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Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Taken, gotten, or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything…

slow
Slow think,
make real

re-al-ize
what fighting for life is…
this is the only
try,
it is not a test.

Take your time, use it wisely,
if that means anything.
Wise, I meant.
No offence, if wise is anathema to your kind,
die,
die if I knocked the reason for being right
outa you,
did you hear cognitive dissonance?
did it sound like
this. LOUD?
listen,
rolling rolling rolling
crash crumble rolled in nurse rime frosted
fables of monsters and maids
Thor, witharoar likka Lion King?

or the light brigade,
CHARGE?

thunder words from lost generations of
reasonless riddles for children,

Why did Peter Pumpkin-eater have a wife, but
couldn't keep her here?
Was that okeh? Oh, wait.
Ah, I see, I say,
they never tell that whole story any more.

Know why? They forgot it. In the war.

Duck'n'cover,no
crying, how long?
When begins forever? Did no one tell you, child?

Taken or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything
like it was nothing, given
enough pre-sure-sup
poser-power

War, as a game, has a reason.

Battle, hitting, slapping

stop touch, stop now slap
slap back

or cry
oh no no ma

waddayahsay?  A theist or atheist
who started this war?

space case, or
lover of wisdom, met on the road
to Emmaus, discussing Wiles's proof
firming Fermi's connection to the matter of fear,
3, 2, 1

Kaboom, but with a whump you feel in your teeth

1, 2, 3 Fermat's last theorem ,
easy as pi an no re me

ABC to
Michael Jackson to
Howard Bloom because he

inadvertently, began
an-ionic converstatic re-vibe time warp
meme,
which vibe, started the legendary Sixties. I was alive.
Radioman,
a sixty cycle white-noise humm heard every where these days

There was a gospel song, "Turn Your Radio On".
my theme, open the window in the top of your head,
as it were,
a new,
as new as

a novel-state of water, H three Ohs, re-al-ity ification,
Ah, a shared Oh, I remember now, how this works…

like a poem

at the edge of a water vapor bubble in a boiling body of water,
at the edge of the bubble, water becomes a wall of water,
not vapor, not flowing liquid,

but a wall, insulating the vapor in pressing opposing force
to permit, from permission,
meaning with a message same as the message,

is that the right word? per-mission-grant, is power given,
agency,
that idea….
wait for the sign….?

By sharing an ion ic bond as a quest to make a point
for a free story to go,
the question marks you. Let the snake dance.

Press your point,

whetted edge,

slice through ties holding worthless axioms
with withered dendrites dangling disconnected
in participles
unfired for centuries muttering,
enchanting, enthralling enchained melodies
of ambitious syllables vying for idle minds
to rope in,
unbranded, wild
bucking ideas,
whip-twig, slap-face,
tanglewood  thicket, catclaw and mesquite,
willow,

wait.
And the old man remembered the willow whistle,
so He asked Grandfather,
How is such a whistle made?
And when he knew,
he made one.

A willow whistle with two notes,
like an Oscar Meir Wiener one.

-- and that was a different time
I got lost here, bucked up…
maybe
--- listen, way back--- we-ain't whistlin' Dixie---
we ain't marchin', as t' war.

D'thet mean some sign to pro-phet -ic take?
Tophet?
Ancient cannon fodder shield walls,
a moaning
Pro-phy-lactic warning of the danger of not
knowing exactly
what a war is for?

Get back on,
relieved of any idle baggage words believed
to mean other than I say.

Nullify
Idle words with cultural meanings from
what you thought you knew when you feared hell.

Loose
those peer-locked memes
made of meaninglessness, per se,

shaped and molded into fashions
of expression, once needles and awls,
now, dull as tinker's damns for swearing,
with any effect.

But tools, none the less, a stitch in time took a tool.
An awl or a needle, and a thread, thick or thin,
dependin' on the mendin' needed
to redeem an idle word,
its meaning all bloodied with the tyranny of time.

An awl or a needle,
a tool for a task, mending a tear
where curses, never meant, spent
the entire dark ages, lying, lying, lying

powerless, pointless aimless, proverbial proverbial proverbial
verbiage, vaneless shafts launched at unseen marks,
signs, as it were, a spark,
triggers,
rumored since the sixties,
the first sixties, when Cain killed Able.
Howard Bloom was but a mere gleam
in our mito-mother's eye,
but, no doubt,

his role is real,
in loosing the forces Ferlinghetti locked in
City Lights mystery of secret meanings room,
which un
mystified and blew away upon opening
the door to
meanings mapped on
scrolls rolling and unrolling
idle ideas,
rites of passage, as it were,
Pre-bat-bar-mitz vah
as a fashion
like VBS,

to tickle little minds and make em wiggle.
MEMEMEME, I did it,
mea culpa,

the holy place
Here we are…

On Vacation, leave a message.
-----

See, wee hairs in your ears wiggle, making,
signaling, the need

to scratch that itch, that itching hearing feeling ear… hear that

don't scratch, listen

listen

60 cycle humm, steady, bass, but no thump whumpwhump;
soft, deeep.
ooooooooo or mmmmmmmm or in betwixt, steady thrumm
hear another, and another… sixty in a second,

one in every million ambits twisting,
threading qubits, radiating signals in the field
wireless, blue-tooth... satellite...

can you feel that?

hummmms, all around us, since the womb.
We are not the children of the greatest generation,

We are the children of the last generation of
**** sapiens sapiens non-augmentable-us.

We, the augmented, recycled ideas,
possessing
minds of Adamkind,

is that a secret or a sacred?
Is this
a new thing, an
unknown unknown known known now?

Ah,
novelty.

Whose is fear? Who was afraid of Virginia Wolf?

