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Nico Reznick Jan 2016
(In response to "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg)

I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by sanity,
seen bold new visionaries resign themselves to clinical long-haul deaths,
drug-numbed to their own suffering, and everyone else’s;
seen raving revolutionaries give up, retire to minimalist Swedish-designed armchairs,
and never move again;
seen the horizon dim and draw ever closer,
and the tenacious lunatics with the wanderlust to stray beyond
become fewer and further between.

There are uglier destructive forces than madness:
Consider cognitive rehabilitation.
Consider absolutely nothing immeasurable.
Consider utter rationality.

Ritalin, lithium, risperidone, duloxatine. [I thought I heard a man speaking in tongues,
then I realised he was simply reading out loud from a pharmaceutical directory.]
Imagine a generation of loan brokers and loss adjustors;
Hicks gone these past seventeen years and Leary still alive;
sharks floating in formaldehyde;
all true human significance lost in pretentious symbols,
and repetition
and repetition
and repetition,
and no one raging.
No one raging for real.

Where are Plato’s maniacs now?
Where are their lunatic songs?
I hear only the steady, rational tapping of the accountants’ calculators,
occasionally, some lost and lonely *** crying out for one more shot,
and the PA system calling the next patient through, the doctor will see you now,
or asking would the owner of a light blue Honda Civic please move their vehicle,
as it’s blocking in a black Lexus full of lawyers with an ambulance to chase.

Is there really nowhere between here
and the bellow and buzz, the shiver and shriek of the asylum?
Someplace between this sterile, static, silent, windowless room
and the fizzing frenzy of the electroconvulsion suite,
there must be somewhere we might have paused and breathed and set up shop,
where we could have been happy – if we’d wanted to be –
and no more or less sane than we chose.

Dr Thompson saw it coming: the dawn of this new Age of Equilibrium.
He knew that football season was over, for good this time, and made his ballistic decision
to go stalk peacocks and hound Nixon through the Kingdom Hereafter,
assuring us, ‘Relax – This won’t hurt’.
He was right.

Safe and stable and sanitized, we can no longer follow your desperate, ***** verse.
Straitjacketed by reason, we perceive our world only in terms
of quantum and co-efficiency, of the logical and logistical,
of what can be conjured in the duration of the average commercial break,
of what can be computed to at least two decimal places.

We are the chemically castrated.
We are lobotomised by mutual consent.
We are the perfect ones: regular and moderate and so healthy, so functional.
We are the white strobing smiles of the toothpaste ads,
the poster children for good mental hygiene,
the footsoldiers of no more conflict.

We have lost our skill for the alchemy
that once distilled genius from the seething crucible of lunacy.
We medicate those whose vision would otherwise put our own to shame,
leave them as myopic and blinkered as the rest of us,
the breadth and depth and distance of their sight no longer a worry to anyone.

Give us back our madmen: we need them.
Give us back our crazed anthems, our burning shrouds, our leprous one-man-bands.
Give us back the fire and the filth and the fornication that kept us howling through
those endlessly polluted nights of Windscale and Watergate, McCarthy and motorcades, Hanoi and Hiroshima.

Please.  Give us back our madmen.
I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by sanity.
This poem is featured in my collection, "Over Glassy Horizons", available here: > tinyurl.com/amz-ogh
Beanie Jan 2021
Something for the
insomniacs,
the maniacs,
and the lunatics.

Poetry about
you and me,
sleep and waking,
life and death.

This is to read
when the sun rises
and you're still awake,
or when the stars are
shrouded in clouds.

This is for all of you
who have yielded
your sanity to the moon
and felt the meaning of
lunacy in your bones.

I dedicate this collection of
oddities to all of you oddities,
may you read it and sleep.
The dedication poem for the chapbook I'm workin on!
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2013
Pyro maniacs—
Weird climate change deniers,
  .  .  .  Too stupid to live.
Nicole Dec 2013
It is all over.
We are no longer kids but we still are and we are begging for someone to understand that, or at least to pretend they do. High school is done and so is my bottle of anxiety pills so that must mean something, it has given so much to me and also taken away so much from me I think we're even. High school was hard. I had problems, everyone did. But I guess that at the end what we're all going to remember the most is the amount of hours we couldn't get to sleep before finals. In high school I learnt that it does not matter if you are suffocating and you want someone to notice and help you and be your saviour, it only matters if you want it to matter. I also learnt not everyone is worth looking at, with eyes that could have spared looking or glancing at books I already returned to the book bank and I will never see again. High school is not about how many times you go to parties or you get asked out because, if you have a different perspective of it all, the movie dates do not drive you to graduation and the smiles for the pictures you take in parties are not the same smiles in the pictures at your graduation day.

I have not cried one day yet over my already done childhood and half-way done teenager-hood, because I already cried enough with a few things I'm quite ashamed to write about now. Perhaps the day it all sinks in and I see my friends not here with me but there with somebody else I'll cry. Or maybe not, or maybe a lot, or maybe my eyes could fill the rivers I didn't cried in all this period were people cried like maniacs while seeing pictures of them with weird haircuts and faces full of acne.

