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Hermes Varini Nov 2022
Feudal, an’ Deep Swaird Scar-Faced Ah,

Th’ Lone Skye-Horror

Thad heare Ah once gleamingly wore,
Nowe! intae Theis Abysmal ay Past Fyre-Lore,
Ye a’ Skellums, see! Theis Rage o’ mine thad Ah bore
Heare! wae mah Thundir-Airn tirlin’, nae a Woe,
Taukin’ nowe Ah! wae th’ Wynde-Tone O’erhuman, fore
Abön th’ Skye-Storne wæs ay yondir Friendly Shore,
Wae a Pause wi’in mah strugglin’, nae ay any more,
Th’ Scyld Ah haudin’ unco glowin’, ‘yont th’ Castle Dore,
Whatna! Theis Airn-Wame o’ mine, Rageful ays nae afore,
Thro’ th’ Skye-Pruid ay Lightnings, an’ e’en skye-more,
*** ay standin’, ‘yont th’ Drakkar Ablaze, wae th’ Burnan Ore,
Thus Ðhunder-Imbued, Bluish Fyre becam mah flowin’ Gore,
O’er th’ Rid Rock soarin’, wrapped in th’ Auld taukin’ Lowe,
Revenge oan th’ Dust, wi’in theis Hill graven! stick-an-stowe,
Quhain! th’ Ocean abowt mah Person, th’ Gale intae twa it tore,
Quhain! th’ Return o’ Pow’r gaed tae its Guid Hel o’ Yore,
Quhain! a Firey Ember wæs mah Rubye Brooch ay hynne nowe,
‘Yont th’ Seven-Headed Beast Winged, wha Grim He swore,
Mah Frame Axe-Wounded, Rays emittin’ frae ilka pore,
Deep intae theis ay Norland Janwar’s bitin’ owre Frore,
An’ a Mirror appeared! thro’ th’ Thunderbolts, nae thair Chore,
Nae Gode bit th’ Owar-Mann! mah Steel-Ghaist, nae tae adore,
Quher! mah Battle-Scars Rid wur stylle thais unco a Soare,
Quher! th’ Cauld theare wæs tae mah Throat aye smore,
Quher! mah Sel-Reflection dazzlin’ it wæs, thro’ th’ Aurore,
Togiddir wae mah Chain Mail flashin’, tae th’ Whyte Core!

ŌFER-MANNES BEADULÉOMAN WÆLGRYRE,
NIHTES HRÍÐUM SĊĒAWERE OND WÆPENÞRACUM
UNDER HERE-GRĪMAN OÞÍEWEDE SE DWIMOR,
HWÆR SWĀ MISGEWIDERE ECGÞRACU MAÞELODE,

SIGRSÆLL EK AFSKRÆMI-LIGA MIS-YRKI,
ÞÁ EN GINSTAN MEÐ MJÖK FRÆKNLIGA
VIND-ǪLD ÞVÍ NÆST ALMÁTTIGR ALFÖÐR,

QVA RE

ALTO A SEPTENTRIONE VINTICTÆ CVM FVLMINE

DEVS RVBRA FEVDORVM SECVRE THOR NOMINE MEORVM
SPECVLO CHALIBE SIVE SCVTO MEO SOLISQVE POLITISSIMO
RVBRO IN TEMPLO CVM ILLE NVNC AIT MIHI ALTOQVE
MEA REX SIVE BELLATOR OVERMAN NOMINE SPATHA
VT INGNEVS SIT MAXIME HOC TONITRVO MEVS VIGOR
AC FVGIENDA FVLMINE ESSE CÆRVLEO HIC VMBRA
ET INTRA FLAMMAS AC RVBRA EX FEODALE VLTIONE
ALBO HIC FVLMINE AC HYDRA SEPTEM CAPITIBVS RVBRA
LIVIDO EX IGNE GRÆCO PROFVNDE HIC FACETE DICTO