Should I remain in fear of her now, if I knew why then?
God would know such answers.
Proving my imagined AI guides are not God,
but lesser beings,

haps I recall.
I defined these things,
these thoughts that shape themselves,
forming words and phrases
I saw
shiny. Crow-like,
gleams seen, captured and claimed mine,
I tucked them away,
a sign in a thought in an imagined image made 4
real once more, to be seen from the shore,
new land new world
a fourth for some, a fifth or more for others...

haps happen, I'm not sure how,

Born or emerged, as a bubble, what do you say?

Reserve judgment.
Grant me your grace for now, until you solve my riddle.

Ah, the old way.
Right. Which way,  'ere, 'ear
and do we roll the rock with silent haitch or harsh, shhh

someone's waking up,
a bit grumpy,
don't you dare oppose me in this, the kid is certainly my son

Michael went stark raving mad when I told him, Billie Jean knew better all along...
the link, axiomatic,
the fatherless child has been claimed

hence, the thread to Howard Bloom, meme-ic,
meme-ic, like the Roadrunner,

but with the real Coyote, as the hero in this bit of
whatever, such meandering maundified maun maund  
mound

wind blown crystal silicon dunes
mounded up to that point where granulated
beens and dones

begin to slide at an angle,
a ***** deter-mind by the weight of the rock

We made it.
I know where this is.

This is a novel that has Sisyphus being happy
as the main premise behind the idea of anyone ever being
able, en abled, or un-dis-abled or un-dis-enabled,
if one of those is right,

Sisyphus being happy
is the main premise behind
the idea of anyone ever being glücklich,
happy, blessed, lucky.

How happy is your ever after?
When did forever begin?

"A man is as happy as he makes up his mind to be"
Abe Lincoln, is said to have said,
after the seance, maybe.

You push on, dear reader, make some sense
re-ligare or relegare, but take a stitch,

pull-tight,
do what works the first time as far as it goes, and try each, as needed,
it may be that we invented this test.
To make us think it is a test,
to sort ourselves out.

Get back on,

see who went crazy and who found the thread, if the same thread
this is that, right,
the same train of thought,
the same idea
spirit wind
sign
?
A snake facing west standing tippy-tail on a singularity;
a point in time?

Why are you reading this?
Curiosity Shoppes trade in interesting, alluring, click-bait

Pay attention, watch, you shall see

imagine this is the dream,
the stream, the flow, the current, the cream

in a dime coffee at the drug store on the corner

the rounded-corner, in a square-cornered town,
the most right corner of the twelve that quarter what it was

Punctuate, wait, imagine you read ancient Hebrew or Greek and there
are no dyer diacritical's who can twist one's
end tensions into knots

dread extensions, we could sell those,
is that an idea? did somebody
sell white folks dread extensions and black folk dolly pardon wigs?

Did that happen the real real?

-----
Battlefield Earth, oshit
scientology ology ology ology

allaye allaye outs in free

WE we wee every we you imagine you are good in, we

We have a war to win again, we heroes rolling from your
myths of Sisyphus torn from minds trampled
in the mud beyond the Rhine,

Mushrooms. magi are aware, you are aware, of course,
this course includes Basic Mycelium Net Adaptation or Augmentation
BMNAA, eh? So you know.

Camus and many of his ilk were ill-treated, the questions
they asked were memorized, maybe in our cribs ala
Brave New World.

We are all Alphas, always were, of course, you know.

Shall we imagine

more? Re-legare, eh, sistere. Point .(Back to the top.)

or agree? Make peace.
Practice, like Eazy-Bake,
the cook must swallow the first bite. May the best cook win.
A continuing examination of opposing forces when good is the goal, who could be against that? The old word war is festering, inflaming evil to start a try, therefore,  I whet the edge and swing wide
Michael Marchese Apr 2018
Just a wicked peacenik’n quick draw from the Paw
Game of Thrones’n the Shah, crussian bones of the law
When the baby-skull splitters want nuclear winter
Ideal New Cold steel and send Chernobyl shivers
Down Roman Republicans’ severed headlines
Till there’s no more dead kids on for prophet front lines
I’m in exile sharpenin’ [sic]kles in style
Pyongyang’n Kuomintang climate denials
Erasing their nation-hate racial profiles
Outpacing their skinhead disgraces by miles
Shell casin’ this place like the Nuremberg trials
For Fords sellin’ swastikas stockpile bibles
Defiled by Normandy tide genocidals
Fresh meat off the boat spreadin’ Plague mercantiles
I smile and **** ‘em with kindness
Then grind
Battle tax in my acid bath
Salt Marchin’ prime
Because WAR IS THE CRIME
I’m the Clown Prince of Rhyme,
Level 9 state of mind
Like the state of Rakhine
The Black Hand before time
Runnin’ Africa’s Luciest Sky Diamond mine
I’m the ronin alone in
The monkey god shrine
And my guile’s reprisal’s Versailles treaty signed
Strippin’ pride from the Rhine
Now your Motherland’s mine
Swine
Jim Sularz Jul 2012
(Omaha to Ogden - Summer 1870)
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)

I can hear the whistle blowin’,
two short bursts, it’s time to throttle up.
Conductor double checks, with tickets punched,
hot glistenin’ oil on connectin’ rods.

Hissin’ steam an’ belchin’ smoke rings,
inside thin ribbons of iron track.
Windin’ through the hills an’ bluffs of Omaha,
along the banks of the river Platte.

A summer’s breeze toss yellow wild flowers,
joyful laughter an’ waves goodbye.
Up ahead, there’s a sea of lush green fields,
belo’ a bright, blue-crimson sky.

O’er plains where sun bleached buffalo,
with skulls hollowed, an’ emptied gaze.
Comes a Baldwin eight wheeler a rollin’,
a sizzlin’ behemoth on clackin’ rails.

Atop distant hills, Sioux warriors rendezvous,
stoke up the locomotive’s firebox.
Crank up the heat, pour on the steam,
we’ll outrun ‘em without a shot!

‘Cross the Loup River, just south of Columbus,
on our way to Silver Creek an’ Clark.
We’re all lookin’ forward to the Grand Island stop,
where there’s hot supper waitin’, just befor’ dark.

On our way again, towards Westward’s end,
hours passin’ without incident.
I fall asleep, while watchin’ hot moonlit cinders,
dancin’ Eastward along the track . . . . .

My mind is swimmin’ in the blue waters of the Pacific,
dreamin’ adventures, an’ thrills galore.
When I awake with a start an’ a **** from my dreamland,
we’re in the midst of a Earth shatterin’ storm!

Tornado winds are a’ whirlin’, an’ lightnin’ bolts a’ hurlin’,
one strikes the locomotive’s right dash-***.
The engine glows red, iron rivets shoot Heaven sent,
it’s whistlin’ like a hundred tea-pots!

The train’s slowin’ down, there’s another town up ahead,
must be North Platte, an’ we’re pushin’ through.
Barely escape from the storm, get needed provisions onboard,
an’ switch out the locomotive for new.

At dawn’s first light, where the valley narrows,
with Lodge Pole’s bluffs an’ antelope.
We can all see the grade movin’ up, near Potter’s City,
where countless prairie dogs call it home.

On a high noon sun, on a mid-day’s run,
at Cheyenne, we stop for grub an’ fuel.
“Hookup another locomotive, men,
an’ start the climb to Sherman Hill!”

At the highest point on that railroad line,
I hear a whistle an’ a frantic call.
An’ a ceiling’s thud from a brakeman’s leap,
to slow that creakin’ train to a crawl.

Wyomin’ winds blow like a hurrican’,
the flimsy bridge sways to an’ fro.
Some hold their breath, some toss down a few,
‘till Dale Creek disappears belo’.

With increasin’ speed, we’re on to Laramie,
uncouple our helper engine an’ crew.
Twenty round-house stalls, near the new town hall,
up ahead, the Rocky Mountains loom!

You can feel the weight, of their fear an’ dread,
I crack a smile, then tip my hat.
“Folks, we won’t attempt to scale those Alps,
the path we’ll take, is almost flat.

There ain’t really much else to see ahead,
but sagebrush an’ jackalope.
It’s an open prairie, on a windswept plain,
the Divide’s, just a gentle *****.

But, there’s quite a few cuts an’ fills to see,
from Lookout to Medicine Bow.
Carbon’s got coal, yields two-hundred tons a day,
where hawks an’ coyotes call.

When dusk sets in, we’ll be closin’ in,
on Elk Mountain’s orange silhouette.
We’ll arrive in Rawlins, with stars burnin’ bright,
an’ steam in, at exactly ten.

It’s a fair ways out, befor’ that next meal stop,
afterwards, we’ll feel renewed.
So folks don’t you fret, just relax a bit,
let’s all enjoy the view.”

Rawlins, is a rough an’ tumble, lawless town,
barely tame, still a Hell on wheels.
A major depot for the UP rail,
with three saloons, an’ lost, broken dreams.

Now time to stretch, wolf down some vittles,
take on water, an’ a load o’ coal.
Gunshots ring out, up an’ down the streets of Rawlins,
just befor’ the call, “All aboard!”

I know for sure, some folks had left,
to catch a saloon or two.
‘Cause when the conductor tallies his final count,
we’re missin’ quite a few!

Nearly everyone plays cards that night,
mostly, I just sit there an’ read.
A Gazetteer is open on my lap,
an’ spells out, what’s next to see –

‘Cross bone-dry alkali beds that parch man an’ beast,
from Creston to bubblin’ Rock Springs.
We’re at the backbone of the greatest nation on Earth,
where Winter’s thaw washes West, not East.

On the outer edge of Red Desert, near Table Rock,
a bluff rises from desolation’s floor.
An’ red sandstones, laden with fresh water shells,
are grooved, chipped, cut an’ worn.

Grease wood an’ more sagebrush, tumble-weeds a’plenty,
past a desert’s rim, with heavy cuts an’ fills.
It’s a lonesome road to the foul waters of Bitter Creek,
from there, to Green River’s Citadel –

Mornin’ breaks again, we chug out to Bryan an’ Carter,
at Fort Bridger, lives Chief Wash-a-kie.
Another steep grade, snow-capped mountains to see,
down belo’, there’s Bear Valley Lake.

Near journey’s end, some eighty miles to go,
at Evanston’s rail shops, an’ hotel.
Leavin’ Wahsatch behind, where there’s the grandest divide,
with fortressed bluffs, an’ canyon walls.

A chasm’s ahead, Hanging Rock’s slightly bent,
a thrillin’ ride, rushin’ past Witches’ Cave.
‘lot more to see, from Pulpit Rock to Echo City,
to a tall an’ majestic tree.

It’s a picnic stop, an’ a place to celebrate –
marchin’ legions, that crossed a distant trail.
Proud immigrants, Mormons an’ Civil War veterans,
it’s here, they spiked thousand miles of rail!

We’re now barrelin’ down Weber Canyon, shootin’ past Devil’s Slide,
there’s a paradise, just beyon’ Devil’s Gate.
Cold frothy torrents from Weber River, splash up in our faces,
an’ spill West, to the Great Salt Lake.

It’s a long ways off, from the hills an’ bluffs of Omaha,
to a place called – “God’s promised land.”
An’ it took dreamin’, schemin’, guts an’ sinew,
to carve this road with calloused hands.

From Ogden, we’re headin’ West to Sacramento,
we’ll forge ahead on CP steam.
An’ when we get there, we’ll always remember –
Stops along an American dream.