To sum this up, high school was crap. But we all love crap.
19/12/13 - graduation
I sit, awaiting the apocalypse,
Knowing Its already Here -
I sit, awaiting a sign from Above,
In the form of the wind blowing
Or a smile from a child passing by -
I stand up, knowing my time has come
And I march down to the office
Of the biggest suit-wearers in town
And I tell them why I think they're the Devil
Disguised in masks of well-intentioned men
And all they do is kick me out the door,
Without a single "Hello" or "Goodbye",
Indeed I was right - they are the Devil -
The lawmakers, man-made war declarers
Suffering because they've got too much greed,
Still thinking it's more money that they need -
Indeed their fruit contains rotting seed,
But only Time will tell
Whether they'll drop the bombs or not,
On their own people
From metallic birds above,
Not the Holy place,
Just a faceless face -
Video-controlled drones flying flying flying
Crazy-eyed maniacs
Miles away
Safe in their cushioned bunkers of first-world luxury,
And they say its okay
They say this is their day,
And thus they drop their bombs
On their own people,
Family,
Miles away -
So far away that they won't be forced to see the blood,
And they'll never hear the children cry -
And I'm here,
Sitting,
Wondering why,
Wondering how,
We, as a species, ever became so ****** insane -
And I realize in the silence of my own questioning
That I'm not one of them -
For I am my own man,
I am my own soul,
I am a child of God,
Allah,
Buddha
Krishna
Jah Jah,
Ra,
Jehovah,
Yahweh,
And I know I've got a right to be here,
And nobody is going to take that right away from me,
Except the Universe that made me -
For these bodies are just recycled dirt,
But these souls are eternal beyond worth,
And nobody will take that away,
Especially not the whiskey-drinkin' cigar-smokin'
Legal pimps of legislature,
Declared messiahs by illiterate masses,
In the same sand dunes that they come from -
But there's a fox amongst the chickens -
The Devil, so they say -
And that fox is running wild, rabid with fear and hunger,
Ignorant of the beauty of Life -
Unaware of Eternity,
Of God,
Of the One Love that brings Everything Together,
And again, I don't know why or how,
It just is what it is,
And I'm blessed to know I'm not one of Them -
Because I once was,
And they're still me,
But I've woken up,
And I have learned to see -
We're always free,
No matter the hour or town or name,
We're always free,
And we shall always remain free,
For we're all creations of the Universe -
Almighty in the Eyes of the Infinite,
And we're free to do as we please -
But if I may beg of thee,
Be wise and listen to the wind,
Choose yer path according to the Sun,
And not of Man,
And though I know beggars can't be choosers,
But I can still pray,
And thus I shall -
I will continue to pray until this body of mine fades back into Time,
Because we're always free,
Yes,
We're Always Free,
We're Always Free.
i saw the difference for the first time on january 6
we were at work watching in real time
rampaging maniacs breaking into the capitol
and the fella next to me said "slow down
we don't know what we're seeing"
we don't?
now AI seals the deal
we can't believe anything outside our own reality
Viseract Jul 2016
What keeps me up all night
Is my own vivid imagination
Creating swirling embers, smothering smoke
And the bright flashes and crackle of flame

What keeps her up all night
Is she simply cannot sleep
And maybe she can't sleep
Partly because of me

Either way, we are both maniacs
And I know I'm happy to be one

So will you burn the world with me?
I shouldn't even have to name the significant other. You know who you are... My lil insomniac <3
Paul Glottaman Feb 2011
Fall would bring down the
leaves and reveal the
entrances to their secret
tree forts.
They would wave *******
in their faces and pretend that
the early morning steam
of their breath was cigarette smoke.
They would laugh like maniacs
when the teacher wasn’t looking,
and be as quiet and innocent
as babies when he was.
The sun gone down, the last
inning played and the first
street lamps came on they could
be found under blankets,
reading scary stories by flash light.

When the winter arrived
they slept near the cold
glow of televisions.
Tomorrow screamed of
Baseball, and school books,
and notes passed in class
to the girls they pretended
to hate.
It would beg them to throw
off their shoes and feel
the sun warm blacktop
on their bare feet.
It would whisper secrets
of life, new things discovered.

When spring came around they
would chase through the
tall grass, looking for Pokemon.
They would accuse each other
of contracting cooties from
their spring fever addled crushes.
They would send away UPCs
from the backs of their comics
for the prizes, treasures untold.
In the evenings they would study,
and write and miss the summer.

As summer finally came they
would gather together, their
days at long last free for planning.
They would make additions to their
tree houses, tell fictional stories
about how far their old crushes
had let them get.
They would wrap on the side
of the old TV every Saturday morning,
when the static interrupted the cartoons.
Tennis ***** were made for bouncing
off the sides of houses.
When the air grew cold at night
they would string a clothes line
between their beds and the wall.
A sheet hung on it made an excellent
tent, a flash light a fine camp fire.
They would tell each other
what they would do when they
grew up.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
God Bless the Europeans
All talk Islander Carribeans
S=S Seance Superstitious
The cool pledge Americans,
Suspicious regions secretively
scrumptious Gummie bears
legions

Rambling computer dummies
Those dragonflies showbiz
Dummies the crew
Zazzle S to Sparkle
Pickles and pregnancy
The Hebrew National

Nathans Franks contest
Are we missing the SS
without the ramble, it will  be
someone's gamble
Not many things to impress
Those little bites to nibble
The bigger bites stumble

All words over Google
Too much rice or noodles
All Gods foreign hot rods
With their lady poodles

Ramble words at the racetrack
All talkers hail to the Queen
The King deck someone is all
talk watch your back

Without the poise
Well mannered words
They will never be back
Backing up her timeless rose
Holy Grace SS for Serenity
smoother sail rephrase

Deep contemplation
Ramble on the
crossword mission

Rambles but silently
Like her meditation
So many changes new
revisions of more
accusations
Up-words like the
Moonwalkers

Show business SS- Abby-Abyss
Access summer dress more or less
Abrasiveness  love blindness
Aggressiveness to kindness

Rambling on words
The plethora
Traveling in Space like
Dora the explorer
True love confessions
Being subjective way too
submissive
How do we live without them
The right words to say to them
To live with someone
Not talking to them and
holding them
The wanting feel the loving
Time so in the needing

Rambling for lust well being

But bust to bust
All she got was ashes
All layers like a desert storm
So alarming like clockwork
Ramble words again and again
They were all deceivers
To Ramble or rambles on
like her last will OH Bill
What a smile ****
Double **** good cheater

And  those hope words
they named her

HOPE SS Smashing table setting
But silent words like
a deaf-mute accidentally wetting
How do we cope to
fly like a kite
The last testament to my
Savor S to be
(Blessed) to be visited
Her **** Chanel French lips
with nothing to say Oh! No
Her French skirt rips

Say Yes! to LUV she rambles
on and on just dream on
Like a recital play
Her rainbow sky
of the skittle

Who needs this
midnight rambler Joker riddle
At midnight he talks and his a
certain physique

He does have lip smacker
Fruity trustee puncher
He's the mighty hot roses
Bless S for her sanity
There she goes
Rosemarie eating Italian
Calamari for dessert
Tiramisu with her
Tiddly dee TUTU

Her cousin mumbles
Eating leftover
Campbells soup
Feeling like a chicken
without my words
I will crumble

There she is Robin Rambles
Hot Scrambled eggs
What about Rod Stewart
see those
rocker legs
Hot mouth rambling
Light her fire with
Apple mystique
candles

Her body angles showing her
good talking samples
She had the best cheeks
and dimples

Loved her Chinese food
Veggie steamed Dumpling
But jump for the love
Her or him to Babble
Westside story Maria
Word fight rumble
So cosmic her coffee moon-shiny
talk of the comic funny bones

Ramble like a song I tunes
The midnight traveler what
hot body fuel

Why is this world so in shambles
I need to find a smooth talker
The nocturnal
Writing so many words in
her journal

