That wants too much
From nothing               but existence
And the scab that fastens with time.

III

Turn the bottle back and find strength to
Outpour the clock and grant eternity.
Non compliant strength paid a fiver
For a soul worth two at the most.
A penny for the worthless: For the sickened lame.
Empty time feeds rays of golden from the sun fuelled
Encrusted *******, mudfast on heat.
This somehow seems like action.
Firm firmness but cracked with ease and
Non-returnable once inflated;
Non-negotiable on the bloodorgans of salt.
Weakness and powerlessness: *****.
*** for tat, for ***, ***, ***. For tat.
    
     The Elephant rises.
You brought this upon yourself, this rain of mud;
This treacle that will dry when you are dirt.
You would not let it ******* lie.
All of your ******* life: this strife, that wife.
     Your second leg (the grasper) tries,
     At length, to shield your heart:
     The only thing that cries.
     That does not want to die.
     Cartoonish bubbles of brown pop to the tune
     Of Loonies; of your shoebox brain that screams in vain.
What is your name? What is your want?
There is no blame you ******* maniac.
Everyone knows. Sink awake. Sink.
     Rest: do not sleep. Freezetimeframe.
     There is one more timeless point to make.


The sun and moon meet brief: the seconds count,
But die shy of one minute. Clear the road.
‘Tis dusk, I fear they named it. Raise the mount
And sacrifice another drowned sot load.
The moment thence: Anonymous descent.
The digger meets the dead in buried time.
The wish is washed in mud, the liver spent.
The blood-stained hands of Glasgow dodge the crime.
Make speed my sick sad Miller, grind the grain
Of Galloway, Gibb, Neave, Dunlop and Cole.
Your ghost will haunt your tag if not your brain.
Your heart should part this city river’s soul.
The sunjoke frozen, captured, stumped, and framed.
My name is Mud. Dear God, that is my name.
Yenson Feb 2019
Our Car-boot sales Militaunts
those crap Socially maladjusted leftist soap-boxers
decided in delirious hysteria they've found a sacrificial lamb
To the altar for slaughter sing our merry band of loonies

Hail  Tolpuddle, Tonypandy, even hail the Suffragettes
(those from Bow, which to be honest weren't a lot)
Are you listening Lenin, Tolstoy, marx and Stalin our fathers
And all you thieves, burglars, reprobates, wasters and psychos
our Revolution takes no prisoners, this lamb is for you all

To the New world of People's' Power we give you a black sheep
Leave the Tories, Bankers, the Sloanes, Fat cats and the Aristos
(they're much too strong, well placed and powerful for us)
This lamb here is just right, nothing like a roasted fat black sheep
we take control and own his life, his blood will run like our flag

We'll control his perceptions and own his mind, ain't so comrades
find his weaknesses and vulnerabilities and bob's our uncle
we'll smear, tarnish, persecute, alienate, humiliate, taunt and harass
we'll isolate, victimize, shred and rain miseries and grief on our lamb
maddened and alone, helpless in our in our psychotic grip, he dies
this is war and all is fair in war, we are narcissistic and don't care

We search for guilt, sin, fear and vulnerabilities, all in absence
So trawl out the fake news and made it all up as we go along
create a love interest, bait him and manipulate his emotions
get a Mata Hari an the man and shred his mind with mistrust  
betrayal, pain, humiliation, emotional abuse, all those passions
Drain his confidence, his self-worth, his beliefs and values
Strip him of all he holds sacred and dear, bring me his head

Comrades, what is going on, why is this taking so long
This is suppose to be a psyche assault, a ruinous psychological war
We are the majority, with the numbers and we are psychotic bullies
we are loonies, narcissists with no souls, hearts or remorse
What do you mean a 'sterling, centred, upstanding noble and brave character'
You're supposed to rain untold terrors on his mind, shred him to pieces, he should be a broken nervous wreck, we want his blood

I have never deliberately injured or harm a fellow human
I have never coverted  or stolen anything from my neighbor
I am not perfect, but I am what I am and for that I make no apologies
I know that only the TRUTH offers real FREEDOM
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust."

Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.

A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.
Yenson Dec 2018
The Rent-a-Mob loonies, the gangsters and the Racists
damaged scums of society and contemporary politics
Ignorant arrogant sociopaths who want it all for nothing
Indulgent wasters in nation awashed with opportunities
In idle union they scream, feed us poor and **** the Rich

Strangers come Poland, Bulgaria, India and all over
to work in farms, hospitals, hotels and Constructions
Building futures and faring in endeavours with sweat
Crimson gangs and Renta Mobs states we serve nobody
**** the wealth makers, **** the parasites and let's drink

Our shyster gangs of Revo-comrades and malcontents
See killing fields, whereas strangers toil and find rich pickings
Our Revos Distract, confuse, sow seeds of dissent, make strife
Blame all others, lie and decieve, fling indulgent political turds
Rent brainwashed Mobs,into ***** bridgard to do their ***** work

We all know life is unfair and even roses have imperfections
Some are born to riches in spades and some born to beggars in dusts
Those with time, sit and ask God why, just a fact of life to accept
But from dust has risen billionaires, whilst riches have made duds
Insane Crimson sits in spurious guise and odious fallacy playing God

