"mensa" poems
Black widow, waiting for a strike,
Crouching small, behind your mike.
You love to see contestants cringing,
This is a quiz; it’s not a lynching.
Face ******* up behind her glasses.
I’ve seen better bums on lasses.
Centre spot on stage she poses,
A jagged thorn on jet-black roses.
She’d like us to believe, I think.
She’d never be the weakest link.
Superior look upon her face,
Shame about the old boat race.
What’s this I see? You have a degree?
Still, you’ll never be as good as me.
Who chose that dress? Don’t like the shirt!
She loves to dig and throw the dirt.
Oh! And you belong to Mensa.
I’ve never met anyone who’s denser.
This is a quiz, I hope you know?
You’re the weakest link; you’ll have to go.
She earns more money than the Queen.
She’ll never be an old has been.
Was she born or just invented?
Let’s hope the moulds been lost or dented.
Where do you come from? No don’t know it.
Still you’re common and you show it.
I’m from Liverpool; I’m a Scouse,
You ought to see my big fine house.
It’s easy when you have the answers; see!
Too believe you are much cleverer than we.
But you’re not that clever, Ann we think.
Oh and one more thing, I Hate That Wink!
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 11:52 PM UTC
poisoned well of the antichrist littered with ground cover
picking out ****** flecks of gravel
blacktop kneeskin
patience pieces of scattered space time
to go back to the future of continuity
lack of genius ingenuity
and the suckling of the pig entourage
riding in a flat top hatchback
cadillac of the daily grind
upperclassman japan onii-chan
brother in arms from anotha motha
hug from afar colliding with crackpot theory
terrible fantasia cooling bricks in soggy sun
swallowed his pride with a glass of self-worth
and these ***** don't cook like they used to
I don't look like I used to
warped veil of camouflage chameleon leather
with a ****** level of automobile salesman
tried to get closer to god
ground him up, picked out the stems
twisted him into thin paper
touched flame to his finger tip and a son of Adam was born
gum shoe gaze
or the emptiness felt at the end of reasonable doubt
correctional text messaging system
sent from hoarse corpses
tenderly poignant in their ****** coffins
will think for food
cries from an outdated MENSA
over ***** and under-appreciated
siting on hunched shoulders to get a better look
to be a martian in a plain port
wharf warehouse whaling boat
red tide in a Shanghai **********
floodgates made of bitter premise
that last bit of purple yam
**** Okonkwo
Things Fall Apart fell apart due to faded highschool ambitions and bloodshot eyes
cruel like the shade of off-cerulean
champagne fizz tickles at the soft meat of his tarnished throat
and silver tongue
as the matchstick framework
so fragile in comparison
fizzles out on drenched sidewalk
while cigarette ash floats by
like gray gnats
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
La donzelletta vien dalla campagna,
In sul calar del sole,
Col suo fascio dell'erba; e reca in mano
Un mazzolin di rose e di viole,
Onde, siccome suole,
Ornare ella si appresta
Dimani, al dì di festa, il petto e il crine.
Siede con le vicine
Su la scala a filar la vecchierella,
Incontro là dove si perde il giorno;
E novellando vien del suo buon tempo,
Quando ai dì della festa ella si ornava,
Ed ancor sana e snella
Solea danzar la sera intra di quei
Ch'ebbe compagni dell'età più bella.
Già tutta l'aria imbruna,
Torna azzurro il sereno, e tornan l'ombre
Giù dà colli e dà tetti,
Al biancheggiar della recente luna.
Or la squilla dà segno
Della festa che viene;
Ed a quel suon diresti
Che il cor si riconforta.
I fanciulli gridando
Su la piazzuola in frotta,
E qua e là saltando,
Fanno un lieto romore:
E intanto riede alla sua parca mensa,
Fischiando, il zappatore,
E seco pensa al dì del suo riposo.
Poi quando intorno è spenta ogni altra face,
E tutto l'altro tace,
Odi il martel picchiare, odi la sega
Del legnaiuol, che veglia
Nella chiusa bottega alla lucerna,
E s'affretta, e s'adopra
Di fornir l'opra anzi il chiarir dell'alba.
