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John F McCullagh Aug 2015
An empty bottle of Mateus couldn’t help me drown my sorrow.
It cannot bring you back to me, and I’ll pay for this tomorrow.
All it has done is render me numb to your parting words and kiss;
a kiss goodbye, no public scene, no angry emphasis.
I had lost at Love before, yet something about today.
I think the finality of it all, drove me to this plebeian rose’.


When the love of your life has walked out of your life
What remains then to do or to say?
I will live work and sleep, pay my debts, keep my peace,
And still love you when I’m old and grey.
The denouement of a forty year old love triangle remembered.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
at the Turkish shop, the owner bellows: MATEUS! oh hi hi sir. ten quid and 3 pence in my wallet... packet of tobacco and three strong orange-tree beers to buy... £10.03 i give him, he gives me £1.50 back... small change, your everyday practice of arithmetic... someone money evolved to be a separate language, neither i, nor 1, or b of 8 can identify the trans-valuation of quality symbols attached to mathematical symbols directly (the price of a pineapple is £1.00) or indirectly: a poem is priceless... no one can master the three para-linguistic languages... even though they know each other: the mathematician will never become an economist or a rich man, likewise in reverse, the two stated examples will never create a mathematician... likewise with words: put a prince on Dante's divine comedy... but it'll just end up a subjectivity (quality) v. objectivity (quantity) debate - all we have is Judas talking about the monetary algorithm, the pentagram, 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, 50(p)... and all the digits missing.... later: 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, 50(£)... how could a mathematician survive in this sort of environment? this language makes the other two languages nonsensical, pointless, let's just sum it up: ridiculous. is this a forgotten Europe, or is it simply the Europe not conquered by Rome? then i guess it's true that we are licensed to be feral, and rightly so, as sowed, or given to us, by post-Colonial nations... meaning the Visegrad group: the new Austro-Hungary - will not experience terrorist attacks... because it wasn't two faced, one face showing another lacking... **** me... just be honest... what's the harm in that? oh right, your Egyptian suntan having lapsed into turning you into an Essex orange.*

bypassing history, and entering archaeology,
you'd find the Poles to be the ones
responsible for the Holocaust,
talk about German humour -
like you'd find similarities toward the  excesses of
St. Thomas' Gospel and how the *******
movement came about: a mob of Chinese
factory workers could care less about
western indecision about "keeping the faith":
first they tell you that all those demonic
and angelic fables are metaphors,
then they use the same sly counter negation
tactic of hiding things using metaphors
when a man decides to chop his **** off
to enter "the kingdom of heaven" -
what a saviour he ended up to be,
the Greeks look half smug half pauper,
and some hidden half Byzantine bewildered -
which is what archaeology provides,
and the historian Josephus kindly adds,
false prophet, mount of Olives' insurrection,
Egypt... the Nag Hammadi?
the Jews made two mistakes, both of them
surfaced, one concerning Isiah
and one concerning Jesus... the Jesus unravelling
took off, speedy, blind faithful:
**** heterosexual affairs, there's billions
of us (never mind the fact that 2 billion
are either Chinese or Indian, never mind that),
we can manage deviations:
we're scientifically equipped to elevate
prostitution toward surrogacy.
and so it was.
we've already established enough freedoms
for neither the polygamy of monotheism,
or the monogamy of monotheism can counter
the freedoms we've given out..
                   i'd like to see the polygamy
in its truest form: that arising from polytheism,
but i'd also like to see monogamy in polytheism,
or atheism.... the two are quiet similar:
either there are many gods, or there aren't any,
hence the coliseum and the jackals and the emperors...
or some power-ridden-prose of another
gifted maniac riddling the frustrations of
mothers in western society, saying: aha, ooh, eh?
but given the Poles are facing the mass product,
they're being countered by archaeology rather
than history, it looks like that,
an optical illusion... people travel to Poland
to see Auschwitz, they travel to Berlin to see the Wall...
clue of: who did it? the Poles!
if you took away all common sense of history,
and were left with the measure of times via archaeology,
it would certainly bespeak the correction:
the Poles invoked the Holocaust, the Germans
just built Mercedes-Benz - that's how it will look like
when the dust settles, and people turn to holidaying -
like they already have with the monetary funds
division, the twelve "disciples" arithmetic:
1p, 2p, 5p, 10p, 20p, 50p, £1, £2, £5, £10, £20, £50...
mathematics is a purity from this
impurity, hence the reason that mathematicians
are ****** arithmeticians - they've never been told
to govern the fluctuations of the worth of such
commas in encoding - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6... fair enough...
1p, 2p, 3p, 4p, 5p, 6p, 7£, 8£, 9£, 10£, 11£, 12£...
so said Judas: for the Arthur gimmick,
round the table they sat - and said:
                 count 6 of centimetres - and count
        6 for metres -                  then deviate from that
cutting process -                      as 6 on the micro siding,
   then 6 on the macro siding -
          the third sixth                 assurance is
the theoretical assumption                        that pure
mathematics provides, meaning no mathematician would
ever become an economist;
        or as some already said: 6 days of work,
                      followed by a Sabbath interlude.
Donall Dempsey May 2017
GRANNY SHOCKS THE GRANDCHILDREN

me I always
wore a yellow pinafore dress
displaying my what-should-not-be-seen

or a Sgt. Pepper's jacket
serving as a dress...showing off
buttocks & knickers to great effect

moved from squat to squat
lived on hash and Mateus Rosé
***?was just...eh...there

I had loads of lads
loads of lads had me
music and *** - the twin gods

forget "I wanna hold your hand"
we were Stones fans mannnnn
sang "Lets spend the night together"

I wanted to be Juliette Gréco
read/re-read THE STORY OF O
De Sade's 120 DAYS OF *****

?morals/
yeah!yeah!yeah!
whatever

we were all of us always
trying to find ourselves
or escape from ourselves

Granda was mad
bad and gorgeous to know
like straying off the path into

the forest of a fairy story
a **** scary beast
my very own big bad wolf

an Mmmmmmmm
kind of man
"Eat me...eat me!" I'd yell at him

*** was that...what
cheered up those forever
endless rainy British afternoon
Tom Balch May 2016
The bowl filled with hot water,
the dishes and cutlery from lunch
await my attention;

But back then
in the days of sixties summers the
beaches beckoned


The glasses first
followed by the plates, careful not
to over-do the coarse green back
of the sponge on the china;

And us
hand in hand in our rolled up jeans
strolling where the sea meets sand


Knives followed by the forks followed
by the spoons and as I look out of the
window the martins fly to and fro
feeding their young;

I can still hear the noise of gulls
and the whooshing of
waves as we ran sideways up the
pebbles trying to avoid getting soaked


“Where are the clean tea towels” I ask
and you call out
“In the top draw on the right”

When I´ve finished this we´ll sit outside
with a glass of red;
Funny how our taste changes over the years,

in those days of sunshine
and sand in toes it would have been
Blue Nun or Mateus Rose
and the washing up
was probable the last thing on our minds
...
Truth behind Jun 2017
As I gaze upon reality, I disgust myself for being it's greatest release. For reality now and reality then are but pieces of it's story that cannot predict reality tomorrow. I've watched reality grow. From it's dark yet blissful past to it's bliss yet darkened present. Why? I ask myself every moment that I gaze upon it. Beauty is one of my strongest joys. A joy that coped away all pains of reality, now tainted by lack of beauty, but flourished with desire for it. The world before my time is only a dream in my thoughts as I lay. A place of meaning, simplicity, understanding; a place of wisdom and freedom being one to overcome ignorance and containment; a place where truth prospered and deceit had no strength against the forces of true beauty. I only wonder how my life would write itself in this world that I hold no absolute truth. I only know what has been written since a fetus and thus far. Confusion tis what blinds my ability to find glory where glory seems indefinite.
Faith, hope, potential, understanding. The gifts bestowed upon me by his greatness. Gifts that push me further than those before me. A uniqueness that creates me through my name. Mateo, Mateus, Matayo, Mateias, all with meaning of blessings and change. A change that this so-called  reality yearns for. I hear the voice of greatness begging that I continue with the war that I fight against the darkness that surrounds me in this world. So I fight, for this battle stands for more than beauty, peace, love, wisdom, unity. This battle is fought by me for truth. For only this shall break our chains that hold us from the grace that we seek in living. I, aware of my Destiny, choose not my Destiny. For my life is written, however I shall write my pages as I please for I choose my own Destiny. I choose my own Faith. I choose the path set before me with lead to whatever foot I select to lead. In that I find my freedom. In that I find truth. In that I find beauty. In only that...I find Reality. But this is only a mere shard of what I seek. A mere fragment of the battle that holds itself beyond my very eyes. A man of many wars, many philosophies,many strengths. And yet a man of many Fears, many pains, and many tears spawned by the clouds that make my lens and condensated from the sadness that is created in mind. I stand in limbo as I view this world and come to realize one statement of pure significance. This is not reality. But what is reality? Do you wonder? Do you know? No. You live in it yet do not know where you are. Lost but Found is who I am but you are Found but Lost. Difference being awareness. I see what isn't through strength and complexity in my perception. You see through desire and simplicity in a dead man's eye. Blind. You see what is wanted and given. You see what your eyes lay, as Beauty in her sleep. You see what your mind craves as a leopard craves a gazelle but can't run, for it has let it's mind steal it's legs with utter deceit. Do you wish to know what I see? I see behind the curtain where the actors perform. I see the black feather of the white dove. I see the things that your mind refuses to see. The beautiful light that you can't appreciate that is the sun. The strength in the weak man's heart that you shun and harm because of their flaws. The words that you, not can't, but won't pronounce, being for what you believe as difficult. I see what you believe you see.
Reality.
When I was confused about the world I decided to look deeper past the things that lowered my hope. When I found enlightenment in this search I suddenly came to a realization. Thus, this poem was born.
Dennis Willis Nov 2018
I tried on Windows
I tried on Android
With three different browsers

Posting every answer
Freezes
You have a ******* superpower
Of preventing input
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
Dennis Willis
Dude I love your **** but I can only read the shorter stuff because of the drugs

Mateuš Conrad  57m
i have no problem with that, i'm not going to be your pusher, don't worry, i know that i write long pieces and that they're not for everyone, to be honest, i sometimes find myself exhausted writing the longer ones... talking about drugs... i write drunk, most of the time... so what are you into on this topic? evidently you don't have to reply, but, if i drink, and find the energy to concentrate and write... what the hell are you taking that's so... well... as you put it... again: it's just a curiosity question... then again: i hope you're not taking that drug SPICE that has gripped England like an epidemic... if you haven't heard of it... look up SPICE: a drug epidemic in England... they call it the 'zombie' drug... if someone offers it to you: STAY AWAY... England already experienced a laughing gas epidemic in the past 5 years... but yeah... SPICE... the photographs are sad as a three-legged puppy... look into it, but please, wherever you are, avoid this drug.

Mateuš Conrad  40m
p.s. you have to give yourself some credit, for admitting: 'because of the drugs', mind you... you did take enough time for honesty, and the fact that something, beside the drugs made you focused, or rather, something made you focused enough to acknowledge yourself, being strapped to an honest observation. i sometimes can't write short pieces, i have "too many" (there are never too many) notches on my reading list belt... how else can i compensate having invested a month's worth in a book, if i don't write something outside the haiku? i hope we can keep this skirmish up... i just like honesty, and... you're a rare experience of honesty in a long time, behind this masquerade of faking things... so... i guess... a thank you is in order.

Dennis Willis  25m
Mateus are you high? If not, get there dude. ;-).
Be real squared. Mostly I'm just very fast paced. Keep writing! Throw a bone to the ADD crowd periodically. LOL. Wine and maybe a **** eh!

Mateuš Conrad  1m
do you want to be pandered to? if i am about to pander to someone, leave me a less obvious clue to latch onto like a leech.. i don't smoke ****... i stopped smoking **** the minute i heard that, the English G.M. **** was making ****-smokers carve off their testicles, and **** their mothers, in psychotic fits of rage... so... are YOU... high? the attention deficit disorder crowd? you one of them? let's look at it this way... i hate emoji language... guess what happens next... i like humor, rhetorical humor...something akin to: back and forth... but this? you're as much into drugs as i am into ensuring myself formulating a, **** to an expectation of being relieved... so yeah... bye... because of the drugs... ha ha! you seem pretty alert writing such coherency!

suddenly the dope heads
have a moral authority
over drunks...
                      well... you try honesty...
after your honesty is exhausted...
you just take out the whip;
there's just no point
reasoning with these people!

why am i expected to digest
said, "humor"?
what, the ****, is humorous about it?
if i'm drunk, strapped
to a polygraph machine...
what am i missing?
i'm sensing the obvious though,
ridicule...
i hate, ridicule...
  
      being paid compliments
is one thing...
genuine compliments...
but what i just received...
can anyone see what's being
nuanced?
  then again... i'm either autistic...
or completely out-"there"
*******...
    
   supposed language,
of a drug "addict"...
ha!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
i abhor reading into internet culture,
yes, nuance,
but when i have a chance
to read past it,
and subsequently read into it...
well... internet "culture":
more like:
the language expressed when using
the internet...
me talking to a blank slate
of paper...
   a bit like finding
a £20 banknote on the street?
you serious?
you know how rare that is?!
but at least some sort of cordiality,
a missing nuance
parameter,
i'm tired of nuances
in conversation,
it's enough that i have
to deal with metaphor,
cipher and alternative means
of making language hyperbolic...
but in direct conversation?
i'm not hyper-inflating
my emotions...
i, just... don't feel like
making my lexicon overtly
nuanced..
with the sheep-ish take on
hieroglyphs
with emoticons...
or n. american excesses of
acronyms...
what was once known
as a "platonic love"...
should be from therein be
known as
a "socratic conversation"...
either the dire hollow
of the death of god,
or the death of dialectics...
maybe i'm just too dumb
to solidify my reception
of nuance...
but an overt expression
of emotion,
when coupled to:
but what reply can i make,
of this?
silence is just perfect...
  do you think,
any of the 20th or 19th century
novelists would
receive mail from readers
so quickly?!
or any, at all?
maybe i really can't read
nuance...
authentic ridicule i can stomach,
when i attack someone...
but indirectly?
so... i should have my
electricity supply, cut?
back to paper mail?
            i need,
something specific to be cornered on...
i can't deal with hieroglyphic
abstractions of the emoticon...
wink wink smiley face
as in, what?!
i'm in on some ******* joke?!
or should i be?
          i must be old,
it would seem...
i can't read into the language
of the younger populace...
thank god for that...
      but sometimes the obvious is
staring you in the face...

as a psychology abstract,
a conversation that begins with:

dude I love your **** but I can only
read the shorter stuff because of the drugs

and becomes, "reiterated"
with

Mateus are you high?
          if not, get there dude. ;-).
be real squared.

i gave the ****** a journalistic
opinion about a real threat!
the SPICE epidemic is real
in England... the zombie drug is...
REAL!

how the **** can i be high if
i already explained that i was...
drunk?! the ****?!

and what, the ****, is this:  ;-)?
the **** is that?!
and squared... squared...
didn't the Beat poets use
that phrase?
you know, like in the 1950s
and the 1960s for the Normans
who didn't smoke ****?

oh **** the portrait...
i'm profiling this ****...
he / she are into drugs...
non-specific drugs...
but, somehow...
unable to read the long pieces...
yet...
very... "clairvoyant"
when it comes to:
specifically reading,
some odd specifically written
piece...

drug addicts prefer the collective
mesh... they don't hone
in on specifics...

i don't like the question either...
i am, DRUNK...
see how demeaning
the iteration becomes?
how can, a drug "addict"...
find a moral superiority
over a drunk,
supposing the drunk,
to also be, "high"?

- and that word, dude...
am i, your ******* friend or something?!
dude the **** what?!

be real squared...
that pushed the button...
oh that **** really did...

squared as in what?
your linear?
or i am squared to your linear,
or, rather, cubic?

how else you gonna foul mouth
the real crazies?
a simple rubric... with a whip!
the logistics of the language
doesn't match up!
but then the saintly sanity sanctuary Simon
goodie-two-shoes
are pandering to
the pronoun-revisionist brigade...

but sure, sure...
pander to the crazies...
the crazies you're actually worried
about...
  ARE, NOT, TAKING, ANY,
DRUGS... OTHER, THAN, THE, DRUG...
KNOWN, AS, YOUR,
NAIVETY...
oh... sure as **** they're
on this "drug"...
  how else would they begin
to trick you into being authentic
drug addicts... like this ******
i just experienced?
there are nuances in language...
but in direct conversation?
the comment section isn't
supposed to be
a poetic canvas!
you express whatever requires
a conversation,
a freeing sensation,
from a lack of a poetic collage...
i.e. red is red...
   blue is blue...
a square is a square...
  but come the poetic canvas...
well...
        language is everything
it's not supposed to be,
i.e.: the directly expressed,
"motivational"...
     pure noun: etymological...
what is language outside
of poetry, if not the pure verb,
instruction?
like what is red, amber, green,
outside of painting?
not merely traffic signalization?
Donall Dempsey May 2018
GRANNY SHOCKS THE GRANDCHILDREN

me I always
wore a yellow pinafore dress
displaying my what-should-not-be-seen

or a Sgt. Pepper's jacket
serving as a dress...showing off
buttocks & knickers to great effect

moved from squat to squat
lived on hash and Mateus Rosé
***?was just...eh...there

I had loads of lads
loads of lads had me
music and *** - the twin gods

forget "I wanna hold your hand"
we were Stones fans mannnnn
sang "Lets spend the night together"

I wanted to be Juliette Gréco
read/re-read THE STORY OF O
De Sade's 120 DAYS OF *****

?morals?
yeah!yeah!yeah!
whatever

we were all of us always
trying to find ourselves
or escape from ourselves

Granda was mad
bad and gorgeous to know
like straying off the path into

the forest of a fairy story
a **** scary beast
my very own big bad wolf

an Mmmmmmmm
kind of man
"Eat me...eat me!" I'd yell at him

*** was that...what
cheered up those forever
endless rainy British afternoon
GRANNY SHOCKS THE GRANDCHILDREN

me I always
wore a yellow pinafore dress
displaying my what-should-not-be-seen

or a Sgt. Pepper's jacket
serving as a dress...showing off
buttocks & knickers to great effect

moved from squat to squat
lived on hash and Mateus Rosé
***?was just...eh...there

I had loads of lads
loads of lads had me
music and *** - the twin gods

forget "I wanna hold your hand"
we were Stones fans mannnnn
sang "Lets spend the night together"

I wanted to be Juliette Gréco
read/re-read THE STORY OF O
De Sade's 120 DAYS OF *****

?morals?
yeah!yeah!yeah!
whatever

we were all of us always
trying to find ourselves
or escape from ourselves

Granda was mad
bad and gorgeous to know
like straying off the path into

the forest of a fairy story
a **** scary beast
my very own big bad wolf

an Mmmmmmmm
kind of man
"Eat me...eat me!" I'd yell at him

*** was that...what
cheered up those forever
endless rainy British afternoon


*

All the young folk saw was an old lady and they couldn't imagine the life she led when young and how the world appeared then to the youth and what they thought they could do. Youth was the new currency and ***...fashion...morals....politics...music were all thrown up in the air. "The '60's..?" she'd smirked in answer to their questions as if she were a history book rather than a real life flesh and blood individual - "...you just had to be there!"

— The End —