Yeh, **** the Rich and feed the poor, why hide and use Rent a mob
Why not air your case in broad daylight and stand your conviction
The coward you are knows it hold no sanity for those with sense
Except for thieves, the workshy and wasters who cheat to survive
In your city of merits aplenty, Revo-crimson is beneath contempt
Rahim Sterling - Nothing annoys the Racists more than a successful Blackman or a black male with potential. The sick of the Society will all rise up in arms to Destroy them. They can only abide the subjugated and oppressed black male, the ones they can use in Rent-a-Mob...
Ganesh Malani Jan 2015
scratched walls,
horrifying screams,
of dreams,

electric chair stupor,
in the boudoir,
breathing lunar air,
it’s a psychotic affair.

dilated pupil,
the brain was being a cupel,
men in white coats,
injecting drugs,
in bodies like slugs.

soaked bodies in bath tub,
gazing on the ceiling reading what’s written up.
loonies conspiring against the medic,
through the power of psychedelic.

eyeing each doctor from the corner of their eye,
sitting on their chairs high.
burning with desire,
cold as a wire.

the breakout began at noon,
headed by a loon.
followed by a goon,
in the end of june.

the loons,
wanted to escape to the desert dunes,
running away from the chemical fumes,
dodging exhume.

electrocuted,
injected,
infected,
discarded and rejected.

the loons had taken over,
the goons had won.
they were stun.

terrible turn of events,
it was all in their mind tents,
still sulking on the beds and their wheel chairs,
dreaming of the answers of their prayers.
poem no. 12
from my book porcelain love.
Maria Mitea Aug 2020
I

Once upon a time, on a Monday morning sun,
There was a blue wind in the west Cucabaga Country,
Blowing on a forest road, where the White Horse Girl
And the Blue Wind Boy met holding space for unfurling
Mysteries, everything happening as it has to happen,

II

The White Horse Girl and the Blue Wind Boy lived
In the same neighborhood, he told her all about the winds
and how parallel roads meet on Elephant Hill,
The early morning wind remembered their faces, and
The mailbox waited for the time of delivery.

III

It was a cold day on a mud road, the birds still cheering,
The blue morning wind was the king of the forest,
Running on lovers' hearts like on white horses,
Each holding a song, afraid of turning it on
And listening to it loud, dancing and singing it loud,
So afraid. Instead,
The blue greedy wind took over their feelings.
Wearing winter gloves in September.
Blowing away shoulder stiffness,
Ready to fight with the invisible enemy,
It gave him airs of mystery in disguise.
He loved the early morning wind, and
The White Horse Girl loved him.

IV

Hair blown by the wind, ready to share his song, he arrived,
The weak heart sent him back to his home, and prayed: 'Please,
God, please, help him change his mind and not return.
Look how much madness it is in the air, and the leaves are falling,
This is not a nice day for a romantic walk, not even for a talk,
The strong wind has no mercy, it will break my heart.'
That was the first voice, while the second voice took the lead:
' Oh, God give him the strength not to change his mind,
Take everything and everyone out of his way,
Make his steps fast and light, like feathers flying into the sky,
Bring him back on the white horse. He is my Blue Wind Boy.
It can be windy, and it can rain hard.
There won't be another day.'

V
The dog barked. The back door opened
His spirit walked through The Blue Wind. He returned
With a heroic look on his face, light steps.
My friendly voice whispered: ' He is very brave.
He is your hero ' While the scolding one:
'There isn't any place left for thinking.
You are weak and lost if you let his eyes meet yours.
No one can save you. Don't rely on your dog. '

I felt warm waves moving through my legs,
Imploring 'lift up your gaze from the ground, '
When cold waves shrink my head pushing down
The fighting in my heart, I feel leaning into someone,
A wall or a tree. Forest trees kept looking at me,
  Moving their branches: 'come, darling, come, ...'
VI

It was cold, and wet, on that forest road
We walked side by side searching carefully
For words that haven't been invented.
The wind was the king playing with my skirt,
Holding it tight with both hands wrapped on my legs,
Urging to stay steel and not listen to what I feel;
Love in disguise lures my heart.
I wished that I had another two pairs of arms,
Holding the blouse when the dramatic wind
Pulled out the button. I kept him busy with talking,
About how beautiful it was living in the forest.

VII

Spirits were getting high only walking side by side,
Up, the elephant hill was waiting to swallow our desire.
I showed him a sacred space, where the sun touched my face
When I prayed every day. Up elephant hill,
Lovers were coming in secret at night and burned the fire of love.
He looked at the remnant ashes ' some lovers met here last night '
While I too looked at the aches and answered, ' anything could be possible.'

On the right side, wild ducks started to gossip,
In the little pond frogs quaking, letting us know
They were watching every step and listening to every sound,
' It is a windy day today, and it's cold.'
My voice softened while moving deeper inside,
Hiding behind a sober look. Oh, God,
Help me take down the elation.

VIII

I never was surrendered by so much readiness.
The singing of the birds was sharper than the blue wind,
The leaves danced and cheered in the air,
Everyone was ready for the spectacle to begin,
It was intimidating; leaves had eyes,
Flowers started talking with each other,
My feelings were greedy like squirrels eating now
And storing for later, for the winter, and any bad weather;
My heart was hungry like a wolf, wishful devouring the prey.

I could feel he was looking at me,
I could hear his long face saying,
'I dream of playing with your hair.'
The wind was getting mad, and fearless.
Like a forest fighter, he was ready to protect the garden
And destroy the misbehaving eyes caressing my hair.
He pulled those gloves in.