Roll of  words SS SCENIC -SOUL

The greater expectation
The poem of philosophy
Birds and the
Rambling Robins
Biology
Only one word saved them
(***) she rambles 69 reasons
Why her voice should be heard
Hour of rest full bloom season
Her rambling head
The French chef brioche
baking
The bed post was shaking

SS>> Sensual-Seductive new
awakening she worked hard

But he rambles forget the
S- Solitude words we
have no peace
And sometimes
Road less traveled
Full of maniacs with
arrogance
Let's not take the fun
out of the resistance

Ancient Grecian times
of swords and more
Sensual Roman words
A love decent she is
rambling
Like her first love
delectable
Like her first taste most
recent words can also
come and go with a stroke
of her paintbrush

Her most important words
can be deleted
Do you really feel blessed
Another (SOS) SS? save me
We're talking about rambling  well maybe I fit in Robin Rambler I am not the gambler only the housewife of New Jersey all beachy the book reader this is more to the story about the world wild birds all words chit chat now get your coffee or tea I will be rambling on that's me
I'm not in figedty and in perplex manner
whenever thine populace aren't in sync
onto bridging in the gaps
  that's not so befitting--
well-intentioned unique individuals
and somehow finding uniformity,
ways to connect, naturally,
--lies into thinking, sweetly,
of the welfare o' others firstly.

whilst entitled to do as
he pleases with himself
so far as it in no wise,
interferes with one's
rights to live at peace
with himself, otherwise!
in haste o' the modern-day- pressures,
is such a waste
in the Truest deepest sense,
we ought not missed eternal ideals
o' t'is' life's difficulties,
whoso, nonconformist,
mine earthly near at hand.
as we all set ourselves to bite a bit
o ' that and apiece
o' life's lion-shares
alongside pie in sky-
biting the hand that feeds us,
[ so to speak...]
for an average joe,
Suchlike give much thought....
Unbeknownst, waiting and longing
As yet benighted throughout the mooning
darknest and cloudest dilemmas
ALAS, lest alone, coincides
with dread o' e'ery dusk
smothering haziness
in love -when-it melts...
AS nightfall subsides
up the ole buttermilk sky- full o' star's twinkling - sighing and tearing apart..
unyielding enough unto my innermost
along with the falseness o' being trick
partly because o' being majestic
practically - realistic
In life's perpetual wisdom I so carry by far. .
Thereby,  we, but learned the storms o' life:
how anyone conducts-as-antagonistics?.
Pessimistics
Agnostics
solely wound up to grievous lull,
and wish to conquer undesirable
tendencies and kiss o ' death!
UPPERMOSTLY, vastly regained,
moreover, abreast-again
Oh my good gosh, it's therapuetic!
HENCEFORTH unto
picking
myself up after I have
been knocked - down-
TO KEEP on when e'erything seems to be against all odds o' the "blame game"...
back into nothing which spells boundlessly..
so can I right away pick up the pieces?

and overcome these unsettling uncertainties
o ' living life from day in and day out.
truth o ' the matter of - fact- of thine ingratitude world!
People in general get entangled
with busy-nest-web
amidst foreboding fretfulness
that unravels fleeting worries
about to and fro-
uproaring ebbs of tides
o ' the seafaring winds - blowing..
just as it is happening nowadays
up to cold-hearted - shoulders
moment full o' melancholies
thus thou,  one don't reach out
nor canst not care out and about
but just be on their own self
DOOMED himself ungrateful spirit!
seen as egotistical maniacs
contrary to my beliefs
and my faithfulness..
LET alone -Thee bestows
unceasingly triumphs
just because it's okay
not to be okay
to say the least
It's un-manly
and play- decoy
YET LIFE,
moves forward under
DIVINE CONVOY!
INASMUCH,  manipulative PLOY
to mind one's beauty
or disguise chaste morals
for the uttering dews to
injure or harm a'other
in turn to get "square even-steven"
SOWITH holds true with beguilement
think for a moment,
I'll meet that person
halfway between the lines
with patience and its silver linings. .
hasty words that slows any anger
whereforth, oblivion takes over scar!
that's luring to a smiling brood...
Imperfections are what we are made of,
Hey, the noblest prettiest
yeah, at bay with silence
I LOOK within....
First off, God on my side. ..
For He heareth at my bedside..

Within thine foundation
o ' thine goodness
Sure that ne'er fails. .
Hopefully, get rid o' the evil!
While I was dancing with the devil!
So does thereby,
wilst ever bubble up
if thou languish
to each its own rights
to dig his own heels..
and the outright layer of its color, creed,
and value from stern course o ' self-discipline,
such and such a rearrangement o' character
whom stands to live a sane contemplative state o' the mind..
launching anew,
better on higher-end
level o' spiritual
aspirations;
glamouring stance
Bestowing light to others
Sharing - LOVE for others
shouldn't be in rash,
indecisiveness,
rather, intellectually
with good reasonings,
good judgements
passed thine genial compliments,
WHEREIN, thou soled- loving-heart dwells
insofar as mere,
happy-ness-charms,
Mine thy lonesomeness
-the-soul-into - satisfying
at ease the love I deserve
hankering and longingly-
Even tho' forever-waiting
in its stillness-
I'd bewriting it down
and speak my mind
in any shape form,
aforesaid
and done
bewailing free verses,  
thus,
soul-lonest-mine swells
A LA MODE
Essentially,
at my Fervent HAVEN!
alexis hill Feb 2014
we the crazies
we the maniacs
we the psychos
we the insane

this is blooming
in our brains
we want to
inform you-

we the people
are all untamed
like them monkeys
and apes

WE are in so many
ways the same
treason upon this
****** terrain,

tell us- define
to us all what
the **** is sane

whats normalcy
or regularity...

we the crazies
we the maniacs
we the psychos
we the insane

want so much
to stop pointing
fingers,

and end the blame
game.

like why judge
them
because you just
don't understand
em'

lookin at em' like
"whats wrong with you?"