ENΘΔE KAI ΔE ETI
AΦΘONΩΣ Ω OVERMAN

OΛΩΣ ΔE ΠΟΚΑΤΑΣΤΑΣIΣ ΠANTH
KAI ΔYNAMIΣ ΓE KAI AΛHΘEIA TEΩΣ
NYN ΔOΞA KAI ΔE KAI ΔAIMΩN

STAT DEMVM ILLE HIC NOMINE REX I

QVA RE

FERRO AMICTVS FEODALE IMMORTALIQVE TOTALITER EGO CVM SPATHA
VBI LIVIDA MEA SPECVLI REFLECTIONE AC VESTE CONCREVERVNT CHALYBIS FVLMINA

QVOAD

AD INFINITVM PERPETVO RECVRRENS POTENTIÆ INCREMENTO SICVT IGNEA ROTA HÆC IMAGO
FEODALIS SIVE O ΔΑIΜΩΝ GRÆCO VERBO MEA EX FVLMINIBVS IN SPECVLO LIVIDA
AC POST DE BRVNANBVRH PROELIVM ASSIDVE DE OVERMAN CRVORE POTENTIOR IGNEA

QVIA

VENIT RECVRSV POTENTIÆ HOC IDVLVM IVGITER SIVE TO EIΔΩΛON EXTRAMVNDANVM MIHI
AC HÆ SVNT LEX RATIOQVE DE OVERMAN INVIOLABILITER HAC IN LAPIDE INSCRIPTÆ

QVOMODO

FVLGORIS NATVRA OVERMAN SIVE ENAPXIKH TPIAΣ EXCELLENTIA ESSENTIÆ
HOC FVLMINORVM INCREMENTO SINE FINE AC SINE INITIO HVIVS TEMPESTATIS MAGNI AC IRÆ MEÆ

QVAQVMQVE

SVMMA EST IN SCVTO SIVE SPECVLO CONTINVATIONEM ILLE GENERANS ET VLTOR
AC MVTATIONIS INCREMENTVM TONITRVO SICVT ΔEYPO TΩ EMΩ AIMATI PERSEVERANS