IX

Shortly the rain came putting on us a calm shy breeze,
I was prepared for a rainy day, he was ready for the winter snow,
I feel a boothole, on the left side,
'Boothole' was the word I learned from him,
I was happy when he asked, ' is your foot wet.' So naive,
With every careful step, we take time, holding on to every breath
Soon the sun smiled again at the end of the road,
No trees standing on our way, me and him,
With no words waiting on the lips,
With sudden humility soft grass flattened on the ground,
When the earth was running high, and hearts flew into the clouds,
He implored: 'Look into my eyes
The thunderlight started.

X

A warm rain walked us back to the house.

Faster steps took us down the hill. When passing by the little pond,
Daffodils opened their eyes, and the ducks quacked in disappointment:
'What a waste of time.'
We entered the bright forest meadow.
'Come, I'll show you where ducks live, swim, make love,
And quack all day long' The little pond was waiting for us.
Naive delight. Like a thief, he wrapped his arms around me,
Stealing a kiss.
I run away. He comes. Tears come. It was cold.
The blue wind grows furious and strong.
He pulled out his gloves.  We hold hands. Tears come
In our eyes. Tears fall on his burned hand. Hands touch.
Our hands kissed in the rain.
Our hands kissed in the rain, and the rain kissed back our hands.

(Suddenly I think: 'He can't burn twice. I don't want to burn.
I don't want to burn.')  
'I am cold. Let's go inside the house. I'll make a tea.'
I felt for mundane noise and no more mystery.

XI

We walked quietly, and soon entered the house that was waiting
for the two lost kids returning from 'where the white horses come from
and where the blue winds begin.' The home was friendly and warm,
embracing the blue morning wind, the song, and the kiss of the two lost kids …

'You have a beautifully clean house. Yes, It seems beautiful'
Answering fast while holding tight on stainless steel ***.
He leaned on the kitchen wood, crossing his arms.
Ready for an adult conversation. I busy myself as if I can't find the sugar.
I think. What if I poured too much water.  I found the honey.
It felt as if boiling two cups of water took forever.

We sat at the table. Two cups of tea and the white tablecloth looking at me.
Looking at him.Taking turns listening to words coming slow.
Carefully not disturbing the shinning floor, me crossing my feet
Under my seat, sitting together, and talking to each other he said:
'That's where the blue winds begin,
It would take years and years to ride them on the blue waters'
She listened and said: ' I See! The white horses also come from far away.
So far away, farther than the blue waters and the blue sky.'

XII

Everything happened as it had to happen,
The early morning wind believed and remembered,
Where the White Horse Girl and the Blue Wind Boy met
and lived as neighbours, he told her all about the early morning wind,
and the night sky wind, and the wind of the dusk between,
the wind that asked him questions and told him to wait.

The house walls interrupted the conversation: 'It is late,
He has to go home' He looked into my eyes and asked:
'Runaway with me.' 'It is late, you have to go'
Our heavy bodies stand up slowly from the table
And the cups implored me to go. I opened the back door.
The strong wind was taking him. The door closed fast.
I burst into tears of despair. I cried and hugged my knees.
I know this morning has no return.

XIII

I received so many messages the day before
The night before, and the morning before,
Even more, signs of delusion appearing at every corner:
The spirits were hiding in the forest,
Sunshine dance and every smiling flower,
Witnessing our first meeting on the blue loonies lake,
Where loons perpetuate their offspring every new spring.
'We were not the only one darling,
Was this nature's complot or spirits desire
For loons to meet and dance in the blue wind fire
And sing their song of calling love on the blue waters,
Sun shining so bright fooling us into delude,
Despair running on white horses? '

XIV

I run outside. I saw his back and heavy walk.
'I want to go with him where the blue winds begin,
and where the white horses come from.' The mailbox moves
And gives me the letter, I read: ' To My sweetheart,
You have to wait now for the night sky blue wind, and the blue wind in the dusk, when it is neither night nor day. They will understand.
Keep your heart for us while I am gone.

With love the Blue Wind Boy

XV

It's been a while since the White Horse Girl has been waiting for the Night Sky Blue Wind and The Blue Wind in the Dusk to come, …
It came last night.
...

(Va Continue)
Yenson Oct 2018
Maybe your mothers and fathers do not know right from wrong
Maybe those that birth you cannot tell real from unreal
The apples do not fall far from the trees that we know all along
So no surprise when off-springs and all fall into the reel
Unable to decipher the lost and damaged from their midst adorn

My mother washed me in truth, honesty, sincerity and real love
That's the only path that graces the soul and makes humanity
So all my life I know what's real, true, honest from all else above
You walk your path and serve your gods in all their profanity
Your festered minds and putrid brains is not like mine thereof

In superficial abodes, your falseness lies fakery has confused you
No truth or honesty exists all around only deceits and raw fear
You rot from the inside and feed from poison not breastmilk too
from start you're ******, your brains from chemicals they rear
Spooks with semblance no substance, serving satan them born fools

I know what's real what's true what's honest and sincere or not
That is me from real bosoms raised in edifying values not falsity
Come in thousands you stink from a mile off satan demons squat
Sincerity truthfulness if erred makes amends not sit discordantly
Real Humanity embraces love and peace not mortal duels that's fact

From negativity you drink in darkness lies your bread and joy
miseries and fears you seek to share cause your souls lies in pain
In cancerous fears you scheme and plot your ****** evils ploys
Cause it destroys you to see goodness whilst your souls' in chain
Weak corrupted dark and damaged subjugated to lucifers noise

Gnarled old wrinkled before your years you envy my young looks
Borne of inner joy and unafraid pious calm pathetics  spit zombie
Too sick to know a clear conscience never pines or fears like crooks
Pure and noble emotions caters no dirt or negativities like loonies
Dignity and integrity offers granite to malevolent duds and hooks
Martin Narrod Sep 2016
My happiness comes from me ask my friends and the world around me blossoming in a spark of crimsony red moon glow on forethought walks through the shivering lenses of percept that trickle down our backs as we enlighten ourselves with all that is in between and unseen.