we just have to
tell you all
the truth-

this hurt
and pain we
feel on the
daily

yes we may
be deemed
"crazy"

but we also
have dreams
and aspirations
friends and families

and we just need
the help
cause' we
can't all call out,

"please save me"

we the crazies
we the maniacs
we the psychos
we the insane

just need to
be heard
be voiced
be given the same

equal opportunities
and choice
have a shot
at a better life

not only because
we can but
cause' we
WANT
and the will
to live is stronger
than the will to die

so we the crazies
we the maniacs
we the psychos
we the insane

have the strongest
innate power within
to survive this pain
Dr. Martin's dream is a dream for many generations
Past, present and future… Life is about hope, compassion
Love, freedom and justice. It's not asking for too much
Because human lives are precious and priceless. As such
We were all created in the same manners. No one got
More, no one deserved less. There are three levels in the lot
Birth, live and death. We all must go through the same process
Health is paramount and wealth is secondary or temporary
We all will leave earth one day, soon. Hoping we're all blessed
To remain on earth for a long time. A dream is a reality
That will or will not come depending on the dedication
On the focus and on the resiliency of the participants
We all dream for a better future for our families, friends
Even for perceived enemies. Hope is in the air, like flying ants
Wishing to land on a fertile sugar cane field. Dr. King, our Hero
Is a man with many names: Dr. Martin, Dr. King, a great fighter
An activist, a superman, a martyr, etc. He was the older brother
That we dream of being with us in time of trouble, at a low
Point of our lives. Dr. King was an amazing inspiration to a world
Filled with backstabbers, hypocrites, racists, maniacs and criminals
Dr. King's dream is well and alive for many generations. Animals
Will never rule the universe. Human beings cannot be obviously curled
By a bunch of so-called right wing individuals. Common sense will
Always prevail. Love will always win. The racists and the haters ‘will
Shall fail. Positive attitudes will always win. Brother Martin's dream
Will live forever. All men and women were created to enjoy the ice cream
Equally, to be free to fight against unfairness, selfishness, racism, bigotry
And injustice. Dr. King's dream and inspiration will live forever, for eternity.

P.S. I write what I want to write about and say what I want to say.
I am a free man.

Copyright © January 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
Xan Abyss Oct 2014
I was born in Westin Hills
A terrible place to first taste life
I was the spawn of 100 rapes
My mother's only crime
Was being locked inside

I was never blessed with a chance
to be a regular child
and my hatred for life grew
& grew all the while

Underwood, some Dad
Abusive ******* drunk
A twisted, awful *******
-but he taught me quite enough

The Air of Death in my lungs
Tasted so much sweeter than joy
And so I began to **** more and more
Men and women, girls and boys

I thought Love might have saved me
But 'Love' and 'Salvation' are Lies
In time, the need overcame me
The need to feel people die

My family couldn't handle me
In the end, it was all a mistake
They tried me-
-got off free-
They fried me their own way,
Burned me at the Stake
In my Special Place

But before they burned me away
The Dream Demons came to my aid,
Offering Life Eternal
for a mutually-beneficial exchange.
That day, they gained a new Agent,
and I
Vowed my Revenge.

*"One, two, Freddy's coming for you..."
An ode to Freddy Krueger.
Mane Omsy Dec 2016
Thou must deny thy power
To enlighten hearts, they're pure
What thou should behold
Is thy help to stay that bold

Hath thou ever believed in chastity?
Then it hath been too late to be
When thou dissed grieves in levity
It is better not to forget history

Legions, armors, protections, sieges
War bugles, tear drops, bloodshed
Orphans, widows, maniacs, cages
Rapists, religions, trials, are been led

Until no white flags are raised
Immobile fingers and legs scatter
In the dirt by swords ablazed
Wish doves with mint leaves matter
Every war begins with silly rumors or greed of the ruler. We the people can spread peace if we stand together.
Wack Tastic Nov 2012
The race to create,
Toe to heel,
Blamed on the strangest of scapegoats.

The race to create,
Genetic disposition,
A tutorial of the soul.

The different three legged race,
Wanting to be a dog and howl,
Like so many maniacs have done before.

The race to create,
Becomes the race to destroy,
To conform while being interestingly malleable,

The race to create,
Ultimately is the chance to forget,
To sleep consciously through an unutterable awakening.

That race to create,
Binds us all,
Never felt so intrinsically absurd and profound,

So human it makes me want to puke honey
She looked at her pier-glass
Nail polishes drying
With half open lids
Her toes were colored once may be
You can get it from the toes
Green
Or pink
I don't know
Maybe red
She cried in her look
What happened to her womanly freshness?!
That says I'm beautiful
I know a woman
Who wears mustache
Do not make fun of her
Where is her womanly freshness?!
That says she is beautiful
That cut her hair
Blue scarves turned black
She cried in her look
Her tears reaching her lips
Starring at the corner
Pink colors were coming
Turning to deer
Green colors were going
Laughing
It had dolphins
It had blue color...
My bin
still has a clockwork doll
Handless
With green eyes
In her white gossamer dress still
singing
Dancing
Still happy
She can be happy
She can fall in love
With other clockwork dolls that sing
That were kids...
What if
I fall in love in the streets
With stared eyes
I will say hello to the passengers
When the trees
Make love too
What if I love you on the same
street with no address
It is said the laughter of maniacs is beautiful
It has simplicity
I have worn my childhood clothes
I'm mad...
She grew up
She dosen't know the walls
She has no mother
And waits to possess a pass anger
Do not make fun of her
Her womanly freshness...
It is said
I don't write poems

میز توالت اش را نگاه می کرد
لاک هایی با دری نیمه باز
که خشک می شدند
شاید می شد از ناخن پایش فهمید
زمانی رنگ داشتند
سبز
...یا صورتی
نمی دانم
...قرمز
در نگاهش گریست
طراوت زنانه اش کو!؟
که می گویند من زیبایم
زنی را می شناسم
سیبیل می گذارد
مسخره اش نکنید
طراوت زنانه اش کو!؟
که می گویند زیباست
که موهایش را بریدند
روسری هایی آبی
مشکی می شوند
در نگاهش گریست
اشک هایش تا گوشه ی لبش می رسیدند
به کنج دیوار که زل می زد
صورتی ها می آمدند
آهو می شدند
سبز ها می رفتند
می خندیدند
دلفین داشت
...آبی داشت
صندوقچه ی من
عروسک کوکی ای را دارد
بی دست
با یک چشم سبز
در لباس سفید توردارش
هنوز می خواند
می رقصد
شاد است
می تواند شاد باشد
عاشق شود
عاشق عروسک های کوکی دیگری
...که آواز خواندند
...بچه بودند
چه می شود که اگر
در کوچه ها عاشق شوم
چشمانم خیره باشد
سلام رهگذری را پاسخ خواهم گفت
وقتی درختان هم
هم آغوشی دارند
چه می شود که اگر
در همان کوچه ای که چشم ها
خوابیده اند
نامم را می پرسی
عاشق تو باشم
نشانی ندارد
که می گویند
خنده های دیوانگان زیباست
سادگی دارد
من
لباس کودکی هایم را
به تن کرده ام
دیوانه ام
بزرگ شد
دیوارها را نمی شناسد
مادر ندارد
و منتظر می ماند
تا رهگذری را مال خود کند
مسخره اش نکنید
...طراوت زنانه اش
که می گویند من شعر نمی گویم
re-post
Carmelo Antone Jun 2012
Sticking to what I know best,
I’m just a product of my generation,
****** up and full of ideals,
Thoughts that my parents think they can quell,