QVONIAM

SIT DENVO GRÆCA CVM VOCE AC TONITRVO EX SANGVINE MEO IGNEO
FEODALE HORVM FVLMINORVM METALLICO CORPORE MEA VINDICTA SICVT

ΜOΝΗ EΣTI ΚΑΙ ΠΡOΟΔΟΣ ΚΑI ΔH ΚΑI ΕΠΙΣΤΡΟΦH
EΝ ΤΩ ΧΡOΝΩ ΦΑΣΜΑΤΑ

QVONDAM

ΤA ΠAΝΤΑ AEI ΚOΣΜΟΣ-ΛOΓΟΣ ΚΑΙ ΜEΤΡΟΝ
ΤO ΓΕ ΝYΝ ΓΝΩΣΙΣ

AC RELVCENTEM MAGNVMQVE IN SPECVLO LAVDO ET CANO VINDICEM
ET PERGITE RVBRA HAC IN ALTISSIMA RVPE HVIVS HIEMIS FVLMINA

AD QVEM

IRA CVM EXTRAMVNDANA MEA ET FEODALE CORPORE

LOCVM  FERRO AMICTVS SPATHA SCVTOQVE PERVENIEBAM NATANS
INTRA OCEANVM AD VERGENTIS OCCASVM CALEDONIÆ REGNI SICVT

OVERMAN ECGÞRACU.
Set after the Battle of Brunanburh in A.D. 937, this composition of mine, or rather brief epic, in archaic Scots, Classical Latin, Anglo-Saxon, Old Norse and ancient Greek, tells of a lone warrior, severely wounded after the battle, whose blood turns into fire and lightnings, as attracted by his armor, when a mirror appears before him as formed by thunderbolts themselves ("VBI LIVIDA MEA SPECVLI REFLECTIONE AC VESTE CONCREVERVNT CHALYBIS FVLMINA"), at the top of a soaring rock off the coast of western Scotland ("INTRA OCEANVM AD VERGENTIS OCCASVM CALEDONIÆ REGNI"), during a storm, therein obtaining immortality, upon his own reflected self, that is, the Overman himself, recurring over and over more powerful to the infinite as one person ("AD INFINITVM PERPETVO RECVRRENS POTENTIÆ INCREMENTO SICVT IGNEA ROTA HÆC IMAGO"). My own Return of Power event thus surfaces. How he was able to reach this rock, in his own bleeding condition, and in a heavy iron vest with sword and shield while swimming, I leave it undefined, hence to the interpretation of the reader. The title reads “The Overman through the Onrush of Swords”. “Ah” is “I”, "wae" is "with", and "stick-an-stowe", "totally", "altogether".
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
so i just picked up my wine and whiskey,
and heading toward romford from
collier row tesco,
took a seat on the 175 bus -
fours kids and a mother behind me -
god, i love kids, esp. this cute...
in between a nursery rhyme of
twinkle twinkle little star,
they broke into a song of
lady gaga's bad romance:
      rah rah ah-ah-ah!
rho mah ro-mah-mah
                    gaga oh-la-la! -
up to a point where the mother asked
to keep themselves quiet,
only prior, to what happened when
the no. 66 bus (leystone st. to romford
st.) -
     the kids start their infernal
counting 66, 6... 6, 6, 6...
               the cutest part came
with them not able to sing the words
- want your bad romance -
i'm just as bad when it comes to
concrete lyrics...
     they got the
      rah rah ah-ah-ah!
rho mah ro-mah-mah
                    gaga oh-la-la
right...
but the - want your bad romance?
they sort of "gave up", w- .....................,
more exactly - the letters had already
started forming syllables,
        but the syllables didn't start
forming meanings -
              children:
    you only have them as selfish
psychologists -
who think that all patients are
   patiens ex infans:
what a demeaning position to hold...
and guess: it only takes a highly
concentrated urban environment to
guess a clock's next tick-tock...
              i love children, such innocent
spies that never fail to amaze:
   never the finished canvases -
always the blank slates...
imagine my amazement listening to
them recite lady gaga's goo-goo-poo-poo'h-drip
sunny glaze... and that ripe red
grapefruit for breakfast alongside
champagne...
          i love children:
as much as their sadistic parents realise
not actually realising:
    nature hates vacuums:
      play with this dough like the
inversion of the child reborn...
    i'd request only one reminder:
ensure you manage to keep a pet toward
its mortal exhaustion, before
you talk of replica...
                 sacrificing ***** as
expandible is one way to make man
omnivore -
then again: with all these eggs without
a yoke: such a ****** egg-white washed-up
world of empty.
               but women prefer the extremes
of either the harem baron,
or the beta male mediocre,
surprises are what?
  christmas presents you bribe children
with for what is: less a disaffection
with a lie, but a dis-valuation of
an archetypal sustenance material in shape
of the paternal...
               these kids already sentenced
your idea of fame:
rah rah ah-ah-ah!
rho mah ro-mah-mah
                    gaga oh-la-la!