It is as if our aged limbs were caressed into a symphony of leverages and their shapes. We cannot be cadavers. We are arms of cheer and picture jasper, adolescent googled-eyes gathers with virile fixations on our partners as we prey on the map lines subtly employing our eyes as we dart across each dimple, pimple, freckle, and gently worn rash lines.

These are the dogs of our incessant barking. Idling for sincerity, as actors swiftly press Winter into us while our limbless diction presents our inadequacy Rd upon our ugly and I'll-tempered neighborly-things. Aliens of the afternoon, first floor agony and karmas standard for living in a reduced climate One.

Wearing down the hooves, undulates from Pepperdine mark trails with breaking breads and twigs and bones. Undulates from another world, behoofed and bemoved, curdling their sappy reselling a of drat and unkindly remarks. And we have begun to wonder when evolution will kick-in. When will the military come for them at the doors and vacate is all from our nontoxic lie-shrouded apartment complexes, condos, and cabins. Slaughter numbers of letters and integers right out in the street; loonies in the town square and the moose are crying.
Raj Arumugam May 2013
Now
I posted a poem or two
which grabbed the eyes
of a dozen or so
like glue;
but now I’d like someone to tell me
what I should do

1
I mean,
I got a few followers, right…
“Latenight ****** started following you”
said the notice from the website;
and: “ Moonface at Window started following you”
but I got no comments from the followers
so I have no idea what sort of people they are -
and now, hey, I’m so afraid of all these followers
(these Moonies and Loonies)
I constantly look back over my shoulders
to see if they are following me
And everywhere I go
every other person looks so sus
and when I’m out
(wont to water more often, as it happens at my age)
I visit public toilets (McDonald’s is often cleanest)
and I get this feeling
(deep down in me)
my followers are hiding
in the ceiling
watching me
dadadidado –
But please, O don’t look down on me!

And the rest of you decent people -
will you please tell me what to  dadadidado?


2
And look,
I got all these likes -
which is good, right?
“Pimply Whanker liked this”
“***** TouchBottom liked this”
is all it says
And don’t you hate it
when they don’t leave a comment? –
And now, I’ll never know
what it is they liked…


Can someone fix me right -
what should I dadadidado??
...no malice intended...just good-intentioned humour...Remember -  the world comes to an end, when poets lose their sense of humour...please feel free to "like", to "follow" and if you wish, as the politicians say: "No comments..."
Seranaea Jones Mar 2021
-

on the Sea of Tranquility sits
evidence of alien visitors
to this world ;

underneath one of the footings lie
the crushed remains of an indigenous
being who was delivering a message

inside a six-fingered metacarpus
entanglement is a wrinkled sheet
of aluminum with the following
etched in broken Earthling—

"we never sent invitations
and we never asked you
for anything–

Please,
               go home..."



s jones
2021

.
Jack Mar 2015
.

“The lunatic is on the grass”

Signs don’t really matter
Spelling corrects the mood
Dancing on the scattered blades
My word, he’s such a crazy dude

“The lunatic is on the grass”

Park place settings filter
In silverware and dreams
Sidewalks offer no relief
That’s when the pain excites the screams

“Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs”

Memories grow within the weeds
Flowers cast in sad defeat
Caretakers watch as footprints carve
Barking out orders, then repeat

“Got to keep the loonies on the path”

Herding shadows singular
Days to nights of gloom
Read the writing on the wall
This is the dark side of the moon
I had this song stuck in my head so I had to write something
Italicized lines are lyrics from Pink Floyd's song Brain Damage - The Lunatic.
brandon nagley Jul 2015
The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path
The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon...
Lol sometimes I can relate with the part where he sings there's someone in me head but its not me..... Lol
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2014
(for the love of Yocum...who may shoot me yet, someday...)



most like 'em
simple, short,
bite size sweets,
easy to please,
a mouthful of amusement,
even if taxing,
tax me only briefly

a small remarque,
a tiny tingling digestif,
easily consumable,
easily forgot,
a couple of lines,
one ooh, one aah,
minimum is the maximum

never been that way,
**** hard to write
what ya ain't,
so keep on scribbling
a pack of stray dog thoughts,
long, loud, and sometimes
subtly & dangerously straightforward

~~~~~~~

(feel free to stop here)

~~~~~~~~

easy are the chocolates of
loves disputations
pained morsels of remorse,
lovely to be found,
even lovelier when  lost

cream fillings of twinges of regrets,
violence wrecks the heart,
what might have been, or once was,
subjects that guarantee the
affection of the great unaffected

writ my fair share,
stage three, t'is methinks,
of the ten step process
getting more n' more
writing-addicted,

don't begrudge
the overly simplistic,
still I am, hard aside,
rough adjudging,
tiresome trite are the
dust mites of poetry

as for my own mixture of
mostly mutt and purebred
stray dog thoughts,
ones that chase
solitary strangers down
late night streets,
see you hiding from the lamplight
in the in-between shadows,
when we tender invites to
all loonies & loneliest,
join up!
with this ragtag pack of
estranged poetry dogs

maybe they don't tickle your fancy,
our words, abstruse and direct,
dictionary lookup dignified,
observations of a man
looking outward,
after looking caustically inward,
every thirty seconds

the tint of his glass enclosure,
modulating the tenor and timbre,
of his singing voice,
the changing light complecting
his visage, his visions,
his hell-howling versions of
packets of stray dog thoughts


the individual words,
constituent members of
roaming, stray dog thoughts,
sometime silent,
usually growling,
once in awhile,
roughhouse barking

but what I got is
what I get,
what I give,
scraps to eat,
raps of notional emotional
stray dog thoughts

so if ya hear those footfalls,
words that just can't be refused,
run for places where the crazies
can't get in, the packets locked out,
unlessing you wanting
to howl along side,
an appreciative audience
who can't get enough of,
consuming whole candy boxes,
in one sitting of
words that keep coming,
I will howl mine
own stray dog thoughts**

you can always shoot that **** howling dog
you like 'em short and sweet
someday when I run out of notions and emotions,
and a love for words,
I will write fewer...

I will not bastardize myself on the altar of popularity, fk that *****...
I chew my way through nickles I earn from angry tourists ambivalently tossing percentages into a jar. I've learned that some of the toughest people come from the proletariat. I fear the people that have worked at McDonalds for 20 years. I kneel before the Knights of Mediocrity.

I check my mail and I come back with a fist full of loonies and quarters. Payday. My great big nose reflects back in the copper before I put the coins into my mouth-recepticle. It is barely bearable. It tastes like blood, but is it from the metal or is it the coin cutting my gums? With the sheer yield of my fields was I able to get it down. I wash it down with some OJ.

Of the queerest men and women I have met, most of them were from the same world as I came from (and to which I will inevitably return). The world of the workforce. I am merely ailed by itchy feet and a severe fear of placidity. I work hard. But only if my work is paid in mileage. If every penny spent is a road to anywhere but here.  

A former colleague of mine developed prominent ****** ticks from working as a cashier at a market. The world falls harder on the content, because their yields shield most of the fall. People die both in front of  desks and between steel beams.

Two men sit in silence, playing chess. Suddenly, an argument arises and both parties toss theories of chivalry between one another before one of the men yell,
     "I don't think it's quite that black and white!"
Yenson Dec 2021
Seven thousand mile away
I studied Shakespeare by candlelight
due to long and constant power cut
yet I still made A1 grade in English Literature

My friends grew up in Shakespeare country
they have electricity twenty-four sevenRed
all they can write is diss poetry
and act as useful idiots for thieves and loonies
they tell me I am suffering
and cancelled
I say
“You starvelling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue,
you bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish
O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor’s-yard,
you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!”

“Your brain is as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage.”

“Villain, I have done thy mother”

“Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell”

So we know why anarchists are dripping with envy and jealousy
about the man who read Shakespeare by candlelight
and yet bettered them all
so I say again

“You scullion! You rampallian! You fustilarian! I’ll tickle your catastrophe!”
wordvango Dec 2015
for ringing
   division bells
hearing them ring too
     soon, threatened by shadows
of random precision cast
by the
      Dark sides of the Moon,
comfortably numb
       Time maddeningly
clocking ,
   the loonies in the hall,
hey you, out there getting
   old fading smiles
easing all your pain
     show me where it hurts
my hands two balloons
        now i have the fever again
so, I think can you tell
       tell if I can feel
smiles from what I might trade
       cold comfort for change
a lost soul
          a look in the eye
caught in the stutter of a cold breeze
         blowing shining
on misty reaching for a secret
Koggeki Nov 2015
Withering willows wave in the night.
Neko nearly snarled at my sight.
Sneaky sister sitting on the floor.
Fearsome fellow fiends rap on the door.

Midnight moon marvels at this lay.
Leering lovely loonies come to play.
Parting parties parade o'er the hill.
Happy Halloween heap-up your fill.
Classy J Nov 2019
I’ve been in the bank rolling in the loonies jack.
I’ve been in the bank, sipping cognac.
I’ve been in the bank, telling all the haters that they wack.
I swear imma give my granny a heart attack.
Sniffing so much crack I don’t remember where I’m at.
But as long my heart in tact.
Imma finna keep making them racks.
Holding up the bank, in a ski mask.
But imma never be in a slump dog.
Going from girl to girl like I’m playing leap frog.
I’m a beast yawl.
Not just in sheets dog.
It’s all good, because after all, everyone wants a taste of success dog.
Just relax and take a puff of fog.
I swear my spirit animal is a pug.
Because we both like to chew up the rug.
And you bet imma keep blowing up them streams like I’m dig dug.
Laughing to the bank, making mills bruh.
My girl looking hella fine with them stills on.
Don’t speak no English because I bought her off of amazon.
She from the amazon.
Looking amazon.
Sitting on my lap like I’m Santa uh!
You know that’s what sup!
Going to bank together rolling in them loonies jack
Going to the bank, sipping cognac.
Telling all the haters that they wack!
While We Avoid stepping on the sidewalk cracks.
As that would break our mommas back. And I don’t want that, which is why I only sniff the crack.
Esz-Pe-Bea Jul 2014
Projection Display.
I Hate myself... And therefore you too
Because I don't have time to hate myself
So you'll do just fine.

But I'm tryin, Ya know?
tryin to make change,
But ain't nobody got nothin but twenties
And all I have is Canadian
a pocket full of loonies
with nobody to blame but myself
If there is actually anyone to blame.
Lashing out Confused
Yet fully aware of my folly.
So, yeah... Sorry bout' that.
http://imgur.com/gallery/ODsRAMH

On the Taylor-Southgate Bridge, 2014
Yenson Aug 2019
Thieving and burglary - deliberate
indulgent, ignorance, waste of opportunities - deliberate
drinking, loose morals, bad company, drugging - deliberate
lazy, stupidity, state dependency in viable health - deliberate
babies for welfare payments, employment avoiding - deliberate
hate, envy, jealousy, lies, slander, crimes, drunkenness - inadequacies
Racism, ignorance, small mindedness, pettiness, belligerence - Low scale inherent characteristics

Betrayal - engineered
Loss of employment and brilliant career ruination - engineered
alone and social isolation - engineered
lack of intimate relationship - engineered
Rudeness, screams, fractured relationship - engineered
economic stagnation - engineered
Physical limitations - engineered

In the woke civilisation of the great Island
Psychopaths Social and structural Engineers march in Red
In raving anodyne tones the entitled ivories do the twist
Please ignore all the listed deliberate glaring omissions above
No! you see in deluded grandeur
Its time for the blame game, its time for the blame game
Its all the fault of the immigrant
who studied and worked to make a better life
especially that black successful one
with everything just going well for him
we didn't boat him on on the Windrush
He's not cleaning our roads or in the factory
He's not fetching and wiping **** in the Hospital
He's not even into crime and supplying our drugs
No! No! No!
He is a leech and  a parasite
He is responsible for our miserable uninspiring life
Comrades, join us, the Revolution is now

They say I suffer, I have pain
How can I, I wonder
when its  all your engineered and dramatized work
of which I am not in the least responsible!
And you know it!
Narcissists, Psychopaths, Depressives, Mentally challenged loonies
We give you your Revolution, please enjoy the spoils!!!
see what they are reduced to.....hahahaha   hahahaha.....hahahaha
all those who come from all the old colonies would be laughing too.
we know them too well.....
JP Mantler Apr 2018
Celebrity car crash,
Diana's obliterated,
so sad so sad, and the world goes round

Twenty-one years later, and it's no accident
The Ryder had killed them poor *******
But we'll get the *******, we'll get the *******

The sidewalk ain't safe, the playground ain't safe, the schools ain't safe, but hey, my home is safe for now

I'll eat spaghetti out of a can if I have to,
I'll **** in the bucket if I have to,
Just to keep my poor *** safe from the loonies

Marked safe, I'm listening to static all of the time
Living under the rock is cool and calm
Until the jackhammer penetrates my skull

You're safe, you're not safe,
and the world goes round
Jacob Sykes Feb 2013
Heaven ain’t better than hell
It’s all just wings harps and bells
Heaven aint better than hell
And heaven ain’t helping me none
I don’t need a harp I just need a gun
And heaven aint helpin me none
The good all die alone
Sent where God’s light is shone
But their family ain’t there
For goodness, they could not bear
So they sinned and oh well
I guess heaven ain’t better than hell
All of your friends are going to hell
Why dont you try to meet them there?
All of those friends in hell
The meeting place of freaks, geeks, and loonies
The tavern of those that used to be lonely
They have their friends and good company too
When you’re in hell there is much more to do
Heaven ain’t better than hell
Heaven ain’t better than hell
John Dec 2012
A bunch of people
****** up people
Like, the in-the-head
Kind of ****** up

Anyway, they're just standing there
Looking at each other
And at the ground
Left, right, up and down

Then the music starts
And starts to blare
Louder and louder
"It's a sin."

The crowd begins to sway
Not gradually though
They just slam into life
Arms swinging and legs kicking

The zombies have become animate
The loonies suddenly decide, simultaneously, to let their individual freak flags fly
And you're in the middle of it
Physically stunted and slowed but mentally... all there

You lift your right leg
Place it in front of your left
The loonies/freaks/zombies continue their ritualistic, devilish, mindless movements
And there you are, too slow to even make it out of that jungle, brimming with madness

Finally, after 10 minutes or so
You make it to a chair, located on the edge of the makeshift dancefloor
You sit down, the metal like a brutal breeze to your warm behind
You sit down, and you look up at the ceiling
The music still flairs and the singer wails the same words
"It's a sin"
A lonely tear rolls down your cheek
And you know it's true
Triale Soran Dec 2017
Snow dust the sidewalks
People laugh as they walk
Towards the unknown
their warm breaths
fogging the air
Their hands
wrapped around a steaming cup
They are content.

He shivers.
Pulling the thin
scraps of cloth
closer to him.
Waiting for the sound.
That heavenly sound.

Across from him,
she sits,
still
moment before
her last breaths having
gone unnoticed by the crowd
except by him.
Not wanting to suffer
that same fate raises his voice

"Please spare some change?"
The endless lines
Repeated at each passerby
Some drop him a few dimes,
quarters occasionally,
loonies and toonies are scarce

But it's enough
by enough it means
Enough to buy some food
to last the day.

but it's not enough,
by not enough it means
it will not help him survive
the cold
harsh
days to come