But they just help me to rise to my knees, speak, and breathe,
Sorry mom and dad but it is soon to be my world,
And I have time to recreate,

Already biting the bullet since I was an infant,
The hardest part seems to be, keeping me contained,
Since I was raised in such a connected age,

You know I believe gays can get married as long as I perceive,
We already did our adolescent time; let’s search for something divine,

Like tolerance of another,
Not simply because of their skin color,
But because they are a brother,

I think it’s alright not to look to the skies,
For answers Earth can derive,
Like how I evolved from an ape after others went extinct,

Realizing what is best,
Our children are the remedy to society’s unrest,
When you let them develop a tolerant cortex,

We already bit the bullet as we grew,
We already know what must become the norm,

To breed tolerance is to breed the cure,
How can we not embrace those that know better?
How can we not receive those that can remedy this place we call home?

May the racism rise from your veins,
May you realize that two guys loving one and another,
Is as lovely as the way I feel towards my girlfriend,

May you see that children with two mommies or daddies,
Are maybe as happy as I was with the heterosexuals that raised me,

Sticking to what I know best,
I think its right to tolerate,
The processes of humanity,

How precious is it when you can breed?
A tolerant being,
How wonderful when we better a place founded by thieves, slaveholders and maniacs with cufflinks.
can also be found on: http://mantone.net/
Julia Mae Dec 2016
today i discovered that the rates for suicide are higher than those for homicides. people want to **** themselves more than they desire to **** another. there are homicidal maniacs running amok - hellbent on ending another human life. while the number of individuals who are hellbent on ending the only life they possess, excels.
death is everywhere, and unending. and inevitable. yet preventable.
i paused and felt heavy inside of my heart, the millions of lives that were taken on their own free will.
Prose.
Ottar Feb 2014
no controlled response
part or whole nonchalance
body's toll at the whim of this ponce
maniacs a troll named Hans

need to wake from this dream,
still sleeping while the scream
ripped from my lips, a jet stream
of profane pain in the extreme

duck pond near by, fetid pool of duck **** floating
as eyes stare inches away, drool drips from Hans gloating
as I sit with legs wrapped around a pole, body weight totally
resting on one ankle hands behind my back, pain brutally

stay upright
fall back
the punishment will not be light

...oh yeah ...pain
my only friend
this is the end
give me a pen
I'll sign the ****
blank paper and
Hans will be sure to fill it in with anything he wants
he has a hankering for my soul...
he will start
with my heart
go for the nerves
take all my verve
get my mind
in a bind
then leave me
all alone............................................................­...... miles from here
who will then
teach me
to walk
on two feet
again.
And they called it a 3 day training exercise, relived it in a dream...36 years ago, seemed 36 hours long, the dream
Giovanna Jun 2013
I got out of bed and clicked open the door, another day with these maniacs. I looked at the floor, "****!" There were squares everywhere. I have this issue with squares. If i touch one that already has something on it, i have to start over again. I stare at the ground, hip hopping around. My long blonde hair in a braid to the side, Bangs in my eyes. i put my hand on the wall so i can use it as a guide. On my bare feet, the ground felt smooth, and soft. But icy, and cold. I liked it. My head bumped into something. i looked up shyly to see a man holding a bundle of human pinkies. "Would you like a carrot?" the purple man asked me. i was quite hungry. "yes please sir." I was questioning why he was holding a bundle of human fingers but then, "Here you go cutie." i looked up again, he handed me three pinkies, i accepted them and he stared at me with a large creepy smile. i just then realised how odd he looked, and he wasn't wearing any form of proof he stayed in this ward. He wore a tattered green suit and black skinny jeans. he bid me farewell. i was about to put my hand on the wall when i looked down, but found that there were no squares. It took me a moment, but i remembered that this hallway indeed had no squares.
David Ayres Aug 2013
I plead insanity. Insane thoughts from a corrupted society are building blocks to thousands of towers of anxiety. Their looming, toxic shadows spewing a deathly breath of pollution across the blue sky of air that we breathe. The pesticide to our seed.

All for the money we bleed, over piles of broken hearts, and shattered hopes and oily seas.

This poem may seem like just some huge hyperbole, to some half-wit ****, that thinks more money is the answer to our pleas. I hear wings of freedom span the horizon, and emblazoned with the love and dreams of freed humanity.

Will we ever hear the Phoenix's call?

Will our swelling pain ever be dulled?

Tears of sorrow rain down to the grasping hands of our flawed system.

Ego-centric maniacs crushing our noble opposition.

With open minds, souls, and hearts, love is our ammunition.

These words may seem worthless to the blind.

Flying past the gaze from your eyes.

Weary sighs from the fright. This light shines bright and I'll add a final free thought to inspire, the admiration to inquire a surge of motivation to bring ourselves even higher.

This poem unfortunately, now retires.
Nathan Oct 2016
We live in a world of egocentric maniacs
Whose only desire is to shout the loudest
Point the large foam finger at themselves
LOOK AT ME, LOOK WHAT I HAVE

I see it between friends, sharing exploits
How ***** their girlfriends are...
How much money they have...
What car they drive...

*I wonder what it's like having those things
Byron May 2013
There once was a man who said you could beat the world with your words. That you could conquer an army with the knowledge of a greater narrative and move the legions of many with the action of one verb. I want to believe who ever can recreate the frameworks our race. The foundational narrative of our moral ethic, the guidelines mankind has been leaning on for millenniums. I want to know a alternative story, with made up words and no respect for a-priori intuition or tradition but a legend of unabiding experience that is unlike any tangent or discourse known. I want to reinvent another codex.  

I saw god as the architect I consoled in the grand tree house, with the grand green house sitting in a curious English archway. The telescope room was laid with bricks and from it I could see all that made me content. I felt the time changing before my eyes. Whether I was in compromise or not was entirely up to the seasons of Zeus.