Questo di sette è il più gradito giorno,
Pien di speme e di gioia:
Diman tristezza e noia
Recheran l'ore, ed al travaglio usato
Ciascuno in suo pensier farà ritorno.
Garzoncello scherzoso,
Cotesta età fiorita
È come un giorno d'allegrezza pieno,
Giorno chiaro, sereno,
Che precorre alla festa di tua vita.
Godi, fanciullo mio; stato soave,
Stagion lieta è cotesta.
Altro dirti non vò; ma la tua festa
Ch'anco tardi a venir non ti sia grave.
2.1k
Some years ago, there was a Mensa convention in San Francisco .
Mensa, as you know, is a national organization for people who have an IQ of 140 or higher.
Several of the Mensa members went out for lunch at a local cafe. When they sat down, one of them discovered that their salt shaker contained pepper, and their pepper shaker was full of salt. How could they swap the contents of the two bottles woithout spilling any, and using only the implements at hand? Clearly -- this was a job for Mensa minds.
The group debated the problem and presented ideas and finally, came up with a brilliant solution involving a napkin, a straw, and an empty saucer.
They called the waitress over, ready to dazzle here with their solution.
"Ma'am," they said, "we couldn't help but notice that the pepper shaker contains salt and the salt shaker -- "
But before they could finish,..........
the waitress interrupted. "Oh -- sorry about that."
She leaned over the table, unscrewed the caps of both bottles and switched them.
The was dead silence at the Mensa table.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Do we ever really mean it
with temper stripping us down to our most
animalist
sadistic
I did not mean that, poem of mine I showed you last night
what read simply bled
Last night, contemplating accidental mescaline trips
loves
loss
life death
becoming master of this illusion
We are the generation which creates itself
I am my years in Chongqing
Where my heart heeded me not court the innocent
Chinese
beautiful
flower of a ******
My heart could not resist the fling
Monster
Foreigner
Devil
Oh! How my tormented conscious screams!
I am
my months
In Greifswald
Moin
Moin Moin
out back of Mensa Club
my head met an angry boot
thud
I let out my cruddy caterwall
*****
************
****
******
Come here I will ******* **** you!
I am held back from further humiliation by the furer followers taken for my stitches.
made a scene at the police station.
I get what I deserve in my American varsity jacket I stole from my father, vintage. I was an easy target it is not far fetched I get a blitzkrieg on my head.
I am my posh time in London
In Hampstead I swirl sangria
discussion David Downs and
which works are his strongest
In Chelsea I walk around
boxer shorts and pajama bottoms
getting k-holed with the
bottom feeders all ****** on
frosty jacks
7 a.m.
I am ready for heaven
my world swings before me,
swaying... silently.
A dead man hangs
swoosh swoosh
falling
from the gallows
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
Le dicevano: - Bambina!
Che tu non lasci mai stesa,
dalla sera alla mattina,
ma porta dove l'hai presa,
la tovaglia bianca, appena
ch'è terminata la cena!
Bada, che vengono i morti!
I tristi, i pallidi morti!
Entrano, ansimano muti.
Ognuno è tanto mai stanco!
E si fermano seduti
la notte intorno a quel bianco.
Stanno lì sino al domani,
col capo tra le due mani,
senza che nulla si senta,
sotto la lampada spenta. -
È già grande la bambina:
la casa regge, e lavora:
fa il bucato e la cucina,
fa tutto al modo d'allora.
Pensa a tutto, ma non pensa
a sparecchiare la mensa.
Lascia che vengano i morti,
i buoni, i poveri morti.
Oh! la notte nera nera,
di vento, d'acqua, di neve,
lascia ch'entrino da sera,
col loro anelito lieve;
che alla mensa torno torno
riposino fino a giorno,
cercando fatti lontani
col capo tra le due mani.
Dalla sera alla mattina,
cercando cose lontane,
stanno fissi, a fronte china,
su qualche bricia di pane,
e volendo ricordare,
bevono lagrime amare.
Oh! non ricordano i morti,
i cari, i cari suoi morti!
- Pane, sì... pane si chiama,
che noi spezzammo concordi:
ricordate?... È tela, a dama:
ce n'era tanta: ricordi?...