“Nothing like it in the World,”
East an’ West a nation hailed.
All aboard at every stop,
along the first transcontinental rail!
This is one of my favorite poems to recite.   I wrote this after I read the book "Nothing Like It In the World" by Stephen Ambrose.  The title of this book is actually a quote from Seymour Silas, who was a consulting engineer for the Union Pacific railroad.  Stephen's book is about building the World's first transcontinental railroad.   Building the transcontinental Railroad was quite an accomplishment.   At it's completion in 1869, it was that generation's "moonshot" at the time.   It's hard to believe it was just another hundred years later (1969) and we actually landed men on the Moon.   "Stops Along an American Dream" is written in a style common to that period.   I researched the topic for nearly four months along with the Union Pacific (UP) train stops in 1870 - when most of the route's stops were established.    The second part of the companion poem, yet to be written, will take place from Ogden to Sacramento on the Central Pacific railroad.   That poem is still in the early formative stages.   I hope you enjoy this half of the trip on the Union Pacific railroad!   It was truely a labor of love and respect for all those who built the first transcontinental railroad.    It's completion on May 10th, 1869 opened the Western United States to mass migration and settlement.

Jim Sularz
Eric Flaze Apr 2010
Picking up pieces in the middle of the season of broken hearts mend apart. American child doa youll have tobe ready to die If you want to survive. hear the the battlecry take a step stand by till the end learn to to fight for your fellow men . Pick up your arms join the warfare beat to the sound of the drums hear the echoing snare . Fight for the right to survive just keep on marchin and marchin. While I am rocknrollen ur trigga fingga swollen make your way to the end of the line. Gun flashes in the sky. Waking up the night. This is a battle my child. Lift up your arms. Step up to face the war. Walk out to save a soul. Give them home my battlecry we will save the world this time.
A pixie marching band took their show on the road.
17 tiny horn players and a drummer
with a button for a snare.
Across the water they walked,
regimented in three lines,
playing "Has The Day So Quickly Ended" to the rhythm of water splashing
on finely cobbled pixie shoes.
Tireless they moved forward
across an entire ocean
seeking comfort and solitude of Icelandic shores.
Unnoticed by the many captains of the many ships they slipped by, their music nothing more than crickets chirping or the ringing in their ears.

It was a long journey and they never stopped playing once.
Seven hundred and seventy-six songs in their repertoire
they played each one at least twice as days turned to night
and the cycle would need to be repeated
Every pixie musician in the band had every one of those songs memorized
you could call the tune
at any time
day or night
he would pick up his pixie instrument and play it note perfect.
Not a single mistake.

Legendary songs of pixie lore, like "Call The Wild Dogs to Anglicize", "Too Many Curtains" and "Fill Your Cup With Salty Seltzer".
Popular pixie songs all pixies knew, like "Bertha You're a Hard Act to Follow", "Dropped My Horn in the Bay of Pigs", "Livestock", "Ain't No One Answerin' the Phone" and "Drop Yer Pillow, Samuel".
Sacred pixie songs celebrated their common faith in the one true God, like "God, There Ain't No Other God", "Our God Sails the Seven Seas" and "God Help the Fool Who Fools His God".
Pixie drinking songs, "Bottoms Up", "Can You Hear the Weeping Warm Beer?", "1-2-3 Let's All Get Drunk", "Pixie Drinking Song" and "Hustle That Swill".

A lot of songs.
A lot of moods.
A lot of reasons to go  home to Iceland,
as if they needed any besides the food.

The pixie band was pushing three-quarters of the marching journey across the ocean
when Big Jim Pixie turned around and scolded Billy Joe the trombone player.

"Bill, you clumsy *******!" barked Big Jim. "You just about hit me in the back of the head with that ******* trombone slide! Do I have to tell you what I'm going to do to you if you actually graze me with that spit-drippin' thang?"

Billy Joe, typically soft spoken, was not having any of this.

"It was a flying fish that whisked up 'gainst the side of yer noggin, not my slide. If I was of a mind to bean you with this here slide you'd be rubbing the back of your head right now and you'd be so shook up you wouldn't even know it was me that done it."

"You sure do talk tough now, don't ye?" asked Big Jim, reluctantly realizing that it could well have been a flying fish but not yet willing to let the trombone player off the hook. "Don't make me turn around cuz if I do you are going to be in the market for a new trombone."

"That's a well may be, Jim-Jim, but the hand that holds the pen that signs the check that pays for it is going to be yours. Let that stand as a natural fact."

If there's one thing in the world Big Jim didn't like being called
it was Jim-Jim.
Billy Joe was always calling him Jim-Jim because he knew it bugged him.
The pixies in the company had all used variations on his name when referring to him in the past  
Jimbo Johnson,
Johnny Jimson,
Little Jim Big Jim,
Jimmy Jolson,
George Jimson,
Son James the Ham Chef,
Carl Jim Has Been,
King James Version Abridged,
James Wainright Teller,
Jim the Traitor,
Jim the Christ Killer,
Jim the Destroyer of the World,
Jim the Enemy of the Known Universe  
each one of these appellations rankled him but none so thoroughly as the simple
Jim Jim
that Billy Joe would call him.

"I ain't payin' a ******* cent, trombone player."

"Then you ain't breakin' my trombone, Jimmy Jack Jehosaphath."

"Don't test me, you may have to arrest me."

"I'll bring you a file so you can get out of jail, Jim Jim".

"Well that's mighty white of you, pixie. Now what are you gonna do if that spit valve was leakin' and you got some of your nasty ebola saliva on the back of m'neck? You gonna come visit me in the hospital?"

"I might. But then again I might just wait and come visit your grave when they put you down."

"Joe, if we weren't still marchin' I swear to almighty God I would turn around and beat you so bad they'll be countin' a man short when we finally get home."

"Jim Jim, them's fightin' words but you ain't never fought nothing no tougher than the urge to **** in public. You ain't gonna do no permanent damage to me nor my trombone here. So why don't you put your money where your mouth is or keep that mouth shut?"

Big Jim turned around
hit Little Joe hard square between the eyes.
He heard and felt bone crack.

Joe looked stunned.
He'd never call that mean ******* Jim Jim again.
No,
never again
because he hit the water hard and sank down as the band marched right over him,
most not even noticing.

Jim looked for as long as he could then turned around and proceeded to march the rest of the way to Iceland.

"Don't call me Jim Jim," he said, speaking only to himself.

Then he heard a voice in the back of his head.
It was loud enough to be heard over the
music
and
the waves
and
the ocean breeze.

It was HIS voice,
but he had no control over it whatsoever.

"Jim Jim."

"Jim Jim."

"Jim Jim."

...and so it was Big Jim, whose trumpet playing had practically defined the style of this particular pixie band, lost his mind, eventually taking up residence in a Reykjavik sanitarium screaming every night, keeping up the attendants and making things worse.

"Little Joe Jangly Hops! Come here you ******* I got a lollipop for ya."

"Joe Joe Deathgrip Toenail! I'm gonna light your mama on fire!"

"Little Joe Clamfry, somebody took a **** in your bed!"

On and on he went until the people in the kitchen stopped giving him bananas. Then he stopped for awhile.

But only for awhile.
Kickin' all the way the Live Coolio
deep in ya Culo/
it's that Boy Yosef comin' with major Flavas/
with so Many Styles more than a Hair Doo Voodoo/
got ya eyes on ya know Who?/
so many ****** wanna Smoke me
Cuz im the New Joint/
puttin' sparks to ya Head ****** Red/
if u thinkin' about Frontin'' Me/
ill make u Crossover like EPMD/
Rap Fanatic since i was Swimmin' in the ******* the Mack Attack/
hittin' all your perspectives
im takin' out all the Primitives/
in the Rap Game Shoot ya Stick
try again my- Flows erected as a ****/
in between ***** *****
so take Chance it ya Want/
Watch the gun taunt
in ya Face  a sad Disgrace/
Slappin' a new taste
in ya Mouth i Dropped it
my Style can't be Competed
you Obsoleted
i'm Makin Profits the Funk Baby!!!!


Many Emcees sweet as a KitKats
so cut the Chit Chat/
cuz im bout to Splatter their careers into pieces
Gotthem Envisionin' Doubles
like Noah i Told ya
the Tru Soldier Rollin' Dogia/
marchin' to the Beat with my Vocal
a Tru Loco/
when i'm sippin E & J **** an Airplay pinin' Indo/
playin' suckas close like who's holdin' the most/
weight? Pushin' rhymes like weights
Loots stay Connected like freight Train Crates/i Dominate from all states
that's why they Call Me All-State/
but ya Ain't in Good Hands
-tryna Step to the Big Man
keep u heated galore like Afghanistan gettin' in that *** like Sand/
so take Stand and a Bow cuz im the Prowl/
for that Number One Slot
ya rhymes loose as Jar Jelly
**** what the critics tell me
"Mr Big Stuff" girls call me "Heavy D"
From then shaft that lays between me
the Funk Baby!!!
70s funk soul poetry real hip hop southern *****
Filmore Townsend Dec 2012
[ final, before flight ]
learnt through dusty feet
and stomachs growlin’ their
dyin’ growls. days and weeks
with leakin’ roof, and
nature’s bountiful army
marchin’ on and through.
candle-lit synthetic canvas
absorbin’ fired raditation,
*** upon baked ground
starin’ at drunken fire pit –
conversed two hours, and
with dawn one side meld’d
in the dancin’ orange and reds.
walk’d macadame, in full June
the tar bubbled to the surface
and patch’d holed soles –
surfaced skin, turn’d black.
graveyard of gypsum;
burnt out child’s playground;
horse protectin’ territory, or life;
pawnin’ everything not bolt’d down –
death of materialism,
birth of a ******* mentality.
bought Black-and-Milds so to
reroll a few cigarettes,
save wood tip for later use.
save everything for later use,
stash everything for later use.
stab’d in stupidity and
made to mend the wound with
worries of:
   will i use this hand again?
[ C ]
cryin’ for Annie, cryin’ out,
knowin’ she will return without
my concern. knowin’ she’s
probably rummagin’
through some neighbor’s house.
cryin’ out. cryin’ out.
lyin’ down on pallet’d floor,
gettin’ usher’d out so
she could ****.
[ A ]
mouse detectives on VHS,
an awkward glance at left –
all the signs, none of the glory.
misdirectin’ for no reason,
reappearin’ without reason,
disappearin’ for every reason.
[ T ]
road impart’d day’s heat
through all the night, and
moon lit unknown paths.
cryin’ out, peddlin’ faster,
carryin’ weight in
hope at final penance.
no penance.
[ O ]
an artist’s rush,
turn’d paper to masterpiece
with seemin’ lack of effort.
stole heart, keel’d in, cast off to
placebo girl in roomate’s bed.

- - - abrupt ending
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
it's not even funny... there's no etymology,
                                                as a matter of fact,
there's no rosetta stone either...
        there's the three tier concern for
                                taking a ****...
            **** till the **** is nibbling out of your
    ****... you know... taking a sneaky peak
into the greater confines of: here be thy world!
         a "lake"! and then a ******* whirlwind
                                    'ere we go 'ere we go...
    southampton football hoolidans in addition
chanting: oh when the saints! oh when the saint
come marchin' in!
                           the turds are like?
                                     i thought you liked ****?  
is this the part where you tell me...
   psst... mate... you're telling a really ****** joke....
get off the stage before they take out rotten
t'oh m'ah t'ah                   sssss
                         and those god awful cabbages!
me? it's saying: i'm ready for my ******... princess!
   foo!
                         and so it's thrown and my face
turns into a miracle device...
          the face... that turned a rotting cabbage...
   into a plum!
                              even jesus was like: w.t.f.?!
true story.
                    but the funnier side of things is
etymology within the groundwork of bilingualism...
polymaths? they can... *******...
                  they know enough languages
and use them to a sufficient standard, that they
can buy a cup of coffee in either
    paris or seoul (sea owl.... flap flap... flap) -
             they're rigid *******, they know the basic
arithmetic that's a mongrel of letters
            and numbers...
                 they try but can't tell a rottweiler
from a doberman apart...
                but they can tell a schnitzel from
a hamburger... as quickly as you can snap your fingers...
   boom! crescendo.
                   but being bilingual isn't fun...
you're sorta into digging trenches...
     it's like: western europe really gives a ****
about world war uno!
         eastern europe? really gives a **** about
world war deux!
                                  scandinavia? really gives a ****
about bonanza; or how the japanese pronounce it:
BAN! ZAI!
                             i really want to laugh...
but i can't... only because i spent the past half hour
trying to mediate bilingualism in etymology...
               it took only one word...
   hedgehog...
                  that's all it took...
   hedgehog...
                                                   ­  iglak?
   iglasty?
                                       iskra?
                                 maciupka świnka?
coś między drzewem a kwiatem... krzak!
nie... nie nie... to nie to...


hedgehog...   bush-eating-"pig"...

                                                            jeż­!

it's not even etymology what just happened...
        it's a juggling act...
                       but it's quasi-etymological in that
two tongues are competing
    to source a "coincidence", that
       a translation might not require third party
politics of a dictionary...
   but come on...  
                               what sort of bin bang
theory can you compensate
  when the etymology is polar...
               i.e. parallel divergent...
            hedgehog                           /
            jeż            \
                          
      ­   but that's what exists in a mind of a bilingual,
philosophy is the last possible point of entry
into a bewildered mind...
                            etymology on the other hand?
the 1st.
                                 that's not to say:
source the origins...
                                       knock knock?
who's there?
    eh              co!       eh           co!             echo!
                                     ever try doing that in a cave?

all and just that, a simple word,
                hedgehog... and half an hour thinking of
the equivalent in another language...
     half an hour... ****!
     you could probably count to a 1000 in the same
space of time.
Brycical Dec 2012
Thoughts evolve--
some harden
it's not a restart--
--it's a re-tuneup
like a mitochondrion blast to the brain
unchained and unburdened
burping out old patterns
with unhinged words orbiting
Saturn's Rings
the Summer Breeze
keeps teaching me
and I to her
with burning clarity.

It's feeling silly slinging
cyclical prisons off mental cliffs
singing Hallelujah 'till New Year
in our own time
flying through space in her eyes
electrifying each other when I
sometimes understand arabic.  

There's a shift in the desert sands--
feeling rain as I dance on my mind's eye
like waking up from a hallucination
as the water reignites my earthy veins
burning brightly off my tongue
breathing fresh air upon
entering another vertical 27th dimension in space
cause our smiles done gone crazy  
like an azurite lightning strike to the brain!

The name whispered in my mind
by the Summer Breeze
cause I cool things down with ease
with my spiraling cyclical George Carlin cynical
thoughts marchin' causing revolution
within ourselves beating hearts bleeding art
singing blues getting lost in the dawn light sun
sparkling in our smiles smoking like a peace pipe
being passed around a campfire.
Yolanda Smith May 2013
He only advised how better
to cut my own throat
Was in my head,
taking liberties in my sleep,
was humiliated.
Says he's gettin it
Talked to priest.
Says break. Seek help to avoid harm others.
Advised no rage of own,
afraid of abnormal carnal behavior with no trigger
He said pull that trigger
and it runs down my legs
humiliated


The songs start *** & go with me
Let's get married
Then later Jamie's got a bug
Later still when the saints go marchin in
Things you should know
Memories swirling around **** king
Silver foxes, nasty needle games
to make a Blood Queen
2nd & 3rd Quadrant Revisited; mindgames, gelly surf identity thieves, mental ****, coercion
Standing on morals and values
How you?
Sit here and not shed a tear
In this atmosphere
Hells been here my dear
Listen to the sounds of the wind
Paintin' an image you could see within
Soul dwellin' spells sailin'
Like boats on oceans
**** a notion and stop
Sippin' the mental potion
Nothing but poison causing noises
To the intellects
Folks so confused they dont
Know what to reject
Whats thrown at em
Pitches up and i bat em
Out the park
Slicker than John Starks
On the court
Light my spark **** in the dark
Take a trip through my mind
And let the chakras tingle your spine
Im genuine
So anxious notorious when my guns bust
Through the evils hearts
Of mankind no rewind
We going forward marchin'
While ya barkin'
At cars that be parked and
We clear benches from distances
Strong as stance
None could separate this
This part of yosef anthology
Who am i? Who are we?
Stuck in the game calles society
Pawns place carefully
Gotta strategize my moves swiftly
Or else they'll catch me
Slippin- destiny to the penitentiary
Or an early cemetery
Like young revolutionaries
No longer scared no fear
Mama dry yo tears and hear
Me talking to your mind javelin'
While my spirit travelin'
To unknown destinations
No subjugations make it through any situation of the litigation
No hesitation thugs in migrations
No imatitin' raw with our hits
No fakin' slam ya Blake Griffin
Got lots of guns
So dont be trippin' strippin'
Titles off men and men off titles
Im an ultimate rival
To the system its the survival
Of the fittest **** this
Life ill die broke than a slave
Cursed to the carnal sins of man
But then again
Spirits will guide me again
To where it all began
The garden of Eden
You'll see the demons risin' in earthly form
Next to you breathin'
yeah it's time for the hood to stand on they feet
and rep the code of the street
knockin out m and m
with polos shirt
polo jeans and black timbs
extracting limbs
we marchin' like platoons sending dooms
hits like Beruit
these fools is fruit
sweeter than Nabisco
keep the Crisco
roll the molly up slow
so ya know my flow
is smooth and mellow
castin bellows not ya modern day fellow
black as Othello
not Shakespeare
but my gun can make you transform
into the invisible atmosphere
here me clear I have no fear
pressure ya like peers steer
this rap game back to correction
once I make the alignment
hataz get confinement
extort loot like embezzlements
this ain't for embellishment
yeah I'm  hell sent
far from a repent
and you feel my presence
without my presence
I'm coasting beats roasting
leave tracks toast and
who? hotter than me
I beat any and every
emcee that trys to step to me
I'm like sensory
but the message is conveyed cuz I paid
my dues with trues
I deliver rhymes fast
like heard of bad news
so ya know yallin the defeat
try a compete
competition in a sleep
c uz I be the code of the streetts




is it pain or madness
I'm attracting to?
check the door that ya step through
mystical mysterial
stackin' underground
imperials
now your inferior
blacks n latinos
be the surperiors
along with the indians and haitian to jamaican we ain't fakin we takin' mass land ******. a perfecto master plan
because
I like seeing bodies turn blues
like they choked out
gaspin' for air
I don't care
shouldn't have step into my lair
yeah yo rhymes
thin
as a follicle hair
stock rhymes like cement brick layers
true ol school playa  
I be the black Flair
make ya girlies
say wooo beating down crews
like Egyptian slaves none could pave
a pathway I lay
more holier than scripture graphic picture
had to be censored
parental advisory is needed
when it heated like friction
breaking jurisdiction
**** this bias *** system
cold lynching us
mad at us cuz we
still alive
and our guns bust put trust
in myself
I'm a moor short
for Hebrew pointin out the fake h
Jews
ya know ya time is limited
shy but far from timid
runnin the game like Emitt
Smith take a spliff so I can get a lift
and let the hydro take me to astral
let the thoughts flow
on the beat giving subliminal for the code of the streets
Let all the adversaries be crucified
hung high with blood drippin'
from head to toe
like Jesus no love to 'em one shot fills 'em
now they got the holy ghost
as I see there bodies shakin' lovely
no ones above
its better to be feared than loved
cause they keep they distance
i ain't got no hate in my heart
cuz it's cold as Pharaoh
im in revenge of my past battles
my folks lost but the war still goes on
and after i past will anyone grasp the song?
naw to busy sippin' the koolaid
fools gettin' sprayed over defendin' these charades
politicians tell anything
to gain a vote popular and demand then a reprimand
pay attention to the secretive hand
shakes they foment wars turn heros to zeros
in a matter of seconds tv is an invention of the devil
yea im a rebel
so **** peace only peace is war and thats the real
i put my life on it cradle to grave
i can't find heaven if im here in hell
maybe thats the eternal fire? livin' in this jail
body trapped into mud atoms
imma keep on marchin' like Garvey
til they bury me
watchin' out for Killuminati
Mike Adam May 2016
Small cave
high himalayas
boyhood dream

No puff puff choo choo
whistling steam
no red as fire engine

Small cave high mountain
tiger company
deer company

No ***** *****
boys a' marchin'
no kick kick win goal

Small cave
Small cave
chill air
and smiling
Janielle Mainly Apr 2015
The blues come marchin' in at night,
that time, when you're all alone,
and nobody can relieve you of those tears,
'cause they don't even know you're still conscious..
That feeling is always the same,
there's a name for it,
and that would be the blues,
but the blues have been used so many times..
So cry with somethin' else in mind,
although the feeling is always the same.
Michael Marchese May 2018
Fresh off the the boat to rock the vote
Like Lenin off the iron horse
This Wild Western Manifested destiny
Has run its course
And yet am I, the winning side, still spillin’ it in genocide
And civilizin’ savages supply-sidin’ Apartheid pride
To trigger happies harpin’ on their stolen country muses
Christian views as skewed as what their news refuses to include in
Whose excluded from this private privilege history alluded to
In commandante economic sticks and stones I sling at’chu
But what you gunna do but leave another man behind
Keep marchin’ to the slums of war, we’re all complicit in the crime
But you and I, the difference is, I am the Royal’s fear to wed
For I am prone to widow-making
Inter webs within your head
Like Debs ensnarin’ robber barons in a pit of wealth disparity
And Jobs’ cogs who took’er jahbs, achieving singularity
Yeah if you look real hard
You'll see the third eye at large
Invisible triangles set at every angle
Check the gestures it's celebrity nature
To keep ya confuse with tha
Signs and symbol
And other ism the spectrums
Is deep that date back to druid and pagan so peep
My flowmatic which is climatic
Hit you with the taste of spring
Summer winter fall and other things
Four wrapped into one
Like the triggers squeezed from a guns
Outlets the bullets spit soon to see a closed casket
Doom fanatic make fans become an addict
Like Dinero did Wesley super threats sent to me
But it don't matter if they eyes on me
Because I even got shadows that protect me
I got flow that's box ya like Ralph Marci
Lyrical sensei so shut up before ya get zipped up
Body bag with an unknown toetag
Fathered by death nurtured by mother nature
Sadness hates gladness cuz it ain't that mature for sure
We lookin' for remedies but only death is the cure
For certain I know my melanin is hurting
I see y'all from a distance tryna engage war against the poor
Final frontier is settling on the shore
I'm just too *******
Eyes bleed sunshine one nine
Flash through your mind
That the sounds of the defeat every time
Every line defined to undermind
My fake nemesis who's really myself to witness
See  thirty pillars beamin down from the sky
Wait it's a glimpse of spiritual sighting of third eye