I am now never afraid of myself, I almost died and I remember it all. I have known fear and still revere the quenching of it's animosity. I am only a swerving flake of inner rind. I am all that is exhausted of my honest dive for humanity. I am me finally, a shell no more! Man is the helplessness of lost spatiality in his own timid surrealism. I have never been satisfied with the explanations no matter how exhaustive! Revisited by the techni-color outlook of the turning millennium craze. The alleviation of all hopes when they turned out a dead end inthemselves, a lost avenue of my childhood.

I guess we all wanted that age-old rampant abuse of youth in ways that were neither aesthetically pleasing or unifying towards our own, best. I was tired of the beautiful sprites I grew up with. I was tired of locking myself in closets at nights and rubbing my face into the it's knotted carpet floor. I'm tired of the songs that advocated joyful frolicking into the drapped daylight. The oddities grow old and the used up phrase are clique now. I lost my mind seeing the years of my language frightened by the sound of my own breath. Grow into yourself. I am done with you anyways. I am done seeing them engulf a titanic drift of colorful intentions; flirting around the grand bonfire of the uncreated experience. I am lost with them. I question more than just our own value and I resign my thoughts on themselves for their own wealth and safety. When you want it said so bad but the forces of those unforeseen, creative hives oscillate and never stop it's steps into the night-legend. Then the world ends and was never in out of tension. I electrify my time and run into the a.m. frantic like a monkey, waving around and jesting my arms. I'm tired of the old music, in with the artifacts who architect the reverberation of my heart.

Your myth has lived into the century and I can see your ideas into the lives of all maniacs and the honest young, the deranged youth. We are amidst a heavy tension, i cry again. I want my mother's words three times a day and more on my weak hours. I am content in the alien maze of my music and want only the childhood campers to love me like a king. They gathered around at night, around the campfire. They initiated the song and dance with gaiety rhythm; that was the nights stars collided into bedtime. The same night I was torn by the dreams of an old horrid man who gave me no name and no rest from tear and horror. What evil is an anonymous the Will that censors awareness and knowledge. If it kills

So what then of the tribal pack psyche we all inherit. In days where beauty was up to chance. Our proximity to a woman was determined by breeding patterns and the realm of funds available for travel and food. What now in these days of the internet? When the whole world is at the tops of our finger tips and even more far away is the understanding we gain of our inability to have the cream of the world. We are in a great exaggeration of ourselves, of our will, and of our determined out-come. We have little but the pessimisme of our predecessors to guide our philosophies application. The translation of dream-world is perfectly out of reach for us and always for our posterity. From here on out we are a new age. A new age whose gates are christened by the ungenuine thugs and malevolent brand names of our civilization. We are faking it till the end. I am scared and drilled by horror and filled more with black premonitions. I wish I had eyes to see myself with a more generous charity but I don't and neither do you. What you see is an age of outward anticipation for the soring ribbons of undone realities.

The artist is the one who has seen the broad fleeting wisp of an out-of-world innuendo. It is the ethereal encounter with a cognitive defect that mimic as a supernatural sensation, this is seen by the artist as true humanity and rightfully so as it brings him to tears.

I always forget that we are always on the cusp. That we are simply a few bruised years away from reveling in the stained, sealed golden sunlight of the age that has came. What we do now is entirely crucial to our ability to be in unending sorrow and remorse. We see our people in a clearer way, for what they where struggling with, for what their reverie finally came to look like, ugly or gleefully self created, their vision of the world will always be our continual source of inspiration.
Mane Omsy Oct 2017
You can’t stop smoking
I can
You can’t ignore ****
I can
You can’t avoid drinking
I can
You can’t stop shouting
I can
You can’t shut up complaining
I can
You won’t drop that gun
I will
You can’t help silence
I can
You survive with violence
I can’t
Toleration with independence
Seizing opportunities for peace
Let the wire choke your lungs out
Hell in front, war of apes
Animals in the streets, Grodds
Telepathic maniacs attacking blocks
Rappers in the venues spitting fires
On every head spreading contagion
Zombies alike, transformers of Lannesters
Larry Potter Jul 2013
I was hungry enough to eat the **** end of a skunk.  I felt like gobbling the whole mound of concrete that is half an hour closer from becoming a part of my room.  Make that a quarter. I guess my tummy has had enough grumbling, like a seething network of volcanoes ready to devour Hawaii.  I am sure as exhausted as a zombie after a “battle of life and death” handling a plethora of carpentry tools which I have managed to rummage from our dismal basement.  I’m quite serious with the phrase “battle of life and death”.  I get to have this Obsessive Compulsive Syndrome which gulps a huge amount of my rhythm compelling me to put things in place especially in my chamber.  At times, a weltered pen could instigate an emotional havoc.  Or perhaps an inappropriate collaboration of curtain hues and mattresses would be ample to spin the color wheel concept out of my brain.  But now, my walls have done it.  Well, it was just a microscopic sight of a divine crevice, but how in the world could that escape my eyes?  Without a second thought, I approved an avid proposal from my subconscious – a full concrete room renovation.  And that’s how it brings me here, smothering the last square inch of the genius blueprint with this porridge of lime and clay, the hell with chemistry!  I have found out that my room has achieved the piquancy of a sizzling summer noon, thanks to the mist of dust and the precipitating drops of sweat that come tingling down my overheating body.  Ah! At least my system tells me that I’m not a promising patient of ****** dysfunction.  When the last patch has been perfectly planed in place, I drew my last ounce of pure strength and plunged into my most formidable bed, congratulating myself for a job well done. Alas! A thirty-minute nap and I’m ready for a superb coffee and doughnut delight.

I woke up from a cat’s screech. I peeped through the window. The nap breaker was a Cheshire, one with a dimmer fur, the stripes of gray suppressing the darker color.  Its tail enjoyed dancing around its rear, connoting either fear or excitement. It sure has a distinctive mischievous grin.  The feline was on the verge of climbing up the roof by jumping from a gutter about five feet away.  It seemed to have slipped but has managed to bring its **** next to the roof tiles. It stared at me with intent, giving me the macabre look from its glaring eyes.  It’s as if I’m being watched, stalked and examined in a way I couldn’t see, bringing me that feeling of guilt, of remorse.  Urgh! That’s why I hate cats.  Though I’m planning to keep one, I’ll reconsider it.  But what pains me more is to discover that my alarm was not able to do the job and so I slept three hours more than planned.  I looked down and saw the city lights flashing one by one, the beams glowing like a barrier of radiance diffusing into the gloom of the night. I guess this was the price I have to pay. I traded my snack with a peaceful hibernation, turning the coffee into a glass of iced tea and the doughnut into a great dinner with me, myself and I.

I have learned to cook since I was ten.  My mother believed that culinary prowess could be inherited from generation to generation.  And so, she put her trust on me and I haven’t failed her ever since.  This gourmet brilliance proves to be very useful at times of solitude when you got bored of ordering other’s recipes and decided to make your own buffet.  I remembered her telling me that all food would taste good if there is the chef’s heart flavored in it.  Cooking is an art, combining the loops and the whoops of seasonings and spices to the medley of meat and herbs.  Tonight, I decided that my dinner would equal breakfast, satisfying the grudge that I got from skipping my  diabetic snack attack.  A beef stew and a side of paella made my stomach die in joy, appeased at last that my gears are energized for my routinely nocturnal bookworming activity.

I normally hide under my sheets at nine but tonight, I shall break the rules. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll fix the rules next time. Just this time to spare for I have gained interest on this book entitled “100 Years of Solitude”, talking about how one could live happily even alone, just by creating the world you have ever dreamed of. Gabriel García Márquez is dumping the “no man is an island” concept which anyway sounds inspiring to me.  Finally, I jumped into bed thanking Him for letting me outrun another day living alone in a comfortable apartment, free from all sorts of vexation.  I wished for a better life at school, which gives me an imagery of dull monochromatic memories.  I am not that famous but I can be someday.

A heavy beam of sunlight pierced through my window, refracting on the ***** white floor and creeping up to the mahogany table just right at the corner.  It intercepted with the glass pyramid and created a beautiful prism that glittered all around my room.  It was a really majestic scenery, one that I luckily happen to see every morning, a good optic background, I guess. Two hours before class time – that’s where my pattern starts.  Take a bath, eat, brush teeth, groom, check the doors and power, then I’m off to go. Everybody follows a certain kind of pattern, that’s for sure. Whether you wear different types of clothes everyday or use competing brands of toothpaste, clothes are clothes and toothpastes are toothpastes.  As humanity finds more and more complexities in life, they become wired to doing the things and involving the events which they think would give happiness to them and simplify their equation of life.

As a proof, there’s Mrs. Lanny Honeycut from the house next door. She usually sprinkles her daisies every ten in the morning, wearing that friendly neighborhood smile. On their patio, you could never miss a day seeing her husband, Mr. Blake Honeycut reading the daily papers with a round of tea, jam and bread spread on his table.  On the busy intersection stands traffic enforcer, Red Mayer, waving his arms to and fro while wearing that aura of valor, never seem to get tired of doing the same thing over and over again. Thousands go out for work and go back to sleep everyday and that's the status quo we're talking about. Even inside the academic arena, you can still hold on to that thought; I mean the size of the population doing the same pattern at the same time – my schoolmates, enemies and… friends? Well, I’m not quite sure with the last one, but it’s this: they all make a fun of me.  They say I’m a dork, a nerd, a geek, a freak, and etc.  I wonder if they mean everything that they say or say everything that they mean.  Either way you put it, I’m not buying it. I am not what they say I am.  I just like being alone and that’s where I do best.

And as always, the school is crowded with busy people rushing through the corridors. Others are beating the deadlines while some are happy they could breathe for another break. But no matter how busy everybody could be, there is always a time spent for “information dissemination” or chitchats. But only this time, the topic discussed is the same.  I could hear it on the entire campus, everywhere in the perimeter. Another student in the university is missing leaving no trace of existence.  It’s been going on like this for over two months now and the university council has taken their best courses of action to unknot this mystery while campaigns have been running on TV’s and vigils were spent. Not that I don’t care but it seems that this is also happening to other places, I mean, this is not the only school where maniacs could exist and become professional serial rapists in the making. By the way, this is already the 12th case on the record. Weren’t people overreacting to the issue? Isn’t the case overrated? Did they reject the possibility that these people ran away because they got pregnant, messed up or something like that? Soon, the university area was covered with security troops roaming around like a swarm of bees, buzzing and sometimes boozing all the time.

I guess that’s what happens when you hang out too much with friends who are just jesters plotting your own jeopardy. I don’t think it would be good at all to be bothered with things like that because sometimes, it’s also useful not to have any use at all.  Like the king being admired by his kingdom amidst his sloth and compromises.  But that doesn’t mean I’m not friendly anymore. Actually, if it happens that I got company, I would magnanimously offer a treat at my place.  But the thing is, who would likely do that? I’d cross my fingers on it.

Wishes do come true even for a loner like me.  I think I have a fan. No, that would be too sublime. She’s hot and she’s hotter when you’ll know she’s so cool. Quite a paradox, but that’s just reality.  We came to know each other on our lab class. Her name’s Athena, fitting for her twisted logic and good humor. It makes me burn a lot of calories when I talk to her more than a 5-mile marathon could squirt. We were lab partners and we get along well. I just couldn’t figure out where she got the courage to befriend me. I do regard myself as unwelcoming species, but I might work on it when someone tries to knock the door. We juxtapose ideas. Yes, that’s what makes our conversations spin like a merry-go-round. But we enjoy it nevertheless, evident by the crescent smile we both generate out of the craziest topics in store. Once, she interrogated my way of settling wars with enemies. Well, I told her it was my habit of treating them to my house and giving them souvenirs to show how sorry I could be. She snickered and her eyes glowed like the Andromeda and her face shun the whole universe. Oh, I can do this all day long, if only I got hold of time and space.

Today, she asked me if it would be okay if she’ll stay at my place till nine when her dad could be home and she would be able to call her and ask to pick her up. She reasoned out that otherwise, the night would be scary because she’ll be alone in their house, no company, no security. I was puzzled how the thought of being alone could scare her. It is like freedom from any constraints, no ties, and no limits. But I couldn’t blame her. She’s too fragile, too vulnerable to handle it with herself.  With the speed of the light, I accepted the favor.  Well, that goes even without saying.

It was past six thirty when we arrived at my immaculate apartment. It’s great to be an“ OC” sometimes, I said to myself.  I thought of a winner dinner, one that would make her visit worth reminiscing. I preferred Italian.  I cooked her lasagna and drenched the dinner with sherry. We talked a lot until we run out of resorts. I guess she planned it, or I planned it, synergy perhaps.