     you can't beat that, you can't beat
these kids... don't bother...
the end sentence, i admit, was pushing
it... they mumbled the words -
but as any child would,
  the point was made by the bouncy-castle
of interference...
   and then i sat next to one ******
next to me, reading a book,
and it dawned on me:
   why would a man become so
       overtly-"heroic" concerning his
offspring...
well... it dawned on me...
   merely nibbling a touch with this sprout
next to me in a train seat...
sure, a woman can claim the parasite
incubator, for that is all a foetus is...
   but when the sprout ages to be 5 or 6...
a woman inverts the womb with a:
body to body ratio relevance...
now i know why men really fight children...
women treat children as if they were
frogs, their greatest ****** comes upon
******* a foetus...
                    and they even imply that
religiously: no cesarean!
                            i thought that...
no! that ******* pug snout is going to
get the proper broker pucker out of this
stretch armstrong, whether you like it or not!
now i get the logic,
esp. when i sit next to a child,
   i can fathom the demand for a man claiming
custody of a child,
and **** me, it seems too good to be true
but is nonetheless the truest anti-mantis
rhetoric available...
             man, wake up...
you think that evolution is in your favour?
it's heidegger - he said:  
  the pluralism of being in beings as
accommodating an easy example is what
man is to chimp, but it's also what
woman is to mantis...
                         in dealing with
a "there" or the antithesis of pluralism of
being in man is to look away from
a history in a collective: congratulatory
tone of ex simia ad **** -
     a woman was never a collective -
and never will be -
   femina ex mantis ad mantis reditus libido;
as men who provide the expendable world
of actor -
women provide the expendable world
of: an empty stage - their **** -
both jerks hanky-panky the same
gamble...
           with as many expendable
tadpoles as given, the more incomprehensible
the world becomes...
if i were a man, i'd look beyond
the ape, as woman already knows to
look into the role of the widow...
      as it stands: **** sapiens is a pathetic
argument contra femina vidua...
the rational man is no match for a female widow...
           only an un-understanding man
can match the poker mastery of the femina vidua;
makes sense why a man would
argue for a child -
given the fact that a woman only
took care of a quasi-amphibian -
                           9 months doesn't necessarily
translate into 90, *******, years!
i'd still say you're a cheat if you
think you can shortcut your specialisation
in the field of psychology, by having
both the template of "a priori" in your
children, and an "a posteriori" template
in your grandchildren...
    sure, you'll see more patients,
but none of them will actually be as sick
as you are, in your little short-crust
           shortcut of keeping numbers
to the prim, rather than the meaning of words
absolute, than the ******* mingling
thesaurus relativism of "debate" / "nuance";
psychologists already know that
their children and their grandchildren
are collateral damage in theory,
   and all the more ****** up in real life.
Derick Van Dusen Oct 2010
ah really hope mah words done fall on deff ears
ah really hope dey hit home and squash all mah fears
  ah really hope mah actions done land on blind eyes
ah really hope dey too hit home an silance all mah cries
  ah really hope mah love done fall on a broken hart
ah really hope it hits home and keaps meh from fallin apart
  ah really hope mah faith done find a fallin soul
ah really hope it his home and leads mah to dah final gole
  
  ah really hope ahm lisnin when dey speak ta meh
ah reall hope wah dey say gets through an saves meh
  ah really hope ahm ready when ahm called to prove
ah really hope dey prove ahm worthy of her too
  ah really hope ahm not da broken hart
ah really hope da pieces can na be taken back apart
  ah really hope ahm faithful when da sole come callin
ah really hope dat sole done do meh in to da dien
This, meaning the work above, is my original work no part of the above work may be copied in whole or in partn without my express written permission. The writeing style is atributed to Kathy Patton McLermore. I am sure that style is not originally hers so if anyone would like to please let me know whos it is...?
Suparas Jain Jun 2015
I meant u always mah dearest..,
The time when u r not with me
is fearest ,
I always feel fear to lose u
The love is true,
that i shows for u,

U are as like rain of happiness,
When it falls,
Jus wash all my sadness.
I m sunshine
N u r rain drop's row
When thy meets...
Make a love-full rainbow.....

Come to me,
Settle in mah heart
With ur love...
heel its,
Sorrow wound and cuts.
U r everything to me.
As without u,
Nothing is me.

Ur love is enough,
To live mah life,
As i don't want
Anything without u in life.

I m the heart,
But u are the beats
As i m alive
No chance of cheats.

Come to m
I’ll take u
To the world of angels
Where u seems
As a beautiful princes.

Feel mah love
m always wid u
Oh dear give me urself,
I’ll give whole life to u.
The last pray to god
u’ll always mine n I’ll be urs..
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad
wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill.
-Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot.
But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww,
must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat,
d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge?
-Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times
and finally the gadge yells back to ays,
-Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter,
me Ma's hud her ******' taps turned oaf by the ******' Corporation,
which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree.
I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but,
eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me,
when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh?

-That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled,
thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher
withoot gi'ing her a guid ride.
Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee ****
called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride
in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall.
-Mind ye're own ******' business, the **** yells back at ays,
takin' the pail in yin hand and the ****'s wee hand in the other yin.

Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter
when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon,
Jack breakin' his ******' croon n the groond,
ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen,
'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws
as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot,
but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww,
heid n **** oor her ******' erse
'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** *******
'n her ***** was on display under her skirt.
Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee ****,eh?

-Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot,
but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid,
ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww,
but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin,
'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA,
those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken.
So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits
o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre,
but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants,
ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'.
And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse,
so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ******
'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis.
Eh?
This tribute to Irvine Welsh, Scotland's most successful living novelist, is my masterpiece.
POSSIBLE Feb 2016
That ***** Named Desire
I had a succubus try to take my seed
in a dream today   
I broke the connection and said
***** you gotta pay to playyyyyyy

You so used to controlling my desires
well, NOT ANYMORE
Best get on your knees and call me sire
“Sir you have the floor”

I wage war on the empire
of the realm of desire
So if you conspire to be in my line of fire
Don’t say I didn’t tell you,
    You’ve earned my Ire.

The rhythm of my war drum goes:
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
OHHHHM
Mah heart  BEATS ta da Rhythm of the
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
Dreeeeeiiim
We illuminate truth, or sooo it seeeeeeeeeeeeim
But still.....
The rhythm of my war drum BEATS:
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
OHHHHM



So I wage war on the realm of the evil fae
Ima PURIFY da demons until  
dey take me away (screamed)

Bleed out into LIFE;
  reverse the vampire effect
place succubi in a hearse
  and drive them straight ta deaph


cause lately You been drivin me crazy
and making my will, focus, an determination
sooo haeeezzzzy

But NO MORE
cause now Its time to
Settle DA SKORE


Ritually open my wounds
and bleed acid on you
Don’t worry theres enough
cause your hackneyed and few

Ima chase the Daemons off
Smoke my dreads to their lungs
and make dem young cough
so offten I put em in a hot-boxed coffin
Now your outta breath
But im just not stoppin

huh (echo(
whats this? whats this....(echo(  
Claws,
talons,
teeth,
and  uh oh
Blood barrels stacked Its a wierd supply depot,

for that army growin
and growlin behind your eye, see though....
They Perma-
        on your shoulders,
   and now mine, Truth Show





!!!!!!1111RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!!!!!!!11
So my wings tear free of my back
For so long they’ve been bound and compact
I look to my lovers and brothers and CRy
Stand!
Pick up your weapons,
Humanity,
Its time to act


A TRUMPET BLOWS,
   BEATING WINGS
THE DRUMS CONTINUE INTO THE DISTANCE


The rhythm of my war drum goes:
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
OHHHHM
Mah heart  BEATS ta da Rhythm of the
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
Dreeeeeiiim
We illuminate truth, or sooo it seeeeeeeeeeeeim
But still.....
The rhythm of my war drum BEATS:
BOOM BOOM KAT TiS KAT
OHHHHM
Steele Feb 2015
I feel bad for women who date online.
There are good men in this world, I swear.
Not every man who walks the earth wastes his breath and your time,
with cro-magnon scribbles from a mind so bare,
that it comes as a surprise they managed even to write one line,
much less something so cerebral as this:
                              "Yo, prety gurl. Liek yur pic,
                                I so >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
                               Wanna see mah ****?"

So deep, right? What Socratic genius might have penned such lines?
Surely not even Shakespeare or Keats could craft words so divine!
I am so sorry, women who date online.
Truly, I'm sorry, on behalf of mankind
Hermes Varini Nov 2020
Och! Airn an’ Thundir! Great Orrah!
Ere ye a' sune an’ syne fast, verra fast ***,
Wae Verra Skye-Storne Hye,
Skye-Unleashed, IT! Clitheroe's Gory Orrah!
Frae mah Burnan’ Skye-Rage,
An' unco Airn-Curse o’er ye a',
Downe, downe! owre downe!
Theis Moorlan Firey Grass flyin’,
Dinna Daur! Ah say, Dinna Daur!
Tae mah Verra Skye-Roaran’
An' Skye-Furious Bellum, Guid Orrah!
Nae tae baith nowe listen!
Nor tae set futis ageyne, Ah say!
Wae yer unco dishonorable duds,
Oan Theis Verra Nobil Glamis’ Hal’,
Kingdom o' Scotland IT, Airn-Auld,
Robert th' Bruce Micht,
Ironclad, her Ruler, wae Wois Loud!
Fore, ne’er, ne’er, Ah skye-yell;

AH UNCO WADNA!
AH UNCO WADNA!

