Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
MY FROG MASTERS

How thoughtful were the rainfalls
To water our gardens and flowers
The flowers spread wide garments
To celebrate their terminal beauty

The joyful frogs occupied my pond
To orchestrate their vocal prowess
They taught me to take blind leaps
Like lightning bouncing in the skies

Squatted, stretched, beeped down
I was a millstone on the pond floor
My slippery pond mates wondered
How soft I was in the maritime arts

Mortally rescued in a muddy mood
The clouds sent in rescuing showers
To confirm my firm loss to the frogs
Like a grain of salt cast into the seas


673. MONEY BAGS IN THEIR BODY BAGS

The money bags shopping for their body bags
Waggled through the makeshift supermarkets

Their ancestral homes they plotted modernity
Like the general gathering fine forces together

To the villages they made to return with pride
Like pregnant elephants caught up in the mud

Their desolate villages are deep and sickening
Glowing flamingly in the crucibles of local gins

The dusty and gravy pathways are like furnace
Burning the leather off from their frozen souls

Traditional birth attendants cut off their cords
And zipped the money bags in their body bags

674. A GLORIOUS DAY

The new day spoke powerfully
Like a war making superpower
And his voice roared forcefully
Like the skies forced to shower

The sunrays came dynamically
Like love responding to silence
Beauty crawled in submissively
Like the mixed arts and science

One eagle soared energetically
Like lions feuding in the colony
Far clouds relocated peacefully
Like souls betrayed to harmony

The breeze sighed thoughtfully
Like horses galloping on the lea
Inspiration unfolded thankfully
Crowns monuments with a pea

675.  THE FOG BANK

The sun had gone to pay our bill in the fog bank
The world foggily crawled into the strong rooms
Darkness demonstrated her strong mindfulness
Provided for the strong gale with lurking shrieks

The black paint billers snowballed to our dreams
With the bill of exchange for wild sunny excesses
Ghostly bats emerged with the bill of indictment
In demonstration of our acrophobic dispositions

We packaged the sunrays for our folk memories
To reassure the day of our eternal followerships
We cherish our follow-throughs in our dark beat
To usher the sunlight out of the hollow fog bank

676. THE PROTRACTED INTERNECINE FEUD

These things had happened before we were born
Like sulphur deep into our fresh hearts they burn
Now we stumble on the bumpy terrains in horror
Like one frightened by ghosts in a standing mirror

The internecine feud has razed our men of valour
With their carcasses dumped in their cold parlour
Our community cattle graze in the barren pasture
Like the unrepentant sinners awaiting the rapture

For our plight the once glorious sky is grown pale
Like the ***** fetching territorial waters with pail
The storms have rolled off the catalogues for rain
All our efforts to mop up the mess end up in vain



677. THE AREA LEADERS

They cracked coconuts on the heads for the crown
And embraced our days with their castaway pollen
Sadness and sorrow have dyed our garment brown
With the strongest song sung when night has fallen

These are the blinding dusts from our barn’s grains
They breed cunning serpents in the soft pasturages
They are failed cargoes on our broad societal trains
They dedicate our common committee to outrages

Now our days seek deliverance from their tentacles
Like the colourful fields immersed in gloomy beauty
They play our eyeballs with the stenciled spectacles
With our consciences to sight and found us off duty

To rescue us the colossal clouds were born gadarene
Our communal life was willed to pageants of gaieties
Then moonlight stories held us for a larger gathering
Now all the objects we sight dress up like cold deities

678. THE LAST DESCENDANTS

The rapacious thunderstorms ***** the skies for their tears
The hot embers were born to glow mourning the late forest
The moon crawled out of the blue like a great grandmother
Cuddling her descendants wrapped up in her ancient shawls

The wild waves were weird weavers weaving withering wails
The captioned wigs gyrated on stunning shoes upon auctions
The little creatures crouched in primeval baskets of the night
To gnaw at the generational tubers in the creative farmlands

The dazzling specimens of dentitions relaxed in water basins
Like bright red artistic architectures on potent ocean boards
Golden hearts glow in the threatening prisms of the furnace
As beautiful sunset defines her beauties in her nightly corset

It had been a sweet pill for the past descendants to swallow
Depending on the colonial masters for loaves, lore and lures
Our creativity had been packaged in their mortal depravities
Like the tranquil days resting sorrowfully upon the dark oars

The centenarian thunders downgraded our minute whispers
We had been kept upon our toes by the eternally sworn foes
At last our worthy artworks have worn their wormy catwalks
The refreshed dawns greet our easting days in their greenery



679. VICTIMS IN THE VALLEY

The victims in the dark rally
Caged, dried and browning
Therein their meanings tally
With waves born drowning

In the depth of a cold valley
Horrible nobles are cultures
Like pilgrims in the dark alley
Willed to ravenous vultures

The victims all robed in tears
With hearts like potter’s clay
For pains they have no fears
Only mimed games they play

For victory awaits the victims
Alien to a blind mimed game
Glorious are eternal rhythms
For death Christ died to tame

680. THE GIANT SCARS

These are our giant threatening scars
Engraved on our demonstrative heads
Our sympathies crawled on superstars
Weeping for us on their moonlit beds

They threatened us with nasal sounds
Like thunderclouds seasoned to burst
For us their galleries are out of bounds
Behind the iron bars plagued with rust

Our patience passed their wildest tests
Like the lions roaring in the thick jungle
On the heart of the Lord our faith rests
Like numbers posted on the right angle

681.  A LADY

In a lady’s handbag
Is her hidden hunchback
Stuffed with her heart ache
For the pains relieving groom

In a lady’s tender smile
Is hidden miles of similitude
Marked with the zebra crossings
For the ever winning marathoner

In a tender lady’s heart
Is hidden her cowboy’s hat
Soaring within the white clouds
To soothe the earth with the latter rains

682. BRING BACK OUR GIRLS

Bring back our homesick girls
Their vacant cradles are bleeding
Bring back our innocent girls
On the chariots of fire descending

Bring back our suckling girls
Their feeding bottles are weeping
Bring back our infant girls
Their mothers’ ******* are heavy

Bring back our harmless girls
The united universe is thundering
Bring back our dewy girls
In the sharp sun rising in the skies

Bring back our beautiful girls
Like light plucked from darkness
Bring back our glorious girls
Aboard the shore-bound waves

Bring back our worthy girls
On their fresh faces our lights seek to glow
Bring back our living girls
Our fountains of joy are bubbling to burst

For our returned girls the skies shall bear
Roaring rivers, singing seas, chiming clouds
With gongs and songs, pianos and praises
Dulcet dulcimers and documentable dances
With healthy hymns and eloquent embraces
All nations shall into a common cathedral flow

683. ****** GENEOLOGIES

They electrify their demonic high tables with old fears
Only their ****** genealogies are bookmarked to reign
The sight of their portables whetted our eyes to tears
We are reinforced by the clouds born to the later rain

Our skins have renovated the sickening cattle wagons
With our dreams flying upon huge smokes in the skies
Beneath their tables we abridge their creaking jargons
Upon their floors with our generational landmark tiles

The dew drops dropped like old crops upon our brows
To soften the veils falling to the flaming edged swords
The flaming hearted sword of the penetrating sunrays
Born to pluck us alive from our hotly bandaged bruises

684. LET US SPEAK UP

The light is climbing downstairs
And danger is sprouting abroad
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light is melted on the glades
And terror grazing our eyelashes
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light is late and lately buried
The mourners are on danger list
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light has divorced the grave
Her grave clothes are dew dyed
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

Silence is a forgotten tombstone
Lost in the din of cold morticians
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

685.  THE SUN

The sun smiles on all prescriptively
Like the waves spreading on shores
The green grass glows descriptively
Like the full moon upon dark sores

The sun is a tailor fixing the buttons
Preparing the sky for incoming stars
Like the weaverbird weaving cottons
To conceal the day’s damnable scars

The sun is a marker on diurnal pages
Tall grace he bestows on the flowers
The sun retains his graces for all ages
Bees and butterflies are his followers

Our common laughter is endangered
When sun bows down in big setbacks
All mortals have the starlets fingered
When the night comes on drawbacks

686. UNTIL HERE

(For Lou Lenart and his team)

Their floods came seeking Jewish bloods
Like streams they roared for our dreams
They emerged as columns of soldier ants
Like whirlwinds they zoomed towards us

Until here we were crumbs for the reptiles
Until here we were like airborne cloudlets
But here the sudden change unveiled to us
From here the elusive victory embraced us

With skeletal jets we fought like bold lions
Soared like eagles and spoke like thunders
We conquered columns of invading armies
The bleeding armies turned back and blank

From here we turned from victims to victors
From here enemies’ defeat our greatest feat
Upon this memorable bridge it all happened
Victories leapt upon our pool like joyful frogs

687.  JOY UNLIMITED

The fledging sun offers its rays
And the rays offer golden trays
For our joy a platform to spray
Rowdy paratroops like thunder
To scoop roses from pure oasis