The clock ticked nine and there’s no sight of her father’s getaway car. But there’s no sign of worry in her countenance either. I surmise it didn’t reach her inkling yet to phone her dad.  She was busy dissecting my kitchen and living room with her very playful eyes. That doesn’t trouble me though. That’s just as instinctive as any other first time guest could get. She grappled her attention on my antique collection of prehistoric movies, like the Scarlet Letter, The count of Monte Cristo and the likes. She happened to love them too. Well, that makes her more beautiful to me, other than the satin white dress she wears. Suddenly, she got the impulse of going to my room. She said there’s nothing more exciting to see than a gentleman’s bedroom. I startled from the request, but before I could say anything, she leaped straight to my chamber with the gestures of an imp. It’s weird to be in this kind of circumstance because I don’t often invite a lot of visitants to my room. I ain’t no hotel crew, bowing down and waving his hand to the chamber’s destination and leading the VIPs to their cabins. Yet this time, it’s the other way around: it’s my cabin.

But now it’s too late to stop her. She molested the **** and I giggled for some reason. Finally, the door opened a crack and a bend of light escaped from inside. She stepped in, and I followed. She was filled with awe not because my room is all made of gold nor did it resemble a royalty’s den. It was the exaggerated neatness and order that greeted her. In some unknown vortex of my deepest imagining, it made me feel like I’ve been through this instance before. The flashback is not so vivid as it appears, but something tells me this isn’t the first time. Deja vu could be working on it, I infer,although I don’t really believe in those forms of conceptualizations. Perhaps it’s the sherry’s spell infiltrating my mental prognosis. But something, I guess, isn’t really right.

I caught her opening a red box that was hidden behind my cabinet. I tried to steal it away from her but she fought back and it came tossing down the floor. Numerous items spilled from the case. A purple head band with the glittering initials ANNE, a ruby embedded bracelet, and a Nokia handy phone exposed the secrecy. This isn’t going to go along well and fine, I guess. A strong surge of desire came from my core. It tried to envelop my entirety and control me like a lifeless puppet. I felt the tip of the pyramid glass in my hand and I succumbed to lose my consciousness.

Morning came and it felt better than ever. It was a ***** Saturday. There she lies beautifully on the deck, like an immortal bud of red rose trapped in golden amber. The cellophane fits her well, and there’s no doubt she’ll be complaining anymore. I already prepared a cozy place for her deep sleep: A 5x2 feet wall engravement which I was busy molding last night. It wasn’t easy making her go to bed but still it ended up smooth and sound. I helped her get up and fitted her in place.I turned on the radio as I reached for my dear carpentry tools. The news was still nailed on it. But this time, the missing case struck for the 13th turn. Ahh, the hell with society! They never really get a way to deal with it.

I was busy patching the last mound of concrete that is half an hour closer from becoming a part of my room. Make that a quarter. I guess there’s no end to this divine crevice issue. It must be following a pattern too. But I can handle it, thanks to this vicarious personality. I wonder if I could get the chance to invite another visitor in my place. But if I do, I would certainly offer the best treatment they could ever have.
Sam Temple Dec 2014
without sleep and nourishment
a dark clarity begins to form
a recognition that I alone
see
or at the very least
within my social and cultural setting –
mindless ninnies scramble to save pennies
while increasing both blood pressure
and heart attack chances
over the almighty need to consume
quiet laughter fills my ears
……it comes from inside –
angry glares replace blank stares
cares flare and claws tear more than an equal share
hare hair flies and bare heads screaming
gleam in the florescent glow of 75% off Chinese trash –
shoving children and trampling the elderly
masses of maniacs march
in the coldest of temperatures
in the darkest of nights
during a season branded with thankfulness
there can be only one High-Shopper (clever ‘highlander’ joke) –
old fashion box televisions give way
to LCD hi-def theatre sound home entertainment systems
reasonable priced down to just a shade under six thousand dollars
a paltry 2 months’ pay
to  enjoy the privilege and honor
of having all of your thoughts fed to you
as if you were being spoon fed applesauce
in a low income nursing home –
christhamF Oct 2009
Something is happening to the human race,
Some epidemic is to blame.
Something no-one wants to face
Unless they’re making money or fame.
Although reams have been written
No words will help the smitten

Grown out of stress or strife
Social Disease, better known as madness,
Can strike anyone, anytime in their life.
Twisting their “normality” into maniacal sadness.
Or obsessions for ***, Drugs, Power or War
They’re obsessed from outside deep to the core.

Like a malignant cancer madness covers
Not only those held by an institutional chain,
But people who are susceptible, and others
Who, not believing, think they’re perfectly sane.
Therefore spawning maniacs out of all conception.

We should focus that blind eye
And remove that cancer by cutting it out.
Releasing the obsessed and exposing the lie.
We owe ourselves that much beyond all doubt.
Because we know sufferers
We also know sufferers victims.
Francie Lynch Apr 2016
I live in Chemical Valley.
It sounds horrible:
Better you than me.
Perhaps.
I grew up here,
Where the southern sky burns
Bloodstone red,
Mixing colours with the evening suns.
The St. Clair carries Huron's ghostly horns
Past the flaring refineries,
To Detroit's waters.
We have stop signs
And other amenities
Small cities are proud to maintain.
I heard the housing market
Is sustained on the divorce rate,
And not the petro-chemical industry;
We're closing another high school next year;
And there was a gruesome woodlot-****/******
Last week on the Reserve.
Maniacs living out some sick web-site.
But the soccer pitches are full,
And our Mayor is the longest serving one in Canada.
Just around the corner
(everything is just around the corner),
Our flag flies over the bones of our second Prime Minister,
(he's from Edinburgh, Scotland);
I've walked a good stretch of the fifty miles
Of beach we have running north,
Past cottages, parks, camps, etc.
We've way too many ***-holes;
And for many years,
We were featured on the ten dollar bill.

But the new houses!
Who is buying them as we move eastward,
Away from the lake and river?
Newly minted single moms;
Rejected men.
We lived in one house,
Once,
One house.
We now occupy five.
Two of which
Are too far away
From Chemical Valley.
Sarnia, Ontario, Canada is referred to as Chemical Valley.
You have patients in Hospitals
We face so many obstacles
I'm only thinking logical
Mary Jane is economical
her enemies are comical,
Maniacal,
Manipulating,
Maniacs
and
There Wars not aimed to end
and it's aim to get us from within
everybody in the system
watch us crumble to ruin.

Inhale Love
Exhale and release, Hate.
They don't understand you
Like We do MJ.

— The End —