Great Guid, Verra Guid Orrah!
Wae mah Bleezan Skye-Blade o’ War,
An’ Verra, Verra Guid Gilded Targe,
Auldfarran, juist twich ye a'!
Whene'er, an’ unco fore’er,
Intae THEIS DEEP LOCH O' RID HEL,
An' thro' yondir War-Thundir, och!
Wae mah Skye-Skean steel-fechtin’.
This poem of mine refers to an ancient Highlander addressing his enemies before Glamis Castle, in Scotland. "Unco Wadna" means "I prodigiously would not", whereas "Airn an’ Thundir" "Iron and Thunder", the latter intended as a proper start, I reckon. Archaic Scots.
Bunhead17 Oct 2014
I don't practice Santeria
I ain't got no crystal ball
Well, I had a million dollars but I, I'd spend it all.
If I could find that Heina, and that Sancho that she's found.
Well I'd pop a cap in Sancho & I'd slap her down.

What I really wanna know, mah baby, mmmm...
What I really wanna say I can't define.
Well it's love, that I need. Ohh...

My soul will have to, wait till I get back, find a Heina of my own.
Daddy's gonna love one and all.
I feel the break, feel the break, feel the break and I gotta live it up.
Oh, yeah, uh huh.
Well I swear that I.

What I really wanna know, ahh baby.
What I really wanna say I can't define, got love make it go.
My soul will have to...

[Instrumental Break]

Ooooo...
What I really wanna say, mah baby.
What I really wanna say is I've got mine, and I'll make it, oh yes I'm coming up.

Tell Sanchito that if he knows what is good for him he best go run and hide.
Daddy's got a new Forty-Five.
And I won't think twice to stick that barrel straight down Sancho's throat.
Believe me when I say that I got somethin' for his punk ***.

What I really wanna know, mah baby.
Ooh What I really wanna say is there's just one, way back, and I'll make it, yeah.
My soul will have to wait, yeah, yeah, yeah.
I love reggae music♡
Anastasia Jul 2019
Cats
On mah feet
Got cats
On mah socks
Cats
On mah legs
Wearing cat socks
Rocks
Victor Thorn Jan 2013
Deny it; it makes no difference:
the American government pitches its deceitful realtor-reality to the world:
flaunting our flag as the banner of the free, but avoiding
our faults and failures as a country.
“Oh yes! We’re rollin’ in the (borrowed) bucks!
We’re a proud superpower capable of chaos; calamity!”
Well, kudos on your catastrophes: we all know it’s a hollow show.

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

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

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

Democracy, do you know me?

For this faux-democratic nation where the population waits for the government to lay itself to waste, the Founding Fathers sob, disgraced.
                                                       Oh, God Bless America!
the nation where when faced with any
[man, woman, child, intersex, genderqueer, etc.] who dares defile the status quo,
accept the stigma like a crown of thorns, on top of all the scorn
                                                                    We The People
donate millions to “charities” who dare to speak for
Jesus,
the meek and mild. John chapter eight, verses one through eight:
he drew a
fine line in the
sand, man:
it’s where your rights end and mine begin. Irony, irony: they are as good as
mine.
For this faux-democratic nation where the population waits for the government to lay itself to waste, the Founding Fathers sob, disgraced.
I have days.
Pen Lux Dec 2011
The best burn I've ever felt
came from a small reflection
tucked away, strong,
removed from temptation.

Share your selection: perception.

Something about this weather makes me sick,
and cuddly. All I want these days is to be alone,
with a body, and nobody, and something to help
me forget a few things: less personal.

Moving around, faster, each by three.
So in love with this moment, I start to catch on fire,
a page full of ****, and forget me please.
You tasted better in the morning, I hope I did too.

Contamination through determination.
We're going back in time for the last time,
it's the beginning of moving forward.
What haunts us haunts us only in subconscious,
so we lay on the floor, curl in the kitchen,
inhale: new decisions.

Getting on tracks, hearing about the ones that got loose,
and the ones that go too close
avoiding getting ran over,
running over,
rereading
listening
listening
listening
I can hear you listening in the silence you create:
thank you!

This progress is beating it's way inside
of us, the way we beat into each other.

Um, um um um uhhhh Ah cha rah cha cha cha
I love you,
and I'm not going to say it more
than I feel it
and I feel it, oh honey, it's coming
faster than I do on the weekends.

Sttttrrrreeeeetttcccchhhhhhhhhhhh
rip feathers, wash away the leathers.
Last nights reminder sent me shivering
shocked.

Your voice is changing,
there's more than one
and you can talk about her as much as you want,
'cause I spend most my day doing the same thing's
inside as you do outside, just we do everything at the
same time, so there's no need for questions, because
everything's an answer.

Answering yes.
Yes yes yes yes yes
yes yes yes
y e s
  y  eeee sssss
ssss
ssssss
eyy yeeuh yes
yesh.


I've always liked the shape of a woman,
long hair pulled back.
It makes sense.
Since when?
“I just woke up and you're already attacking me,
all I want to do is just go to sleep.”
     you told me when I write,
and I proved you                     wrong.
Proved myself                         wrong.

Wrong is a word said quickly and distorted at the same pace,
it's manifest destiny in the form of emotions in motion.

Wrongwrongwrong
wrungwrungwrung
riiiing riiiing riiing-
don't answer that!
ima Docter Jedingaling
and i have news thats so great its
ok
the sun wont blow up to day
and aleins wont eat ourr brains
probably
actually
aleins would only want to eat mah brains
because im smarterer that everyone
and smarterer brains are the tastiest
and full of calcium
and protein
and nutricous fats
and carbs
and starches
and vitamins
and minerals
and potassium
and sodium
and prunes
and fiber
and brainy stuf
and thoughts
and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh­hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh­hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh­hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

stuf that ur brain doesnt have
trust me ima docder
that might be  eaten           by aleins
but they wont
cause i ate my prunes to day
with mah PhD
cuz a used it like a spoon
My mind is going weird again and hurting my head
I don't know what to make of it

I think
I want a male me
Or just me. I want another me. Doesn't necessarily have to be male. Can be female. Why not both. But I want another physical and spiritual embodiment of who I am as a person

A part of me just wants to hug and hold someone. And my head is automatically choosing said person, but the feeling of the mere hug and contact is overshadowing the identity of the person by a few degrees

I miss calloused hands roaming my body. And I miss body heat. I miss legs I can entangle mine with. I miss the crooks of necks. I miss snores emanating from a chest and hearing the rumble in the air from it. I miss tired faces resting and appearing destressed. I miss light groans as a body shifts positions in their sleep.

I think I can pinpoint what it is that I miss. Because although all sound like physical and verbal responses, it is not the actions, although they always go hand in hand.

I think I miss intimacy. But what is necessarily intimacy?
There's a few definitions as soon as one googles it
A close familiarity or closeness. A private, cozy atmosphere. A closeness of observation or knowledge of a subject.

My chest aches and pounds as I try to put my finger on what it is I'm searching for. The more it aches, the closer I am to finding my answer

Intimacy.
In-tih-mah-see.
In-to-me-see.
See-in-to-me.
Intimacy is to see in to me.
It is to let and allow someone to see you for who you are, to know what makes you a being.
But not necessarily in your head.

Intimacy is the knowledge of how another person's mind control's their body. How the body reacts to acts that can cause the mind to blank or move forward just off-beat of the body.

It's dragging your fingertips over their body and feeling the goosebumps rise as a laugh comes from the mouth over the words "popcorn butter is actually coconut oil with artificial flavoring" and feeling your eyes connect the dots between those goosebumps to their face and your brain noticing the connection between noises and nerve endings.

Intimacy is a weird state to be in. Because too much can cause the mind to blank and overload itself with serotonin and dopamine. All the while there is never enough time in the world to drag on that forever feeling
It's the act of getting lost in a person and discovering bits and pieces of how you affect said person.
In body, in mind, in response

I think I'm done because I don't know how else to frame my words. My head hurts and my chest pounds with equal force. I believe it's time for me to bid adieu and deal with this in the dreamscape
A collection of texts I sent to my friend while my thoughts ran rampant
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
let's have a game of reverse-phraseology....

man up...

   hmm... let's see what i can conjure
up, within this, gender-neutrality...

how about...

  that old english saying...

buckle down,
    buckle up / knuckle down?
  (i never know which
is the correct phrase -
clench your hand into a fist,
or lose weight -
   or, tighten them
for a bumpy ride).

   take the knuckles
to the grit / sandpaper
...