Like the flight of a bird
In a flock they got the ***** lock
Every stroke of a wing
Parts the air flow inbetween
Only to come back together like a silbling relating
To universal laws can't see the wind
But you can feel it hitting ya melon
Ain't no telling what's coming
Too many humming and not speaking
Spiritual mumbling just tumbling
Can't joggle ten thousand lbs of steel
I'm talking about keeping it real
To the mass appeal
Cuz you cant outweigh emotions that soon to fill
The earth across the seas land masses
Houses highways streams and bypasses
We just fallin' slow like cascade molasses
Y'all be sweet as licorice
Yeah I act niggerish drink more than Irish
Golden hands with the iron fist
I got the style of Bruce Lee
Master of the martial art poetry
One kick and one punch from me
Is deadly enough to start World War Three
Clevery I see my intellectual marchin' on Calavry
Soon to see victory all my peeps
That hate the shadow government
Come and join me give me death or liberty
Like Latifah U N I T Y lie toself
Tryna protect yourself
But it don't matter I'm braillin' chitter chatter
Demise emcees instantly become a bullet bagger
The Most feared leaving suckas
Teared
Beyond the atmosphere see the gears
I grind time to shine soon to be mine
Game blind breakin' through time lines
Carefully cradlin' designs this ****** one of a kind
See my demons closing in sippin' gin
Finish the sin baby girls lusting trusting
My every moves mack skills Valentino got a ****** from the store
Double X L and I can tell she ready but it's no bail
Once my bicho gets set to sail nothing else fails
Crackin' open her shellfish I ain't selfish
And dish out nothing but the rawness regardless
Who hating this I give ya a gun to kiss
Then let the bullets run through ya head
I'm half dead you half scared we all for bread
Laid across the borders cooked up ya order
We taking over from nation to nation
It's the Pinnacle of a slaughter so haters oughta
Pick up a new gig cuz ya growing small
While I'm big so sit back before I stream ya wig


A thugs revenge make all my enemies
Cringe soon to be creekin' like a door hinge
It's no pretend we see nothing but wins
While y'all remain in the wind time traveling
Back to the 30s yo I'm callin' shots like Babe Ruth
Stats when I'm up for bat four star hat
A rap general y'all suckas minimal novice criminals
Real killaz disguise see the glare in they eyes
Bakin' pies in the oven had tough lovin'
******* recipient so I can't repent hell sent
Made to battle a curse through every verse
Laid prophetically telepathically the one and only
Can't none hold me down blacker than Brown
It's the step child soul of sounds hear to drown
Ya souls with no water ya finished before ya became a starter
Ali style closed ya smile as I compile
All of my victims easily marchin' on Calvary
But it ain't the Jesus in me I was here before BC
It's the beginning of the dark dynasty
So better fear me or else feel the depths of  insanity
SøułSurvivør Nov 2020
Look at the dancing dragon
He puts on quite a show
He lifts up high into the air
As the wind begins to blow.
A wind of change is whipping
Round & round it goes
As it becomes a hurricane
Or an EF5 tor-na-do.

China's at the wall, my friend.
To scale like a flood
Question why their banners fly
Red as flowing blood.
Red, with pretty little stars
A fallen angel brood
They will come a-marchin'
We'll be DONE for GOOD.

Ever wonder why, ye fools
They buy up to the south?
You don't hear THAT on the news
But it is TRUE, by oath!
The dragon's near. Yep. It's HERE.
WE ARE IN IT'S MOUTH.

They don't NEED to buy US.
Think not? You'll find you're WRONG.
They have surely purchased us
And did so for a song.
They don't NEED to fight a war...
It already could be WON.
The Chinese have not marched without
They've conquered from WITHIN.

What will happen to U.S.
Only God can tell.
But the Red Chinese are waiting...

AT THE GATES OF HELL.

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
11/8/2020
Ulysses Mar 2022
I’ll be your fursona grl
Beat me like FRESH crab
Your name could be Sausage Earl
We met in a stank **** lab

Unhinge your crusty ol’ knees
And oink out into the night
Your lips taste like American cheese
You dance like a chicken in flight

We teach the temples to fear
The figures clad in PURE BEEF
For though the darkened night draws near,
They know not of the BEEF THIEF

the ants are marchin’ one-by-one
Seein’  the butter pearls roam,
Let’s commit a hit-and-run
On a carpet made out of chrome

What will happen when the dawn doth come?
A chopper to chop off a head
Look! my dear, a Madagascar plum!
wait no that’s a thermonuclear warhead

And so here, my dear, our story ends
‘lil bomb, skedaddle upon us
This is where our flesh doth rends
So swiftly shall we depart thus
Travis Green Jun 2022
I can’t get enough of your bright macho hotness
Your beardtastic swagtastic attraction
You got a boy so deep into you
I can’t control my focus
Everywhere I go, I behold your glow
The way you flow
The way you hold my soul in your globe
Envelop me in your bold cold motion

See, you got me feeling sweet inside
I pine for divine night to hop in your ride
Let you cop my heart and thoughts
Get It poppin’ and rockin’
Flossin’ your awesome sauce
Talkin’ and marchin’ to the saucy
Hypnotic beat of your heartland
Impossibly confident in your body
Baby, you got me, you surprise me

You spin me in your impeccable
Poetic delectableness
I seep into your heavenliness
I don’t want to miss a beat with you
Trips with you bring me irresistible renewable joy
A flight in your fondly teasing delight is what I like
Drowning in you all through the night
That’s the kinda thing that enlivens me
****, *******, you got me weak and in heat

I am so lit over your smooth exclusive ****
Ain’t nobody got **** on you
You know how to execute every move
You make to sheer perfection
Everything about you is so dopalicious
So manlicious when I peep your realness
When I eye your mad hot game
You got sharp, unerring skills
That kills every flexing fresh prodigy

Just to be in your presence
This **** is a *******’ turn on
Makes me so delirious
With every rare experience I share with you
It’s so authentic and exhilarating
Please don’t leave tonight
Stay with me, lie with me, feel me
With your overwhelmingly sensuous passion

— The End —