Dec 15
HUGE snowstorm tears tree out of the ground!!
The headlines exclaim boldly,
The people read the news
As they pass yet another still body
on this winter morning.
"He's only sleeping"
They think as they pass,
It wasn't the first still body
the crowd had passed this morning
it wasn't the first body
covered in thin scraps of cloth
Homelessness is already an issue that should be discussed. Now with the winter fact on it's way, some people don't have the luxury of a warm home that we do.
Yenson Dec 2021
The plague came
it was the Black plague
it killed millions of people
the loonies started a black plague
something to do with privilege and coronation
then the Corona covid virus came sweeping in all over
its killing millions
black white red yellow blue or neutral
men women children and anyone in-between
the loonies wanted a baptism of fire
I guess they now have more than they bargained for
no jobbing isolate social distancing bringing constant grief
well they've got it all in bucket loads for all
Black plague eh!
we should be careful when we spit in the wind
maybe we should call it the Red Plague
cause its making people see red
Xmass may be cancelled
sounds familiar to some
they are great at cancelling
who started the black plague
what do you mean its the loonies
JP Mantler Feb 2018
Guess I gotta find out who I want to be
But you know it’s a lie when they say you’ll know what to do
At the age of twenty three
In the next twenty years I’ll just be another John to the corporate ******
Hell, I’m already am, but just still half-awake
Dependant on the food and drugs, and the Ministry’s shortcake
Find out who I gotta be before I’m dragged down the Gov't pie-hole
Guess who I am right now, just a sad and confused *******

Bounded by all of whom guide me
Guess who I am guess who I am
Bounded by all of whom guide me
Guess who I am guess who I am
Bounded by love and its bounty
Guess whom they are

Today’s the day, today’s the day, I call in sick
Give myself a warm bath and play with my ****
It’s called “stimulating”, to those who don’t know or don’t feel
Give myself another twenty years, and I’ll have nothing to play with
But bare with me, there’s still time, there’s still a chance; some kind of retribution
I grab my Phillips, and shave her down to the woods, an open landscape
I’m an open book now, and I’m singing to myself as I go against the grain,
I punch in the info, stroke my finger down the list, ask who's to blame
Eureka

Bounded by all of whom guide me
Guess who I am guess who I am
Bounded by all of whom guide me
Guess who I am guess who I am
Bounded by love and its bounty
Guess whom they are

Today’s the day, and so I grab my pliers and duct tape
My hunting knife, my hunting bow, my hunting clothes
Dressed for the ****, but smiling like the loonies who broke into the Whitehouse
Today’s the day, a redemption song, I found me a ****** to lynch
And I found me a ****** to shoot, as I say goodbye cruel world
Hallelujah, God bless my sick little show
Caught me a tiger by the toe
And if he hollers, I’ll let him croak
Onto the next one, I’ll make him choke

This is who I am
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAo4svd7IR4
The sunshine blazes through the window panes
This brilliant mind
Shall show how it is brilliantly insane.
To be normal can be a kick
However, being crazy is quite colorful
When one has a group to share the mental offtrack with.
A bunch of loonies to make the day beautiful.
Lose your mind.
Let yourself go.
Have some fun.
Dance, crazily, in the snows.
Waltz in the rains
Turn up the music...
Now, it is my time to let myself go..
My mind loosens up
Fun and cheers to the Fun and The Insane.
Yenson Oct 2019
If you breath in the madness of swirling winds
it's because you have the long noses for it
in rarefied air endeavors are gainful
but dwellers at low-scale levels
inhale in copious amounts
laden oxygen of neurosis
that poisons brains
pains and angst
inferiority lies
brain dead
sprouting
nonsense
fighting
aimless
wars in
their
*****
sick
minds
Benjamin Reed Sep 2017
one of these days
if all the loonies
and scientists
are actually right
And,
the world does
end,
then, for completely
unaltruistic, and
Selfish reasons
i want you
there
with Me.

for example
if say the zombies
DO come after
us,
then on the day
that i finally
**** up,
and,
get caught
Well,
on that day,
i know you'll
shoot me.

or if
the aliens come,
and,
team up with the
artificially intelligent
machines that,
we just had
to make
and the Earth becomes
xylot 3
and, our new xylotian
overlords just turn
out to be
not such nice
guys
then,
i'm pretty sure
you'll help lead
the resistance,
and frankly, if you
win, Well
i'd rather be
on your side.

and, the climate
may
very well
**** us all
i still think, though
that freezing
to death
would be better than the
opposite.
at least,
then i could persuade
You into freezing close
to me.

i guess what
i'm trying to
say is
that,
at the end of
it all
you know,
everything.
then you're
not such a
bad person to
have known.
jeffrey robin Mar 2014
_
|      • •       |
_




The One

There is an EYE that sees

( it is only your own )

---   ---   ---

(A mind that knows)

••

There is a TRUTH being told

But our bodies do not

Merge into the parts they are destined to play



We are acting out a NEW STORY!

We are in the play called

DEATH BY ALIEN INVASION

THE INVASION OF THE DEMENTED UPON THE PURE OF HEART

•   •

We play the part of a world of

Frightened and defeated people looking only
For
A FIX



We play the part of forlorn and loveless lonely loonies

Looking only to get laid
For reasons all our own

••

We don't know why we do this

Only that we MUST

••

We run from talk of THE ONE EYE THAT SEES
of THE ONE MIND THAT KNOWS

We cannot believe!

That our lives have been stolen from us
&
are not our own

We are programmed entities (robots)
Wanting only to feel safe

••
Looking for OUR huggy buggy teddy bear good ******* machine

••

(Love      !!!)



You can escape



First you gotta wake up if you  can



You gotta really want to that's the thing



There will be real feelings

This might be frightening



But at least you will be human if only for a while



For they really don't want you to escape



You'll need a lotta courage just to try
Yenson Jul 2021
The Left crawlers miscreants
the bedraggled underground thieves
in sleight of hands moves the greed of low class waster
who takes from the State and adds more from burglaries
without any honest toil but to take more from the workers
they move this greed to the one who worked all week
and never took anything from the State
in dross simple minds the loonies yell
infernal  damage to those with inheritance
these people are greedy and selfish
damage them and drive them paranoid
forget there are lots of ordinary folks
who leave houses money for their broods
the Millibands inherited two millions from father
they have not donated it to their Political Party
no lefty loonie is camping outside the Beckhams
screaming their children stand to inherit millions
the loonies are not protesting in Hampstead
in Knightsbridge, Chelsea and in Kensington
our dear rogues and mad loony commis
are picing on a black man because he's ennobled
this same man had worked from age sixteen
there is no grand mansion or trillions awaiting
this black man to the crazies personifies greed
not the greedy thieves who robs all and sundry
not the rich whites who have gained from industries
no no no, greed is the lone black man
who stood up to thieves and called them thieves
this is the man to discredit and cancel out
this is the man to stress out and drive paranoid
this is the thinking of the leftists narcissists
the crooks and insane liars with neon momentums
these are the racist brits who resent a successful black
they want blacks on the factory floor always second
or else a campaign starts to drive them paranoid
its the commonest weapon of the racists
us, we haven't done anything, its all in her/his mind
Yenson Jul 2022
Hurray, hurray haha ha
he escaped...!
He jumped high over the **** red wall
imprinted with our values of education hardwork and aspiration
He jumped so high over the **** red wall
leaving the Loonies and Militants and the Pointy hats
quacking in their boover boots and roasting in hate dilly dally
He didn't go to live amongst them thinking I am like them
no siree! if you lay with dogs you get fleas
He didn't live next door to ****** alcoholic house burglar
with a narcissistic demented wife and wanton under aged
pregnant daughters, milking Welfare
Krishna forbid, water and oil do not mix
He did not go pick a wife amongst them thinking he could
make a silk purse out of a sow's ear
and real love conquers all
No siree! you will end up being dragged down and be misunderstood
maligned, betrayed and abandoned
A tiger does not change spots, my dear fellow
Stick to your type that's bred with honour, grace and composure
knows all about loyalty commitment, responsibility, aspiration
and social status...remember mothers are invariably always right
and fruits do not fall far from their trees!
He was smart, from the get-go
there before you are the results
The Red wall is made by malcontents and raving loonies
you can kick it aside like withered bramble
or jump so high over it no matter how high it is
you just have to make the right smart choices
and if you have to join a party, pick the one that reflects you
I picked the working people party cause I was a worker
and was raised that hard work pays dividends
I thought meritocracy meant I had to be down with the
masses and just work hard, be fair, kind, considerate and law-abiding, and things will be okay
I was wrong...in hard labour the red wall was waiting......


https://youtu.be/SQTTvehFi5w
Mark Sep 2020
Painting lies on the doorstep of the countries elite
Old men hiding, while the hood destroy for fascist belief
Draw a thin blue line along the precincts orderly beat
Our enemy become enraged, then suburbia can’t sleep
Mention of war, makes Colonel Sanders feel so good, right!
It helps the makers of guns, especially all the men that knelt
Once the losers hand back their bibles, tools and money belt
We will become the same as the southern island overnight

Who are you going to vote for
It don’t really matter no more
The new world order will figure it out
And program the machine to adjust the count
Then one world government of socialist, no doubt
Only chance is to open up a bible and lets meet on the mount

So be very careful what you think you are truly wishing for
Once you enter, there’s no way out, it’s a one way door
Not long after, you’ll see it’s not at all, our promised freedom
All the grasslands and concrete jungles, renamed Yankeedom
Line up for food, water, healthcare, is this US or far left China
Now we’re not allowed to pray at night, come back Messiah

Who are you going to vote for
It don’t really matter no more
The new world order will figure it out
And program the machine to adjust the count
Then one world government of socialist, no doubt
Only chance is to open up a bible and lets meet on the mount

Be wise who you vote for and watch for the dead they count
If the system is rigged, the powers will have a case to mount
Bring back the old way days, one on one honest debates
Stop the press or there will be another war between the states
Black, white, yellow or brown, we all live in this freedom town
Don’t let the thugs, loonies, murderers or media, get us down
We are a Democratic nation, with freedom of choice
So take off your mask, stay in line and show your real voice

Who are you going to vote for
It don’t really matter no more
The new world order will figure it out
And program the machine to adjust the count
Then one world government of socialist, no doubt
Only chance is to open up a bible and lets meet on the mount
Yenson Aug 2023
I owned the Narcissists and Pyschos
and made them regimented
milk the poison from the saps' fangs
and ****** on it blowing a raspberry

I turned the Narcs loonies and psyschos
into dutiful unpaid labourers
put the nits on schedules at my beck and call
ridiculously combat-ready I trained them

I morphed new age demented scatterlings
into pitchforks carrying yobs
and feed them back their fantasies to brew
in a momentum of mass self flagellation

Oh how I laugh at the sicko desperados
in the land of opportunities
as they boil and recoil in hate envy and angsts
emotional turmoils as by my status and execellence

I make the Narcs loonies and psyschos
like birds on the red hot wire
they're drunks in a midnight choir singing jazz
never thus I a victim to deadbeat beasts with horns

These are miscrants on parole services
ganged casual labourers
their penance is seeing a privileged foreigner
their punishment the painful cancerous knowledge
they can never have all the qualities the Man possesses



There is a big difference between
being a Human being
and being human
only a few really understand this...
the title and indeed the content of this poem has nothing to do with the beautiful city of Manchester and its lovely peoples. its a play on words.

— The End —