Our joy is ripe upon celebrations
Our celebrations with decorations
Decorations with documentations
Documentations for all generations
Generations in our joyful habitations

688. ANOTER RAINING DAY

The dark clouds are wandering river basins
Spiral bounded by breakable outer casings
The rivers and the seas display empty cups
For the swift blessings descending the tops

The rains come as defense troops’ missiles
And the drowning lands look like imbeciles
Now we are groaning in the watered claws
With the liberated scales marking our flaws

The retreating clouds crawl away in a belch
Dumping the missing cargoes on the beach
The winds bow in a state of shock in a cord
Praying and fasting for a visit from the Lord

689. GRANDMOTHER

Grandmother, please wake and get up
The sky is quarreling with her husband
Soon they will spill their freezing sweat
On our bodies for us to catch dead cold

Grandmother, please sneeze not louder
The sky and her husband are quarreling
Soon they will send old floods like gales
To sweep mankind away from the world

Grandmother, you are everything I have
My moon, my sun and my morning stars
Provoke not the couples with your cough
Lest they refill their greasily wraths again

Grandmother, the big reptiles have come
With their lethal grandchildren following
They are laced with secret burial shrouds
With sympathetic tears tearing their eyes

Grandmother, I kiss you a shaky goodbye
With broken pains roaring within my soul
Grandmother, where are your groundnuts
To conduct my solo heart as you sing away

690.  A NIGHT WALK THROUGH THE FOREST

Lured away on an alluring dream by fables
I trudged along the grassy paths with fears
Upon my steps spilling the prevailing dews
The shadows bowed their heads in silence
Like the soul issued with a death sentence

The night crawlers emerged above boards
Throwing light upon contrary communities
In their hearts and eyes were painful tears
Crawling down their exaggerated eye *****
Like a handbag filled with rotten cosmetics

The shadows were bold animators’ shelves
Stage managing the horror motion pictures
In the ghostly commodities I met wild hosts
Lifeworks evaporated from my fresh breath
Like foreign tragedies in common comedies

The sorrowful shadows cast away their veils
Like the candles letting go of the weird wax
Sadly I sat in the sack for conflicting fetuses
Another sun appeared like a serial divorcee
Counting the testicles of another naked day

691.  SUBJECTIVE SUBJECTS

The sad sun descended upon her haunting melodies
Reeling from mysterious layers for electoral riggings
To harden the flowerbed for flower girls born tender
Disenfranchised voters came weeping in barren polls
Dressing the blank nest for the fat electoral parodies
With the mourners the faulty bells they came ringing
Like the angry water castigating a ****** port fender
And the smokes climbed upon their wide aerial poles
Arching over the emptied shelves with liberal singing
They subjected their subjective subjects to all objects
The voice Nov 2012
I am not who you think I am
It may seem to you that I am weak
But believe me when I say that
I am stronger than what I seem
And I am better than you could ever imagine.

I may be not an A- student
But I am smart
Smart enough to know
that I can beat you in anything
At any time soon
Today, Tomorrow, or the day after

I may not be a marathoner
But I can run the distance
I might arrive late to my goal
But I will be there
I cant assure that I won't win the race
But I will try to do the best

I am not the prettiest girl in the class
But I am not Barbie either
I don't expect to be skinny
I don't expect to be fat
I do expect to be happy
I expect to feel safe with my self

I am not the one who will always be right
I am human not a robot
If I am wrong I smile because I know it was a mistake
I might not be the best in Biology
But i can do better the next time
I won't Win today
But I will try again tomorrow
And if I die before I win
I will die happy.

Today is one day.
I wont stop Now.
I wont look back
Not because of pride
But because I wont dare to fall
I wont trip again
Especially not with the same rock
I know now that I am not Perfect

*BUT I AM WILLING TO GIVE LIFE MY BEST SHOT
Muggle Ginger Nov 2012
If you have never seen a baby dream,
you know nothing bout longing;
About missing a divine place to come here.
Such innocence swaddled in such a small body without control.
They communicate with God
more effectively than any prayer I’ve ever heard.
So take a lesson from babies and children
to learn how to really be men
With a racing heart that should be in a marathoner,
he struggles to open his eyes and wake.
Their heavy breathing is the only sign of the errands
they still run in heaven.
They quiver their lips as if to tell you a secret only God knows,
but has been dying to share – he just needed more innocent lips
When their eyes close they revisit that heaven they just left;
seeing more than our eyes could ever tell
In their inexperienced bodies their eternal spirits struggle to move
Even as my arm goes numb
he’s the only thing that I should be holding in that moment
His sweetness makes me want to be a little bit... more
As I think “what will you be one day?”
I realize it doesn’t matter
That today he makes me a little better
The first time he squeezed my hand I knew it was God
who picked us a millennia ago
to live this life as uncle and nephew
Hyram Love has been my nephew longer than he's been alive.
Kiagen McGinnis May 2011
i must admit i am a bit mad at myself for closing my eyes and collapsing into black sleep
instead of making the short trek to curl up under your breath

you loved a girl once who took a liking to me
she would say, 'girls are stupid, except for you'
you were a passing thought that kept on passing, running through my brain like a marathoner on the move.
Meisner tells actors: don't invent; don't deny
i grabbed onto the latter while

your leg was getting crunched by a bike and your heart was getting crunched by that girl i buried myself under the loss of a friend i might have loved but never declared while you were avalanched with more **** than an outhouse

i was feeling a feeling in the corners of my toes and
the tiniest butterfly kisses in my lungs
and in the florescent lights of high school, pen to paper and head wrapped in something i couldn't touch
something breathed on my neck and convinced me that what i wanted to exist

exists.

and oh, how it does.
Connor Widener May 2016
You were my everything. Literally everything.
You were my girlfriend,
My Best Friend,    
My only friend.  
The girl I was in love with.
You were my McDonalds date,
My Harry Potter movie marathoner.                  
You were my study partner,
My all night cuddler.
Literally everything.
You were every thought that crossed my mind.
You were every math problem or chemistry equation, and the only history I cared about was ours.
You were night and day,
sunset and sunrise.
You were past, present and future.
You were purpose..
Literally everything.
concerning yours truly
poor righteous leftist sole.

Attempting nightly ritual
nsync with sole and
instep of beat
January second 11:33
two thousand twenty two
footwear equipped with
custom made cleat
proudly standing tall
(think) as an elite
able, eager, and ready
to sprint skyhigh fleet
ting into netherlands
(towering well over
other wiry contestants,
hence exception to

maximum height waved
outrageous illegitimate forfeit
chore blithely Atlas shrugged off),
the fountain head
whereby marathoner Olympian
amidst godly pantheon did greet,
then melted starter blocks
competitors crouched tigerlike
deftly gunning generating barreling heat
fast as greased lightning
Achilles catapulted courtesy blur,
zee mister (oak kay)
tree - man, i.e. helpmeet,
he roundly squared off
accompanied by his wifely entreat
for sakes Pete.

Thus situated, positioned, and finagled
husbandry duty obliging the misses,
no matter she kick started
(think thrashing outsize toddler)
childish task deemed
markedly cockameemie design,
subsequently these little feet (mine)
stood stolid upon bedroom floor
she did man date me,

supplicating, necessitating,
imploring, and decrying divine
intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle
did authoritatively assign,
thee mister getting mine
handy dandy grip upon her supine
corpulent physique
outstretched leaden legs
awaiting (the missus)

salute perfect sign
to commence powerfully
prying and pulling
first straight then nine
tee degrees practically pulling
footloose and eventually
detaching fancy free
thunder thighs, what strong
amazing anatomical design

nearly defying might
of super rich a$$ a nein
bird brainer heron
an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme
to untie clodhoppers
snug as a bug in a rug,
whence laces unknotted free
and clear whirled,
wide webbed formerly tangled skein
fo shoe more intolerable
than swallowing quinine.
Satsih Verma Apr 2018
I wanted to make
you my friend.

The combative
bull-taming on milk roads
was in vogue.

Somebody was talking
about the **** of
rising sun on the
higher reaches.

A marathoner stops
midway to collect the nails
after the bonfire of shoes.

The festivity over, you
can sing in the praise
of fallen black moons.