Queste?... Queste sono due,
come le vostre e le tue,
due nostre lagrime amare
cadute nel ricordare! -.
912
This emptiness i can't feed
through these people i too easily ****
i hope i'm wrong
but i know i'm not
here in the vessel
i rot
wasting my mind
wasting my time
waiting, no rhyme
everything i try
every time i die
nothing new
one didn't work
neither did two
both were perfect
but i'm insane
i try to hard
for them
i'd always be perfect
but no one wants that
i'm cold
calculated
doing what's smart
not what's caring
but i'll always share
my everything
i'm not happy
somewhere between
mensa and model
i look for a new her
if someone understood
that...would
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
A man of Mensa fell from grace,
Along with the world's population bound for space.
The ship was constructed from metal of a new source.
The inventor for which was known to be hoarse.
Warnings had been shared.
Reserves were being prepared.
Rumours ran amuck.
Confidence became unstuck.
A limitless arc of man's own invention.
Its potential impacts go without mention.
A crew selected.
No aspect neglected.
Few men chose to stay behind.
To the Christian faith they were all aligned.
Fearful of the concept of a new life,
One void of the perils held within religious strife.
The day man left earth,
Christians chose to stay in the waters of their baptismal birth.
They stared in awe as the shuttle soared,
The throttle for which was completely floored.
The man at the helm possessed an incredible mind.
A duplicate the centuries have made hard to find.
Cogs in the ship became incorrectly tangled,
And soon the thrusters were completely mangled.
The ship plummeted towards the ground
Screams of agony the only audible sound
The whole thing crashed and burned.
All were dead, no lesson to be learned.
The world was left without reason.
A word against Christ deemed to be high treason.
Now, these void of thought own the land
Sacrificial place holders for those who took a truly righteous stand.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
(in honor of 16shots by Vic Mensa)
humans : dec. 10, 2023.
subject X
wavy hair, African descent.
command issued: bow down
return: subject X fails to conform
return: subject X fails to bow down.
subject X: Resist
Resist
Resist
humans : Subject X seems to have rejected
our psych training.
return: conversion to slave failed.
inference: indomitable spirit
advise: imprison subject X immediately.
new orders: We have a rebel.
I repeat: we have a REBEL!
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
he was just that
a fetal pig
but not the kind you dissected
in high school biology
he was lazy of course
and how he loved his corn
in his darker moments
his snout....it would smolder
the professors postulated that
he must be off-gasing
but the more cynical ones
they would only mutter
“i bet he’s just doing that on purpose”
now the men in suits they were just
plain jealous
they’d posture and scheme
all the better
to be the one who’d get to
"hunker down" with him
(maybe mess with his *****
so now they’re all reading dictionaries
and memorizing quadratic equations
never mind the smell
but the pig....he’s happy
just making puddings
and trying not to think
about how little time is left
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
Kick a dead man
He don't bleed
rubber face
never breaks
has no need
Why stab the thing
it doesn't live
wrapped in bags
buried in the sea
feed the fish
Dumpster dive deliveries
snails and worms
and pretty things
fingernails pony tails
and teeth
A thousand million
maybe more
trinkets
and a broken *****
washed up on a
greasy shore
get your needles free
with running shoes and feet
treasures on the beach
dig the earth and reach
search for more
muggings of my sanity
I can't go out
I'm never free
all the eyes are watching me
dollars down the drain
such a shame
***** names and ***** stains
I've seen it all
It's all the same
demoralized beaten
left for dead
Dig a grave
for someone else
staring back
behind the glass
whiskey poems
the Mensa test
and death
Diseased
Pick Your poison
cups of tea...
forget
there's simply nothin' left
No one Loves
no one tries
kick the bodies all aside
and deal your truth
where it seems to fit
I spit
I'm used to it
I think it's time to go to sleep
digging up a darker deep
Killing pigs
with gloves of kid
I slit the neck
bleeding out in reams
it streams
anything that floats your boat
Is likely just a dream
and one more lifeless body
slips into the drink
Roosty
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC
INTELLIGENCE IS A SCABBY INFECTION,
INTELLIGENCE OUTSIDE OF MENSA
(THE I.Q. H.Q.) SHOULD BE TREATED
WITH SUSPICION,
INTELLIGENCE IS A DISEASE IN
WESTERN SOCIETY, INTELLIGENCE
IS COUNTER-MATERIALISTIC,
NO CASE FOR PRODUCTIVITY,
HAVING EXPORTED ALL OF IT
ALONG WITH THE DOZEN AMPUTEE LIMBS
TO CHINA...