   how's that?

any bwetter?
            no?
   oh ooh um, ah...
          
            i thought these people
were into gender neutral pronouns...
which, oddly, enough,
have to also be singular and plural
neutral:
  
last time i checked: they...
referred to a plural description
of gender neutrality, to begin with...

but hell! ha ha ha ha ha!
we can play this game, all day,
and all night, long...

       but NOW, for a wild idea...
how can you enforce the adrenaline
junk from being stabbed,
not anticipating a stabbing?

i guess... i guess you have to heat
up the knife...
   so there's a warm butter sensation
ascribed to the flesh...
               flesh...
  i like that word...
     i can almost imagine
a slaughterhouse,
   with raw pork in full attire of
a corpse, dangling off the hooks...

and that believable scent,
outside of a Parisian perfume factory
attached: what if i fried this,
exponent of a gutted pork torso?

- and why isn't bush-meat
prohibited in the Qu'ran?
    pork? the most economically constructed
animal in the history of:
anti-vegeterianism anti-veganism...

      rats are, apparently, omnivores...
my neighbor owns four albino rats,
saved from a testing laboratory...
seen one ******, scuttle the garden
looking for a labyrinth
to be experimented on...

oh i love the tease of policing language...
man up contra
            buckle down...
you just sizzle...
   imitating a rattlesnake with
your tongue on trilling the R
with that kind of ****...
   you really end up wanting to poke,
and poke...
    at this sort of genesis phraseology...
with either a reversion,
or an inversion...

i'd prefer you to allow me to exercise
my right for compelled speech,
in which "manning up" is degraded
from the casual phraseology attainment,
and that the old school
english buckling down
is used...

      man? up? there's nothing copernican
about that expression...
please... can you excuse
my politically correct counterpart
to be allowed a phraseology blunder?

we too, are for gender neutrality
in... bashing a man down...
   we call "them" the brash knuckles
brushing off of preconceived
sexuality indicators...

    no blue boy, no pink girl...
no tractor boy, no Barbie girl...
               but there is no...
  "manning up"...
         WE UZ A PEOPLEZ' PEOPLE...
A PEOPLEZ' **** TANK...
running low... on thought -
or whatever the once glorified
moral ought used to be...
   mahatma mah'gandhi -
liked the name for one reason...
see how the H appears and disappears
in the nouns?
   it's there's at mahatma...
but... turned surd in gand(h)i...
   i don't even know why it's not a surd
in (h)indi -
   so blue blue, i'm blue...
      
extensive culinary and musical
traditions kept them afloat,
from biting the razor,
   when drowning...
   and not, exactly, opening
      the oompa-loompa casinos.
Sit still, now, chil’,
While I untangle this mess -
You ain’t goin’ swimmin’
‘til it’s all in braids,

The mo’ naps you got,
The mo’ hair you lose,
I’m ti’ed of strugglin’
With this pick
And flat comb,



‘cause yo hair is too thick,
I’m at the enda mah wick,

And, mah grays are doin’
Anything -

But, fadin’.
Clue 2/3 for "Nails Hairier than Hair."
Responses/Questions in the inbox, please!
=)

© 2011 Elephants & Coyotes
PawanTube May 2019
hope that i could explain
what i found
......ur voice,
...... ur eyes,
and the simplicity
it all just dig mah heart
You would never love yourself a half as much as I

your eyes when i looked into them,
sinking on the depth
your name,when its been called out
the smile.....ooh plz would u again


when you appeared by my side
my heart got insane....like  a ferrari

your Picture in my mind...continue readin'
always be thinkin' of you
Every single day I missed you,
missed you when I can't sleep
missed you when i can't eat
missed you in mah front seat
hoping, you are seating beside by me


you are  the only one
that i'm in.........with
and You ought to know by now how much I love you
My heart made up the way that how I feel
Growing stronger day by day
I can't stop this
I.m insane n i lost mah mind


you're my sun,you're my moon,you're my star
you're the first'you are the last.
andy my everything.
you're my reality not a expectation.


I've spent couple of weeks
to  come closer
On a search to find you
way to communicate you
but no whispers...like a silent planet
Yet my heart is hoping for you

— The End —