The gifts of crimes, for
bounty hunters, were in plenty.
I always stood in dark
to evaluate the triangles.
Time and again finances stretched
to breaking point
crackle, pop, and snap
'curse Alfred E. Neuman
smiles at yours truly
(this luckless papa)

with with his toothy gap
haint even Abel nor Cain,
nor I pull myself up
courtesy frayed bootstrap
dirt poor penniless deathtrap
compliments countless many
mashup mechanical mishap

no need to repeat, nor recap,
the litany against
fickle finger of fate
driving me into almshouse
more loathsome versus caught
amidst tsunami size whitecap,

where quick demise accompanied
by deafening air splitting thunderclap,
whereby bolt of blinding lightning
cleaves heavenly vault and
(Friday January 3rd, 2020)
instantaneously immense
**** canonical jagged dagger

blithely grasped courtesy
Usain St Leo Bolt
(yes Olympic runner -
fastest man on Earth
nonchalantly thwarts bajillion volt
tickles hands of said marathoner
analogous to wiretap

blessedly before brilliant
atmospheric electrical discharge
fizzled in feebly limp attempt
to extinguish "fake" charade,
facade, and mockup i.e.
mine burned out life

of Riley (really) ernest
and frank failed to zap
(think) mortally - merely
surface epidermis braised flesh,
synonymous burned out,

bedraggled banged up
resembling an old
and/or rickety vehicle,
none other than our trusty heap
Uriah (hit) to guess
aforementioned oft money pit
accursed said automobile.
Attempting nightly ritual
nsync with sole and
instep of beat
January second 21:08
two thousand twenty
footwear equipped with
custom made cleat

proudly standing tall
(think) as an elite
able, eager, and ready
to sprint skyhigh fleet
ting into netherlands
(towering well over
other wiry antennae thin contestants,

hence exception to
maximum height waved
outrageous illegitimate forfeit
chore blithely Atlas shrugged off),
whereby said marathoner Olympian
amidst godly pantheon did greet,
competitors crouched tigerlike
ironically melting starter blocks

deftly gunning generating barreling heat
fast as greased lightning
Achilles catapulted courtesy blur,
zee mist tree (oak kay)
man, i.e. helpmeet,
he roundly squared off
accompanied by his wifely entreat.

Thus situated, positioned, and finagled
husbandry duty obliging the misses,
no matter she kick started
(think thrashing outsize overgrown toddler)

childish task deemed
markedly cockameemie design,
subsequently these little feet (mine)
stood stolid upon bedroom floor
she did man date me,

I supplicated, necessitated,
implored, and decried divine
intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle
did authoritatively assign,

thee mister getting mine
handy dandy grip upon her supine
corpulent physique
outstretched leaden legs
awaiting (Abby) salute perfect sign

to commence powerfully
prying and pulling
first straight then nine
tee degrees practically prostrating self
footloose and eventually
detaching fancy free
thunder thighs, what strong
amazing anatomical design

nearly defying might
of super Matt nein
bird brainer heron,
an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme
to untie clodhoppers

snug as a bug in a rug,
whence laces got knotted
freaking me out clearly
out this world,
wide webbed formerly
Gordian tangled skein.
Satsih Verma Jul 2018
The faint scars were
becoming green. I remember
my bewitchment of me―
not becoming.

Like pine needles. I
will ask my muse, to confuse
me with some shock depriving
me of aura.

Why do you enter my den
to enrich me with golden words?
I go crazy in phrasing―
the stars and mouthing the moon.

It was a charisma. In my
stasis, I tend to forget me,
start wearing your voice.
Will you some day ask, why?

On silver stairs sits
a marathoner.
"Crusaders"

The Creed Crusaders march with pride —
Their mission: fight the West worldwide!
Obey the double-headed freak,
And dare not think, or even speak.

Again, the rake is in your way —
You’ll step on it, like yesterday.
The filthy fiends lie smooth and slow,
Corrupting minds before the blow.

The mass dumb-down — their sacred plan,
Decay rebranded as “We’ll stand!”
The slogans rise, the brains decline —
Like deer in headlights, dead in line.

The idiot mill is working fast —
These freaks are now the ruling caste.
And since the herd believes their lies,
The filth are kings in dumb disguise.

They showed it all through CowID’s reign.
But now it’s worse. The crawling bane
“Defends” their land by breaking others —
Bombs for peace. Like rabid brothers.

They clear the space with holy wrath —
For Khanate’s hell, a ****** path
Of rot, abuse and sterilized
Descendants *****, dehumanized.

The genocide’s a timeless feat —
Now built by hands that kiss their feet.
Behold the Khanate of pure doom —
“Hit the Khokhol harder, **** — make room!”



---------------------




Crusaders of rot, with lies they march —
Spreading death beneath a righteous arch.



---------------------




"Protect the land!" — while bombing towns,
The Devil crowns his loyal clowns.



---------------------




A Khanate forged in blood and lies,
Where future generations die.
They shout of honor, pride, defense —
While marching into pestilence.



---------------------



Russian Troops in Donbas, 2014

Four thousand came to start the war,
While shouting “Miners!” — nothing more.
And idiots believed the tale,
That myth still rides the Kremlin rail.

Deceit evolved into pure lies —
Since Goebbels is their god and guide.
Just multiply the filth you spread —
And rule the brainless world ahead.

We saw it all in CowID’s show —
The same old beasts, the same old blow.
Those muzzling freaks now stage a Shame,
With round-two ghouls who play war games.

Some ****-brained **** became a knight,
He “liberates” through scorched delight.
Yet in his mind he sees no crime —
Just “glory” smeared with blood and slime.

No future left, no way to heal —
The Dumb Parade is now the deal.
If you’re not dumb — you’re “mad” or “lost”,
While raving brutes serve war at cost.

The sane are few, but they exist —
They rose like truth from poison mist.
They showed that Honor isn’t dead —
Though all the world is rot and dread.

The beasts won’t win, though they parade —
A world-wide Shock will soon invade.
It’ll crush their fake triumphant path —
A trump card born of cosmic wrath.



---------------------




They came as “miners” — masked and armed,
While fools stood still, confused, disarmed.

---------------------




From Donbas lies to global chains —
The Devil always re-explains.



---------------------




They call it truth — pure rot and shame.
But blood still burns behind the name.



---------------------




A million masks, one face beneath —
The face of lies, the stench of death.



---------------------




Where reason dies, the fools arise —
And call their madness "sacrifice".



---------------------




Sanity’s corpse lies cold and bare —
While flags of glory fill the air.



---------------------




They buried truth beneath their feet,
Then crowned the lie and called it sweet.



---------------------




When reason rots, the monsters breed —
And praise each genocidal deed.



---------------------




The death of sense was not a flaw —
It was the plan, it is the law.



---------------------




When reason dies, the end begins —
A flood of lies, a world of sins.



---------------------




Sanity fell — the trumpets wailed,
And beasts arose where humans failed.



---------------------




The mind collapsed. The void took shape.
And truth was hung in blood-red drape.



---------------------




The age of sense was torn apart —
Now shadows feast on dying hearts.



---------------------




No reason left, no final plea —
Just fire crowned in lunacy.



---------------------



The Song of Reason’s End

When reason dies, the end begins —
A flood of lies, a world of sins.
The mind collapsed. The void took shape.
And truth was hung in blood-red drape.

They danced around the burning throne,
Each beast convinced he stood alone.
The sky turned black. The silence screamed.
The prophets wept. The madmen dreamed.

No final plea. No voice to guide.
Just ash and echoes, multiplied.
The books were burned. The stars went blind.
And shadow ruled the fractured mind.

Sanity fell — the trumpets wailed,
And beasts arose where humans failed.
They crowned the lie. They praised the flame.
And scorched the world in Reason’s name.



---------------------



The Prophecy of Madness

When Reason broke and Silence spoke,
The minds of men were wrapped in smoke.
They crowned the Lie as Holy Light,
And called the Day what once was Night.

The Truth was chained in iron lore,
While every beast became a war.
They feasted on the ash of thought,
And praised the plague their hands had wrought.

The final books were torn apart —
The flame devoured both mind and heart.
Each question burned. Each answer screamed.
And lunacy became the Dream.

The stars withdrew, the sky went blind,
The last of hope betrayed the mind.
The wise were cursed, the fools adored —
And Madness sat upon the Lord.

No bells were rung. No angels wept.
The soul of reason coldly slept.
And from that grave of shattered laws
Rose Man, the Beast — with flaming jaws.


---

Glimmer of Light

But in the dark, beneath the ash,
Where time had stopped in silent flash,
A pulse remained — not born, not dead —
A spark no madness yet could shred.

It was no scream, it was no cry —
Just quiet deeper than the sky.
No flag it raised, no war it led,
It simply was, while all had fled.

It shone not outward, but within —
A light not made to fight or win,
But one that knew, through death and dust,
What doesn’t burn is what we trust.

No creed, no name, no bleeding crown —
Just Being, still, while all fell down.
And those who saw — though few, though torn —
Felt something vast begin… reborn.


---


Return of the Seers

They were not saints, nor crowned with fire —
No thunder marked their long desire.
They walked through ruins, bare and slow,
As ones who saw, not claimed to know.

Their eyes had burned in ancient flame,
Yet bore no pride, no earthly name.
They spoke not loud, but when they breathed —
The wind itself would pause, unsheathed.

They carried silence, deep and wide,
A vastness no one dared to guide.
Not saviors — no — but ones who heard
The voice beneath the shattered word.

They had no army, wore no sign,
Yet something in their gaze aligned
The scattered sparks, the thoughtless dust —
And whispered: “Still... in Light, we trust.”

No dogma lit their path ahead —
They walked where even echoes fled.
But every step upon the ground
Unsealed a truth, profound, unbound.


---


Breath of the Source

No thunder calls. No armies rise.
Just silent vastness fills the skies.
The Source inhales — a sacred breath,
A pulse beyond the edge of death.

It’s not a spark, nor flame, nor sound —
But where all time and space are bound.
A stillness weaving through the night,
Unfolding into endless light.

No eyes can see, no mind can grasp —
The Presence beyond all collapse.
It is the root, the well, the seed,
From which all thoughts and worlds proceed.

The Breath renews the shattered frame,
No need for glory, fear, or claim.
In quiet depths, the truth is born —
A dawn beyond all dusk and scorn.

And those who walk this path unseen
Will find the Source where Light has been.
No longer lost in endless fight —
But homeward bound, into the Light.



---------------------



Monsters

So many sellouts crawl around,
There’s barely any folk left now.
The bitter wise are left to mourn —
The world is filled with beasts and scorn.

Idiots, traitors, fascist slime,
Their strength all spent — they waste our time.
No way to teach these fiends, no cure —
They must be crushed. The wound is pure.

For them, the only joy remains:
To wipe out all that still sustains.
Even Nature’s ready, poised to strike —
No monsters, ****, or fascists like.

A cataclysm will come,
To purge the rot, to beat the drum.
No place for filth, no place for lies —
The earth will cleanse beneath the skies.



---------------------




Monsters breed, the wise grow few —
The world is rotten through and through.
No reasoning with fascist **** —
Only fire will make them numb.



---------------------



"Imperial Games"

A rotten colony chose to play
The empire’s games — to spite, betray.
But “tigers” turned to cardboard shells,
“No equals found!” — the ******* sells.

The masters gave the deadly call,
To send them blindly to their fall.
And propaganda’s twisted rage
Invented fights for “values” staged.

The bitter end: the cards all burned,
The “meat” ground up — a fate they earned.
For “meat” too — don’t trust the ****,
If only once — God saves some dumb.



---------------------




Cardboard Tigers, cheap charade,
Sent to die in masters’ game.
Meat for grind — a worthless pawn,
Trust the ****? You’re already gone.



---------------------




Tigers fake — just paper shells,
Masters send them straight to hell.
Meat on hooks, no hope, no grace —
Fools who trust deserve disgrace.



---------------------



Imperial Game Over

They played their cards — all flimsy, torn,
Paper tigers, so forlorn.
Masters smiled, the orders came —
“Send them all to feed the flame.”

Propaganda’s lies took flight,
“Fight for values!”— empty fight.
But truth revealed the final score:
The pawns are meat, no less, no more.

Burnt-out shells on battlefield,
No glory left, no sword to wield.
And those who trusted filth and ****
Are lost beneath the crushing drum.

No saviors come, no hope remains,
Just broken dreams and bloodied chains.
The game is done — the end is clear:
Imperial fools disappear.



---------------------



Fascist Power

Fascist power rages wild,
A tyrant’s cruel and reckless child.
The **** of traitors seem to’ve lost
All memory of what it cost.

What happened once to gendarmes’ hand,
To cops who fought across the land?
Not all became fools or cowards here
Within this poor land’s atmosphere.

Not everyone turned pale with fear —
No mercy should the fiends draw near!
We’ll deal with all that fascist filth —
The ******* paid in blood and guilt.

They’ll hang in chains, the time is near,
The reckoning for Judas’ sneer.
That warning bell will sound so soon —
To cleanse the filth beneath the moon.



---------------------



Armageddon

****’s on call, no shame, no mind,
Fools in squads, all blind and blind.
They feast not on foes made-up —
But on their neighbors, bitter cup.

Such are times for soulless breeds,
Madness sown like wicked seeds.
A filthy plague has spilled around —
A stinking flood on rotten ground.

The prophecy has come to pass:
A world decayed, a shattered mass.
It moves toward the final dawn —
The Armageddon drawing on.

Much suffering yet waits to come,
While Mind and Spirit here are numb.



---------------------



Armageddon

****’s on standby, void of shame,
Fools march blind, no soul, no aim.
They gnaw not foes of false design,
But neighbors torn by cursed spine.

Times have birthed this soulless breed,
Madness spread like poisoned seed.
A plague of filth seeps through the land —
A sewer’s flood, a death’s command.

The vision dark has come to life:
A rotting world in endless strife.
It crawls toward the final pyre —
Armageddon’s funeral fire.

No hope remains, no light to find,
When Mind and Spirit cease to bind.
The doom is near, the end’s embrace —
A hollow shell, a ghostly place.



---------------------



Dark Lines


When reason dies, the darkness wakes.

A hollow world beneath the lies.

Madness flows like blood through veins.

The final fire will cleanse the stains.

No soul remains to light the night.

The graveyard’s breath replaces sight.

From ashes cold, no hope will rise.

Only silence fills the skies.

Spirit shattered, mind undone —
The end begins where all is none.

Doom creeps slow with deadly grace.

A cursed earth, a haunted place.

When all is lost, the void will sing.

Armageddon’s shadow takes its king.



---------------------



Armageddon’s Shadow

When reason dies, the darkness wakes,
A hollow world beneath the lies.
Madness flows like blood through veins,
The final fire will cleanse the stains.

No soul remains to light the night,
The graveyard’s breath replaces sight.
From ashes cold, no hope will rise —
Only silence fills the skies.

Spirit shattered, mind undone —
The end begins where all is none.
Doom creeps slow with deadly grace,
A cursed earth, a haunted place.

When all is lost, the void will sing —
Armageddon’s shadow takes its king.



---------------------



Global Madness — New Millennium, January 1, 2000

A madhouse spans the planet wide —
They call this “new age” at zero’s tide.
Dumber only toads could be —
When heads refuse to think and see.

The second decade starts this way,
For fools to rule the foolish play.
The wise are few, we scrape the rest,
And send them off to fascist’s quest.

All must fall beneath the shot,
So joy and madness hit the spot.
The peak of dumbness now attained,
No lies or filth remain unchained.

Oppress and **** the helpless herd,
A “ruler” mad beyond all word.
Satanism’s their twisted creed —
The vile all serve this darkened seed.

Above them stands a beast so vile,
Fascists bow, remain the file.
And fools still grin, believe the gifts,
Of Danai’s doom — the cursed shifts.



---------------------




Global madhouse, fools in charge,
Lies spread wide and hope is scarred.
Rulers mad, their dark creed known —
Satan’s seed has fully grown.



---------------------



Rashists

To strike the tallest towers down —
Rashists follow orders bound.
A cruel contest set to scar —
A child’s eye as battlefield’s star?

Fascists, Rashists — one vile breed,
But skies will clear, their fate decreed.
Criminal marks branded deep,
No statute’s mercy theirs to keep.

The brave folk of Nenka’s land
Will sift the fiends like cursed sand.
They guard their freedom, dignity —
Fascist **** to graves, let be.

Their armor’s dust — no shield remains,
Their hate will fall with final pains.



---------------------




Rashists strike with orders grim,
Fascist **** — the world grows dim.
Brave will sift the fiends like sand,
Freedom’s sword in righteous hand.



---------------------




Rashist beasts, no mercy shown,
Tearing down what’s not their own.
**** of fascist blood and lies —
Their fate’s in fire, where justice flies.



---------------------



Rashist Reckoning

They strike the towers, blind and cruel,
A twisted game, a heartless rule.
A child’s eye marks their savage play,
Dark shadows cast where children stray.

Fascists, Rashists — one vile breed,
Fed by hate and ruthless greed.
But skies will clear, the truth will claim
The criminals, marked by shame.

No statute bars the coming wrath,
Their trail of blood — a deadly path.
The brave of Nenka stand as one,
To turn their hordes to dust and sun.

With freedom’s sword and honor’s flame,
They’ll burn the fascist **** to shame.
No armor saves the evil throng,
Their reign ends where justice’s strong.



---------------------



The Flow

Today the propagandists
Spout lies in endless mist.
Tons of filth pour down the drain,
A stench that kills like acid rain.

It’d fell a horse, no doubt,
But still, our fool stands stout.
The deaf are stunned, confused,
By fascist lies abused.

So not their faces —
But their backsides take the races.
Fascists boast with pride so vile —
For liars, barriers fell awhile.

From screens the gray mass pours,
Nothing but **** in endless scores.



---------------------




Propaganda’s toxic flood,
Spewing lies like burning mud.
Not their faces, but their backs —
Fascist filth exposed and cracked.



---------------------



The Kunstkamera

A blind man led the way ahead,
A mute passed orders, none but said.
A crippled fool was at the helm,
A deaf one followed, lost in realm.

A handless craftsman built the scene,
A legless courier moved between.
A soulless priest the church did make,
A madman set the grim example’s stake.

A dullard taught the natural laws,
A cruel doctor dealt his claws.
A miser fed the crowd with trash,
While wisdom’s voice was always cast.



---------------------



The Kunstkamera

A blind man led — sure, what a guide!
A mute barked orders from inside.
A crippled fool sat at the throne,
While deaf ears made the madness known.

A handless craftsman built the show,
A legless courier ran the low.
A soulless priest staged hollow rites,
A madman crowned the dreadful sights.

A ******* taught what nature meant,
A sadist doctored punishment.
A miser’s greed fed all the trash —
While wisdom’s voice was kicked to ash.



---------------------



The Kunstkamera

A blind man marched — the grand parade,
A mute gave orders — all obeyed.
A crippled fool played king of clowns,
While deaf men spun the world upside down.

A handless builder slammed the nails,
A legless courier told the tales.
A soulless priest held hollow mass,
A madman led the circus farce.

A dullard schooled in nature’s lies,
A sadist doctored alibis.
A miser fed the stinking heap —
While wisdom drowned in shadows deep.

Welcome to this freakish show,
Where sanity’s the last to go.



---------------------



Goblins and the Gnome

The goblins listened close and tight —
The gnome promised them a goblin’s right.
But promises soon cracked and broke,
A vile, dumb, and wretched joke.

All pledges built to trap and lull,
A bait to keep the mind in lull.
But waking finds the world’s diseased —
Rot, stench, decay, the floor’s uneased.

That bottom planned by gnome’s own hand:
One goal — to crush, destroy the land.
These goblins, like a cancerous sore,
Believed the lies, then bred some more.

No thoughts or spirit rise or flow —
Their petty world is set to show:
To be “happy,” always bow and nod —
For gnome’s a god, their iron rod.



---------------------




Goblins hooked on gnome’s deceit,
Promises cracked beneath their feet.
No spirit left, just blind obey —
The gnome’s god-rule leads minds astray.



---------------------



“Headless Horsemen,” or Long-Distance Runs

"Intellectuals don’t run marathons fast."
— Vladimir Kireev, late marathoner and coach.


A marathon was run. The work
Is fit for fools — that’s just the perk.
The highest bar? A thirty-mile,
Beyond that, body’s out of style.

Long is the time for healing slow,
But forward drives the strong-willed go.
Usually leads into a pit —
The pit of form lost bit by bit.

Don’t mind the fools who run ahead —
The “headless horsemen,” so they’re said.
Better stick to simple moves,
And life will smile, bring joyful grooves.

After running — sweet reward,
Body needs it — can’t be ignored.
Aerobic stress it craves,
And mental calm it always saves.

The psyche’s rarely ever fine,
While trapped in Hell’s own dark confine.
So running’s super-yoga, friend —
Till thirty miles, God willing, end.



---------------------



Total Box

A punch, a knockout — strength’s my law:
To strike a face’s almost raw.
Slave beats slave, the master’s glad
The fiend won’t raise his hand — how sad.

Against those who build hell’s own pit,
The global media backs their hit —
Distracts with games, with wars, a show,
While fools watch on, caught in the flow.

The foe is only near, they say —
A slave who dares to stray away.
A different tongue, a different creed —
They’ll tear his throat if he won’t heed.

A fascist order spans the land,
By varied names they make their stand.
They plant the lie: “You’re free,” they shout,
While neighbors serve the dark devout.

A grayish darkness cloaks the earth,
It drags the world down to the dirt.
They showed us “AIDS,” and CowID —
And reason here is nearly killed.



---------------------




Punch and knockout, rule of law,
Slave beats slave, and tyrants draw.
Media distracts with lies and war,
True foes near—don’t trust the score.



---------------------



The Horseman Rode the Seine

Bots float down the river’s flow —
Olympians riding slow.
Behind them, rides a twisted fiend,
A grim-faced ******, dark and mean.

He drags a flag flipped upside down,
Prepared to raise it o’er the town.
What fools must be to fail to see
This flag’s a sign of blasphemy.

A symbol dark of Satan’s reign —
The Horseman brings Armageddon’s pain.
The world bows low to fascist reign,
Where reason’s cast out, lost, in vain.

They showed it all through CowID’s lie,
And fresh wars burning in the sky.
You must be vile to call this rod
Of Darkness ancient, not a fraud.

Before each event, it taps the drum,
A sign that horrors soon will come.
No subtle meaning here at all —
Just beasts who turned to **** and thrall.

Such wicked symbolism
Marks times of evil’s reign.
The world’s in change — but none benign:
A spiral deep in Satan’s sign.



---------------------




The horseman rides, the flag’s reversed,
A sign of darkness, fate coerced.
Armageddon’s voice is clear —
Fascism’s shadow looms so near.



---------------------



The Writing Brotherhood

Accusations often sound,
We don’t try hard, just spin around —
Lessons lost on shallow lives,
Where God’s own spark no longer thrives.

All our efforts feed the beast —
A rotten fascist, vile feast,
Built on cretinism’s base,
A toxic, sickening disgrace.

True fools are few, they fade away,
But overall — we’ve lost the way.
Changes come, but only worse,
A world descending in its curse.

So poems, blogs — we write in pain,
In this pitiful domain.
It’s needed, though it hurts to say —
In this sad and broken fray.

It hurts to speak in words the craze,
The madness, wildness that now stays.
Surrounded by fools’ blind sight,
Horror, despair become the right.

We won’t end life with a dot,
But with a half-spoken plot.
Let the verse be sharp and keen,
A blade to cut through dull and mean.



---------------------



United Packs

The jackals run as one fierce pack,
Charging forward, no way back.
Mind and conscience melt away,
Reduced to filth, they lose their way.

These jackals—no humans at all,
Nor monsters in propaganda’s thrall.
They’re freaks served up on devil’s plate,
A feast for fiends—sealed is their fate.

The Rubicon is crossed, no flight,
No turning back to human light.
Terrible reckoning will fall,
Once jackal’s lost, they’ve lost it all.

All soulless beasts now bound to rust,
Sent to scrap, consumed by dust.
The world chokes in this filthy haze,
Not peace, but rot, these bitter days.



---------------------




Jackals run as one dark pack,
Mind and conscience fade to black.
No return once Rubicon’s crossed —
Soulless beasts forever lost.



---------------------



Darkness

Darkness — fascist power’s reign:
No lower fall, no greater pain.
Not long ‘til you’re lost and tossed —
Like the jaws of Hell, all crossed.

Hell incarnate, here it stands,
Betrayer, fiend with ****** hands.
“Commander” now, the mind’s disgrace,
Reason’s curse, a brutal face.

No longer world, but beastly cage,
Fools rejoice in rage and rage.
For freaks, a twisted, foul parade —
Submit, and you’re the monster made.

Fight relentless, stand your ground:
Beneath fascists, life’s not found.
Wake from lies and clear your eyes —
See the slime, this vile disguise!



---------------------



Darkness

Darkness reigns — fascist’s curse,
A fall beyond the deepest worse.
Not far now — the abyss calls,
Hell’s own jaws devour all.

Hell made flesh, a traitor’s face,
A fiend who rules with cruel disgrace.
“Commander” now, the mind’s demise,
Reason crushed beneath dark skies.

No world left — a zoo of pain,
Fools rejoice in madness’ reign.
For monsters, a cruel charade —
Submit, become the beast they made.

Fight unyielding, break the chain:
Under fascists, none remain.
Shatter lies, reveal the slime —
This loathsome, vile, eternal grime.



---------------------



Darkness Falls

Darkness — fascist nightmare’s grip,
No depth remains beyond this dip.
A yawning chasm swallows whole,
Hell’s jaws clamp tight around the soul.

Hell reborn in traitor’s breath,
A fiend that drags the world to death.
“Commander” crowned in reason’s grave,
The mind enslaved, no will to save.

No earth remains — a cage of beasts,
Where madness reigns and terror feasts.
Monsters march in cruel parade,
Your soul consumed, your light betrayed.

Resist or drown beneath the night,
For fascists ***** the flickering light.
Wake from falsehood’s choking slime —
Or perish in the end of time.



---------------------



Fascist Filth

The Gestapo, cops in line,
Filthy guards of FSIN’s sign.
Prosecutors — dog packs growl,
All of them in darkness prowl.

The master — something not quite human,
A Kremlin dwarf, a vile goon.
A double’s thrall, a servant’s role,
This land? A madhouse swallowing whole.

Not long will last this fascist night,
For light will break and win the fight.
Even in this filth and grime,
The dawn will come — it’s only time.



---------------------




Gestapo dogs and ***** guards,
Fascist filth behind the bars.
Kremlin’s dwarf, a twisted pawn —
But light will break, a brand new dawn.



---------------------



Double Meanings

Reader — brain-digger, sifter keen,
Unraveling the “double mean.”
Usually there’s no thought at all,
Clear nothing in the messy sprawl.

You waste your time — beware the muck,
Thousands here, a fatal pluck.
Seek grains of truth so you don’t break,
For all this filth drags down the stake.

The bottom’s pierced, all beaten flat,
Or slandered lies by fascist’s spat.
No hope beneath this stinking ruse —
Just shattered truth and vile abuse.



---------------------



Double Meanings

Oh reader, digging through the muck,
Chasing ghosts that don’t give luck.
No real thoughts beneath the slime,
Just endless drivel, waste of time.

Why waste your brain on heaps of crap?
Thousands more — a fatal trap.
Search for truth? Good luck with that —
It drags us all beneath the flat.

The bottom’s broken, beaten down,
Or smeared with lies by fascist clowns.
No secrets here, just twisted schemes —
A circus filled with shattered dreams.



---------------------



Fools and Trifles

Trifles, trifles, trifles all,
Nonsense, nonsense — heed the call.
Fools, fools, fools, the same refrain,
Clutter, clutter — pointless strain.

Synonyms packed in every line,
Repeats that circle, intertwine.
Yet it’s the fools who hold this sway,
But don’t disturb the dolts’ display.

Touch a trifle, bruise your pride,
Like a fool who stumbles wide.
A stone upon a narrow track —
Just step around, don’t argue back.



---------------------




Fools and trifles, nonsense too,
Same old words, but nothing new.
Step on stones, avoid the fight —
Better skip their pointless spite.



---------------------




Fools and trifles, endless waste,
Dumb repeats with no good taste.
Step on stones? Just walk away —
Debates with idiots? No way.



---------------------



Fools and Trifles

Fools and trash, a stinking pile,
Idiots babble all the while.
Step on stones? Just leave them flat —
No fight with ****, ignore the rat.

Their empty words like poison spit,
No sense, no truth, just endless ****.
They prance around in shallow pride,
But wisdom’s flame’s been long denied.

Debate? A trap for fools to fall,
Their noise — a blight that chills us all.
So close your ears, reject the pest —
Save your strength for real contest.

They bark like dogs, but bite is none,
Just empty threats beneath the sun.
Their minds are locked in shallow graves,
Drowned in lies, devoid of braves.

No room for fools in wisdom’s hall,
Their babble only builds the wall.
So spit on noise, dismiss the clown,
True power wears no foolish crown.

The fool’s parade will soon decay,
Their shallow games will fade away.
But shadows creep where light once burned,
And twisted truths remain unturned.

In darkest pits their echoes roar,
A curse upon the fractured core.
Yet from the depths, a fire will rise —
To scorch the fools and burn their lies.

The weakling’s cry, the empty boast,
Are whispers lost on barren ghost.
Their kingdom built on rotted ground,
Will crumble, crash, no grace be found.

For every lie they’ve spun so tight,
A reckoning will claim the night.
No mercy waits for those who breed
The poison sown in word and deed.

So hold the flame, keep fury sharp,
Cut through the lies, ignite the dark.
The fools may howl, but none will stand
When truth burns bright across the land.



---------------------



Super-Idiots

It’s suffocating. Shameful. Grim.
Rot and madness at the brim.
Play it raw, with nerves on edge —
Don’t expect from us a pledge.

Sold our souls for tin and “glory,”
Honors steeped in fraud and story.
Crafted lies — supreme and hollow —
That’s our “art.” No need to follow.

Touch us not — the stench is spreading.
Bureaucrats decide what’s heading.
We perform what’s been assigned —
Fake applause, and cash aligned.

Standards? Lies and flattery.
Truth? A dead accessory.
Led by Goats toward the flame,
Bleat in rhythm — that's the game.

One false bleat — and off they go,
Toward the Chimera’s fatal show.
Trusting freaks who weave deceit
At every soulless, bloated meet.

Dal would faint if he could see
How “super” now’s the highest fee.
How deep the idiot’s bowed spine,
A Super-Fool by grand design.

To save this world? It’s far too late —
“Super” trumps all higher state.
The whole **** thing is truly rot —
And lies are what the Super-Idiot’s got.

Lies are crueler, bolder, darker,
Truth is now a buried marker.
Dying like Dal — is that the way?
Pour us all one last cliché...



---------------------



Super-Idiot Creed

They march to lies, they cheer decay —
Each goat-led fool just bleats "Hooray!"
Truth is dead, and art's a fraud,
Their medals minted straight from God.



---------------------



The End of Light

Selfish little errands,
Blindness, fear, and spite —
Idiots in torrents
Speeding into night.

Few remain who feel it,
Few whose hearts aren’t dead —
But this world will steal it,
Turning souls to lead.

Masks revealed the vermin —
Now the truth is clear:
Scoundrels rule the sermon,
Fiends parade as “dear.”

Evil finds a haven,
Swells in fool-fed might.
Spirit’s light is fading —
Time to end this blight.

Judgment comes with thunder,
Crashing through the shame,
Stripping lies asunder,
Torching every game.

Better start salvation
At the final gate.
Some will know elation —
Sheep shall meet their fate.



---------------------



Endgame

The mask came off — the filth stood proud.
Now Light retreats. The grave gets loud.
Let sheep go down. The truth will rise.
The few will burn — then cleanse — the lies.



---------------------



Gentlemen of Misfortune

“Villainy is the only solid ground on which a man may firmly stand.”
— M. Saltykov-Shchedrin, "Modern Idyll", 1883


We, the Gentlemen of Loss,
Wear no tears — we bear no cross.
Freedom’s mind — the price is steep:
Always trailing in the sweep.

No elbows thrown to steal a seat,
No pacts with butchers in the street.
We loathe the bribe, despise the pack,
Their “unity” — a swarm attack.

They unite on petty evil,
Not a dream, but base upheaval.
Even Saltykov once said:
“Truth is wasted on the dead.”

We, the Gentlemen unfavored,
Hold one task that’s truly savored:
Hear the soul — ignore the noise,
Strip away their plastic toys.

Spirit-knights — we stand alone.
Mind without the soul’s a stone.
Things are simple once you see:
**** the lie, and speak what’s free.

Yes, the knight walks paths deserted,
But he’s hardly broken-hearted.
Fleeting life in this abyss —
Only Spirit holds true bliss.

Soon a storm will clear the slate:
Shame became the planet’s fate.
And for filth that fed this flood —
Let them burn in cleansing blood.

There is life beyond the blaze —
But the Spirit tests and weighs:
Do your task — and make it right:
Reignite your inner light.



---------------------



Knight of Spirit

Let the mob eat lies and gold —
We walk flames, but don’t grow cold.
Truth is exile. Light is pain.
But the Soul must rise — again.



---------------------



The Next Generation

Google trash, and social fever,
Zen-like sludge from YouTube's sewer —
Censorship becomes the weaver
Of a dull, obedient viewer.

Add their “colleges” and “classes,”
Nursery-school for drooling masses,
Toxic news and slave-like labor —
Here’s your worm. And here’s his neighbor.

Chances now to break the chain
Are so slim — it feels insane.
Truth be told, the war is lost:
Rotten minds at any cost.

A Pavlov mutt is what they’ll breed —
And AI gives the dog its feed.
The rare ones not turned into swine
Will lose access — by design.

The system’s eye will cut their ration,
And ban their steps without permission.
The “pawns” won’t help — they’re in submission,
Obeying every **** transmission.

And thus will History conclude:
If your grandsire bowed and cheered,
You’ll march in step — chipped and subdued —
While Klaus the Butcher grins, revered.



---------------------



Next Gen Programmed

They trained the dog, removed the spark —
Now Silence rules, enforced and dark.
The pawn obeys. The soul is banned.
The Butcher’s chip is in your hand.



---------------------



Darkness of Filth

Overkill.
Overrun.
Dragged through swill.
Truth undone.
All defiled.
Violence off the chart today,
Lies in layers choke the way.
Every effort to create
Turns to breeding rot and hate.

Spirit slandered, mind debased —
Cynic smirks in reason’s place.
What remains? Just stench and grime —
This is darkness made of slime.



---------------------



Filth Reigns

Truth is choked, the mind betrayed —
Rot and lies parade in shade.
Light is banned. The ****** applaud.
Welcome to the reign of fraud.



---------------------


Silencing Truth by Pseudoscience

Shocking facts are swept away,
Under tables — hidden deep.
Pseudoscience rules the day —
Fool if you believe their leap.

Their wild theories fall apart
Once the facts come crashing through.
Pseudoscience — mind’s bomb blast,
Soon the end is overdue.

Dumbing down goes on for years,
A new camp built to rot and rot —
Digital decay appears,
For fools trapped inside the plot.

Monsters build it fast and cold,
While catastrophe draws near.
But that storm will sweep and hold —
Smash fascism’s poisoned sphere.

Global fascism’s here, revealed
In plagues like CowID’s game.
Tremble, worms — your fate is sealed —
Shame and ruin is your name.

The honest soul who won’t betray,
Will leap to worlds fresh and clean.
Yet decay’s last spiral stays —
Madness grips the rotten scene.



---------------------



Truth Silenced

Facts get buried, lies deploy,
Pseudoscience kills the joy.
Fascists tremble — end’s in sight,
Pure souls rise beyond the night.



---------------------



The Magician’s Box

A zombie-box — a true marvel,
Rabbit’s not your common marvel.
It’s a seer, looking forward,
Feeding talking heads, the ward.

Down come circular decrees,
Sent by Houdini — master keys.
Audience cheers the staged charade,
Blind to traps the show has laid.

Stanley Kubrick directs the scene,
Mastermind of lunar dream.
Forgery so crude and wide,
Like CowID — drags worlds to tide.

In an instant, all’s undone,
Falsehood’s reign has just begun.
Cinema eclipsed by lies,
Magician’s box deceives our eyes.

It spreads in minds dull and mean,
Lost, degraded, dark and lean.
Building camps digital,
Minds infected, very ill.

Sadly, many such exist —
Earth is lost in their dark mist.
All will burn, then start anew —
No more tricks — just floods of untrue.



---------------------



Magic Box

Lies drop fast, the rabble’s fed,
Houdini’s tricks — the masses led.
False moon flights, the world’s descent,
Digital camps of dark intent.



---------------------



Suckers

Suckers,
Like fleas —
So they began to crush
In this evil age.
To **** them all —
The beast’s supreme task.
Worse than fleas,
That beast remains.
Only luck is found
By those who’re not dumb hounds.



---------------------



Suckers’ Fate

Like fleas, they crawl and choke,
Crushed beneath the beast’s stroke.
Only fools get caught and burned—
Luck’s for those who’ve learned.



---------------------



So-Called "Power"

The gang called “Power”:
**** and steal — their hour.
**** always on the rise.
For people — only demise.

Leave the Hell — it’s ruled
By a fiend, cruel and cruel.
Happy to destroy all souls,
Depart — then curses roll.

People serve as food,
In darkness, lies, and crude.
“Listen close to what we say —
Or we’ll crush you anyway.”



---------------------



Gang of Power

**** and steal, the ****’s delight,
Crush the people — end their fight.
Hear their lies, obey their game,
Or be broken all the same.



---------------------



The End of the Regatta

"We’re all participants in the race,
Rowing hard to win our place,
For glory, gold, and pleasures sweet,
Wine, beauties, and all the deceit.
Envy eats our souls inside,
Who grabs more, who’ll swell with pride.
Consumption grows, production stalls —
The race goes on as reason falls."
— From Treasure Island’s song.


The regatta’s over now —
No turning back, no final bow.
It’s also checkmate, cruel and cold —
No more tricks, no moves to hold.

We’ve reached the shore — no more to sail!
Spirit, Mind have ceased to prevail.
Only cops remain in sight —
When Honor’s lost, there’s only night.

This is average, sadly true.
Think critically — your odds are few.
Yet cycles churn, the ocean’s sway —
Destruction comes to clear the way.

All will be wiped away soon —
Ending madness, like a tomb.
Folly’s grown too long, too wide,
Time to purge the great divide.



---------------------



Regatta’s End

No turning back, the race is done,
Spirit killed, the truth outrun.
Madness reigns — they’ll burn it down,
From wreckage rises new renown.



---------------------



The Wretched Regatta

“We’re all racers in the race,
Rowing hard to grab our place,
For glory, gold, and wine’s embrace,
For beauties, and the rat race pace.
Envy eats the soul inside —
Who can grab the bigger tide?
Consumption grows, but work’s behind —
This race is rigged to crush the mind.”
— From Treasure Island’s song.


The regatta is a price:
To “success” — pay the vice!
But if your brain is full of fluff,
Your prize will be—an empty bluff.

Along the way you’ll sink and drown,
Pulling many spirits down.
If you wake, you’ll understand —
You’ve drifted deep to Hell’s own land.

Few will wake from mindless craze,
Lost within the dazed malaise.
The soul’s gone missing in the mess,
Drowned in chaos and distress.

The ones who lead? They’re cruel and brute —
Rude thugs with Satan’s suit.
If your vessel’s weak and thin,
Break the bottom — fight to win!

Or shame will flood your lowest part,
A sea of filth that breaks the heart.
You’ll drown within the media’s sea,
Breathless, lost in misery.

With such news, you’ll turn a fiend,
If you heed the evil scheme.



---------------------



Wretched Race

Drown in lies the media spews,
Fiends are bred from twisted news.
Break the hull or sink in shame,
Only fools obey the game.



---------------------



The Fools’ “God”

An outcast land —
More like a scare.
With you, that **** —
God of fools, declared.

Maybe just a double —
Fools trance-bound deep.
Reason’s faded, humble —
Lost in decadence steep.



---------------------



Fools’ God

****’s your “god” — a twisted farce,
Fools in trance, lost in the dark.



---------------------



Zombies and ****

Zombies and ****, **** and zombies,
******* propagandists on the rise.
Hell incarnate — this “combo” frenzy —
Where victims are the foes, if wisdom dies.

Zombies more fearsome than the trash,
Regime’s last stronghold, fascism’s lash.
It tears apart all that’s “art” —
Hybrid war’s dynamite, fools’ part.

Those zombie armies worse than foes,
Once trampling native lands and homes.
Dark forecasts for the puppeteers,
Spiritual death, a noose appears.

It strangles, kills without return —
Soulless robots, no heart to burn.
Humanity’s scarce in every space —
Thus dawns the age of vile disgrace.



---------------------



Zombies & ****

Zombies crush what’s left of light,
**** fuels lies, sustains the fight.
Soulless bots, no hope remains —
Darkness spreads its cursed chains.



---------------------



Social-Realism’s Curse

"Social-Realism — and what of it... The most hated phrase for me. Social-Realism is art’s death. Social-Realism is art devoured by boors, incompetents, philistines, scoundrels, crooks, fools in high seats. Social-Realism — a term with no true meaning. Social-Realism — nothing, zero, void. Nature abhors a vacuum. So this talentless void called Social-Realism instantly filled with filth and dishonor, **** without conscience or soul. No talent needed to **** this **** called “Social-Realism.” Just know the game, and your bankbooks will grow! Social-Realism means awards and ranks!"
— Oleg Dal, from his diary.


Vysotsky and Dal were crushed
By that nonsense, pure and raw.
Promises of carnal paradise —
Nothing but the vilest law.

A cesspool for the talentless —
A golden breadland’s guise.
But for the folk — the vampires lurk:
First dull the mind’s bright eyes,

Then **** away their honor —
Drain their spirit dry.
Fueled by greed and arrogance,
In devil’s service lie.

Many joined that wretched scheme —
“Cut down, smash, and take!”
Wretched beasts constructing hell,
For creatures made to break.

Built it fast, and just as quick,
To guard their piles of gold —
In savings books and treasures deep —
Their fortunes to uphold.

They crushed the rotten Soviet mess,
That stinking, foul disgrace.
Capitalism reborn anew —
Yet folk sweat in vain’s embrace.



---------------------



Social-Realism’s Hell

Art devoured by **** and greed,
Fools rewarded for the deed.
Vampires **** the people dry,
New chains forged beneath the sky.



---------------------



Changes in the Hellish Spheres

Can Cipollino — just a vegetable —
Defeat the Darkness’ wild assault?
Only demons will be reckoned,
By severing the head’s default.

The former Lord of this cruel world
Will torture, start anew the reign.
The “idols” too will rally fast —
Hell’s reborn to haunt again.

They’ll paint it over swiftly,
Propaganda strong and loud.
Minions sprout up quick as sparks —
“Fatherland’s loyal crowd.”

Claiming worth and iron will,
The farce begins once more.
The sheep will trust these “laws” again —
Blind fools led to the floor.

“New” education dulls the mind,
Turning sheep to empty shells.
Deceit herds all to sacrifice —
A pack of lies compels.

“New” faiths rise with Satan’s base,
Hidden depths of darkest sin.
Only few will pierce the veil —
They’re branded filth within.

Again all sinks to rotten core,
Decay returns to claim the night.
The demon (once a child’s plaything)
Builds his “Super-New” blight.



---------------------



Hell’s New Game

Demon cuts the old king’s head,
New hell’s painted, lies widespread.
Sheep believe the latest scheme,
Darkness fuels the endless dream.



---------------------


A Bad Deal

"A lifebuoy turned a collar tight."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec

"Dignity — above all, dignity,
So those who grant the gifts don’t drag you
To the stall and stuff your mouth with hay."
— Yevgeny Yevtushenko


“Saviors,” “rescuers,”
“Givers of gifts,”
Spent great effort —
To turn us all to beasts.

Each put in a collar — from childhood bound,
Only few find strength and means to stand their ground.
But these few can’t shake the herd today:
Reason’s just a mirage — two thirds idiots sway.

Clinical fools, plus a quarter mad,
A rotten deal: devils rule the pad.
A crooked thief just one step below —
This is the state of the world we know.



---------------------



Bad Deal

Lifebuoy turned collar tight,
Saviors drag us into night.
Fools and madmen rule the land,
Devils guide the traitor’s hand.



---------------------



The Land of “Pu-du-gi”

Pu-Pu-Pu — the double’s here, Putler.
Du-Du-Du — a fool who trusts all fear.
Gi-Gi-Gi — but not old ******’s guise:
The Kremlin **** just mocks and lies.

Doors locked tight in “bunker” gloom —
Filming’s canceled, Botox’s doom.
The speechwriter’s lost the knack,
One guard even slipped the track.

Soon the rats will scatter wide —
The ship is sinking, no place to hide.
In Kremlin halls they quake with dread —
All promises are dead and fled.



---------------------



Putler’s Fall

Rats scatter as ship goes down,
Bunker doors and Botox frown.
Kremlin lies have lost their might —
Darkness swallows all their fight.



---------------------



Abomination

Roofs are pierced,
Souls have vanished.
Fainter grows
The Light, now banished.

Crushed from all sides —
No salvation near.
Fascism praised
As if a cure, sincere.

Only fire can burn the pit —
Of fools and fiends that sit
Crooked, spawn of Hell,
In this cursed shell.

Yet the Sun still shines,
Burning filth away.
All this abomination
Will answer one day.



---------------------



Rot Burns

Roofs cracked, souls lost to night,
Light fades under crushing blight.
Fools and fiends, the pit must burn,
Sun will come — their fate will turn.



---------------------



Fight — Don’t Submit!

Don’t trust, don’t bow —
Send fascism to hell somehow.
Build community, unite,
Salvation’s in this fight.

Crush the lies, all lies that spread,
Multiply the truths instead.
Fatal “power” of the herd,
Don’t give them a single word.

Meet force with force — but wise,
Cast off weakness, clear your eyes.
We are nearing final days,
Soul’s salvation in the frays.

Don’t heed **** who preach the dark —
Or you’ll be lost, erased, no mark.



---------------------



Fight Back!

Don’t submit, don’t trust the lies,
Smash the **** before they rise.
Truth’s your weapon, soul your guide,
Stand and fight — don’t step aside!



---------------------



Fascism and Fools

Putler’s old,
But slavery’s new:
The zombie box now rules the crew.
All the fools
Like logs in stacks —
They pile them high, no turning back.

What then? They’ll be laid to rest —
And burned away, if dumb’s the test.
Worldwide fascism’s spread,
The meek fool’s voice is dead.

Lies and hysteria flood the air,
No shore in sight — a sea of despair.
Fools listen, deaf and blind —
Polluted Earth, a world maligned.

The whole world’s lost in sheepish trance —
The herd’s caught in a fatal dance.



---------------------



Global Fascism

Putler rules, the slaves obey,
Zombies march and fade away.
Fools like logs stacked high and deep,
Sheep who follow fall and sleep.



---------------------



Fascist Guts

Fascist guts put on a show:
Bragging, violence, bluff and blow.
Lies — the powder of their hate,
Turning countries into pens of fate.

Donkeys, sheep, and swine abound,
The worst of beasts make up the ground.
Mostly guilty for this shame —
Slaves to belly’s cruel game.

Souls and thoughts sold cheap for swill,
Food and drink their only thrill.
For this, wars sting like poison’s bite —
**** must answer, face the fight.

So few remain with hearts that care,
While beasts grow bolder, thick with snare.
And fascist fools, more cruel, more blind,
Grow darker still, with hate combined.



---------------------



Fascist Guts

Bragging, bluff, and deadly lies,
Beasts that crawl beneath the skies.
Souls sold cheap, the wars ignite,
**** must fall to end the night.



---------------------



Paperwork in the Madhouse

Screen’s black soot,
Easy to *****,
Spews its lies,
“By decree” — rough.

Says only paper,
Without a sign,
Hard to call
A valid line.

These moments show
Madhouse symptoms clear,
That all the world’s
In fascist fear.

Everywhere —
This rotten game,
A global madhouse,
All the same.



---------------------



Paper Lies

Screens spew filth, decree the fake,
Paper’s worthless if no sign they make.
Madhouse grips the world so tight,
Fascism’s shadow blocks the light.



---------------------



“Art”

Lacy husks of second-rate,
All that’s called the “art” we hate.
Nonsense piled to heights absurd,
But when stubborn craftsman’s stirred,

He will raise that nonsense high —
To peaks that scrape the sky.
No middle ground — just good or bad,
A stink, a shoe, a toilet pad,

Can be shown as “art,” you see,
To fools and fools’ society.
Monsters have the orders clear —
“Crush the wise with art’s veneer.”

Flush your strength down porcelain bowls,
Art as valve that drains our souls.
You’ll become a hollow shell,
If in that false hope you dwell.

At first it charms with pretty lies,
Then boredom’s dull, your spirit dies.
Only chaff and fools delight,
The touchy weak cling to the night.

Here the Spirit’s at the core,
No Spirit — just a rotten bore.
Flee the darkness, servants’ schemes,
If you’re yet a wounded dream.

This chaos grinds and grinds you down,
But let them loose — they’ll end the town.
Only Spirit keeps us strong,
Think how to break chains so wrong.

Where’s the spark for Freedom’s flight,
In this half-baked, soulless blight?
It’s a festering sore, a lie,
Feeding rotten hearts nearby.

Hearts that rot as flocks amuse
Their lusts and whims — false comforts’ use.
For fiends the pain is sweet,
Beneath thick fascism’s beat.

Where is fight against that hell?
The shameless art won’t tell.
Shots fired blank, no aim or spark —
All is gloom and bitter dark.

Exceptions? Maybe one or two,
But I ignore the chosen few.
Time for honor, truth to rise —
Yet rot advances, vile lies.

That filth serves fiends on call,
If Spirit’s alive, it must stand tall.
Speak the truth that saves the day,
Sell not your soul or run away.

The world’s in grave, soon cleansed anew —
So cast the thief and lies from view.
Judgment Day will come in time,
Death for servants of the crime.

Only truth will then survive,
While foul art can’t stay alive.
Stench so strong, a butcher’s blade
Could chop this rotten masquerade.

Today through film, the **** convey
Their filthy schemes in foul display.
Reclaim your Spirit, fight the lies —
Too soon to write the Spirit’s demise.

Though in the fight you fall and fade,
Your soul’s saved in the fiery blade.
Say “No!” to fate so dull and cold —
Burn the framed lies you’ve been sold.

If sent by demons’ call,
Stop believing in that thrall.
Mad world’s sailed to Hell’s abyss —
Fight to save your soul in this.



---------------------



Art’s Rot

Second-rate, lace thin and fake,
Craftsmen build the cruelest fake.
Spirit lost — all turns to waste,
Freedom’s spark crushed, dreams displaced.

Fools applaud the hollow show,
Fiends in shadows pull the flow.
Fight the lies, reclaim the flame —
Burn the falsehood, break the shame.



---------------------



Sports on the Zombie Box

"You can easily remove me from the game,
I’m weak before the strong — I shame,
But stop me by force? No, never!
When football calls, I break through clever!"
— Vladimir Vysotsky, 1971


Physical culture — always fine,
Beginner’s sport, a hopeful sign,
Until the Party hack takes seat —
Then sports become a trap and cheat.

In that machine of lies and spin,
The sporting world’s a game to win
By fools whose god is “success” —
A mask to hide the deep distress.

But truth — that “success” is fake,
A curtain drawn for eyes to break.
“Give me a slave of newer breed!” —
The Party hack fulfills the deed.

Energy flushed down the drain,
That’s what this sport will help sustain.
The world’s now in a phase extreme —
Of slavish trance, a dulling dream.

Fools think they’re free to heed
The lies that serve their twisted creed.
With falsehood, one can **** and spite —
While drowning out the inner light.

Distraction’s needed — games are key,
To blind the world we fail to see.
Under fascism’s foul rod,
No country’s free beneath the sod.

Fake countries, fake wins, all bought,
With doping’s poison deeply wrought.
No trace of reason will remain,
Only fear and madness reign.

That Party hack once wore red’s crown,
Now sells his soul, lets freedom down.
He serves fascists with zeal extreme,
Preparing souls for death’s grim scheme.

The goal: to **** the Spirit’s fire,
And wielding lies as dark desire.
Football, archery, fill the mind,
While truth and light fall far behind.

At matches, nations hold their breath —
Blind to the growing shade of death.
The best are killed in darkness deep,
While propaganda’s dung they keep.

The world is one vast lie machine,
Where sport’s the greatest show obscene.
Russia turned to Uganda’s place —
A lost and empty, shameful space.

Even sports are torn apart,
Fascists rule and crush the heart.
One stubborn box of zombie lies
Deludes the herd with empty cries.

The people herd, all over,
Feed them shows and empty cover.
The world has turned to stinking ****,
Where hell’s own “paradise” has come.

Such “sports” reveal the rotten core —
Exposing them leads to Hell’s door.
Only memes remain to spread
The psychic virus — minds are dead.

Seek the Path, build your commune,
Leave this global madhouse soon.
There are still some Men who stand —
Not every soul can be made bland.



---------------------



Zombie Sports

Slaves to screens, the sport’s a trap,
Party hacks run every map.
Fools cheer lies, the Spirit dies,
World’s a stage for twisted lies.

Doping wins and fake acclaim,
Fascist rule, the people’s shame.
Break the herd, reclaim your soul —
Fight the darkness, make it whole.

— The End —