AND AS THE MUSLIMS CONQUERED WITH EASE,
SO THEY SUCCUMBED TO DEBAUCHERY
OF THE BLACK GOLD....
THANKFULLY I WENT TO A *****
BEFORE THE EASTERN EUROPEAN BROTHEL
OPENED ITS TSUNAMI OF LIES AND DECEIT...
BUT AS ONCE WE WATCHED THE ARABS
CONQUER WITH VERY LITTLE BUT SAND,
WE SUBSEQUENTLY WATCHED THE ARABS
BECOME BARONS AND DUKES OF DUBAI...
DEGENERATE SCURVY PASSERS-ON THE DISEASE...
it's basically watching retards grow impotent
rather than indolent... or maybe both...
lazy Arab *** in Niqab because the sugar levels
got the better of them, with both men and women
wearing extra-size napkins... Saudi Arabia
being the joke of the entire Muslim world:
welcome to the equivalent of the Vatican;
it only takes one schism to make it all a load of
chirping charged-up ********
i'm just surprised it came so early, well, not really,
given most terrorists think they're directly
descendent of the prophet... who turns out to
be a patriarch - given such father-son obedience and slaughter...
can these Islamic terrorists please defend either
prophet or patriarch, because, by the looks of it
they're more inclined to defend the latter status than the former;
whatever, the once agile Arabs with their simple
Koranic sense of belief are nothing more than
overweight diabetics these days... you could skewer them
and rotationally fry them like swine.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
Science and Religion
never best of friends
like a cat and a pigeon
a bond that quickly ends
yet to heavens they both look
in search of inspiration
and they're reading some fat book
for an explanation
and they're filled with so much hope
that there is an answer
looking for it in the pope
or when they join Mensa
could it be their destination
always same has been
and it's there in an equation
hidden in john 3:16
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 7:15 AM UTC
You're as beautiful as Mensa
And i'm a young gun with Dementia
Forgetting things cause the thoughts are out of pace
But at least you're a magnificent preface
To the story about to unfold here
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
Some people love wars.
Some people seek peace.
That just the way it it.
Some people are comfortable with their own kind.
Some people have an open mind.
That just the way it is.
Some hate interracial dating.
Or mixing or the races.
Or inner marriage of different religion.
That's just the way it is.
Some people pretend to saints.
When in truth they simply ain't.
Some people love to sin.
Some turn out to be great friends.
Simply because they don't pretend.
That's just the way it is.
Some can't stand the president.
Because of his policies and views.
While others comprehend he represent many.
Just not a few.
Some ministers think they control the office.
And cries foul quick when things goes against written law.
Without comprehending laws are made to divert from.
As law, as that diversion is hurting anyone.
Everything churches states they are against.
Can be located as happening in the bible.
That just the way it is.
Some people in Mensa think they smarter than us all.
Except that rationality is a figmentality of their imagination.
Of the many brainster there is.
Which has done the most for any nation.
Oh it sound great to say you have a high IQ.
But some of the less smart folks are smarter than you.
That just the way it is.
Some people are extremely addicted to ***
And in various people minds.
There's nothing wrong with that.
That just the way it is.
Doctors can using statistics and factual matter to prove it.
Except many will debate those numbers.
That just the way it is.
Some people loves to commit crimes.
And cry like a weakling when it comes to doing time.
That just the way it is.
Some people just can handle the truth.
Ask many family's members.
And they know exactly who?
That just the way it is.
Some people easily offended.
Others just have a thick skin.
Some question, why men want to be women?
And why women dress like men?
That just the way it is.
Some wonder why people does suicide.
When life is over all important.
Then finding ways to die.
That just the way it is.
Some people can offend.
But too proud to apologize.
And we have to wonder why?
Yes, that just the way it is.
Some reading this know truth lies within.
But I must end this poem before other thoughts comes to mind.
That just the way it is.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC