Screeching screaming
Flat tire
Halts journey!
Menacing night-
Fangs bared,
Nastily stares
~Crouching~
Stares nastily,
Bared fangs,
Night, menacing!
Journey halts,
Tire flat,
Screaming, screeching.

*****?
Aren't you a big shrike?
Those "*****" are lady-like
And we can talk freely about other women and its not awkward
What's not to like?
Get that pike
Out of your rear
Because it's apparent
That you are not easy to like
By the way you label people nastily
It's not appealing any way.

it wasn't my intention to embarrass you
perhaps i acted rashly
but knowing what he said to you
made me livid, would it have been better to have treaded bashfully
i cannot stand for my friends to be treated so nastily
myself is another matter entirely
i have a problem letting things go
maybe i need to grow

"Remembering the Soviet’s silent sufferings!"

Chechnya, Georgia, Crimea…… Kiev!
There they marauded cruelly combing all  
And souls they severely sought to take like hogs
Souls they fatally fought-these Dmitri dogs
In death jails-a hell more than purgatory’s punishment
They put souls to pleasurably slaughter them all
And a soul at its time they picked and hacked in elated excitement
Severely they severed them these trigger happy Zarkozsky fools

Hunger and starvation their invasion caused!
It is a saying: To suppress small states-hunger and violence cause!
And out of these societies’ desperations, demeaned humans
Will subjugate freely as miserable subjects-slaves to any rule
The soviet sacrificed us to their animosity and brutality
Our children, our parents, our experts-we all fatally fell
Of their gallous guns or cruel squads or unnatural hungers
Humans, hardworking humans became bones-NOTHING!

We did the donkeys’ hard works-indefatigably  
And they ungrateful, kingly collected our all
All our tills tires they unjustly carried away
And all was left in sustainable villages were huge hungers-
Everywhere were war casualties: tension, desperation, mass starvations-
And when angered we couldn’t bottle anymore we staged rebellions
And they cursed us with all sorts of chemicals contaminations

They combated and convicted us with any known brutal cruelties
Innocent infants they injured with their injustices-fatalities  
Little angels they hewed with brutality-others they made all sorts of slaves
They collected us, us resilient and begun murdering our mettle vitalities
Men, all able men they collected, killed and covered in mass graves
Them they carried in transport trains, some they threw away in trenches, in rivers…
Their remains they concealed to deny us a claim of their atrocities and animosities

Babies remained, crying for their dying mummies and daddies
Long after finally they have given up fighting-living
Poor innocent babies, unaware it is death……
It is not death the devil but Dmitri dogs the devils
That has fat fed on their last of defenses-able parents
Times ahead of them were tough if not toughest

The Petrovs’, the Pavlovichs’, the Mirovics,
The Lenin’s, the Stalin’s, the Sarkozsky’s.....
They are animals raised from hells horrible
There not to pamper and foster but to decimate  
Ruthless and cruel they killed without a soul-a heart  
Death is their rite, blood is their eucharist
Mass mortuaries of mutilated bodies are their sophists
Killing is their glorious celebrations-theirs sacred sacrifices

In jail, doors opened and rude were ruthless soldiers’ orders
Chains crinkled on ground as sacrifices lead to little altars
Prisoners were time to time collected and lead in cruel commanders’ commands
And from distances came echoes of targeted bingo bull’s-eye shots
A LOW ROW of shots followed by the silences of squeal of sailed souls and their guilt
If a day or a night-if any able to tell from chained scary dark chambers  
Passed and found you fit-alive, you counted yourself very, very lucky!

It was dark when we escaped from the jaws of our starving starring deaths
Out, the moon shone silvery sweet and bright on these sad ******-white snows
Its silver speckle lights letting lurid luminous sparkling glows
The snow rained with such sadness and bitterness
On our ears it whizzed with fury and ferocity
On our bare skins it bit with brutality and cruelty
On our near naked feet it froze and frosted
We endured, we had to!

Had we managed to rob death of its celebration and elation
A taste of our starved wounded bones-surviving skeletons
We had to struggle to live and hope give, we strived, we had no choice
If we were to be counted heroes of our hopeless humans
Saviours of our suppressed peoples
We had to reach a safe distance and our rural homes
To stage the war from the roots, the stems, the base!

A death in nature by nature is better than one in Dmitri dogs hands
Their deaths were inhumane, their deaths were merciless
They were mocking and shocking-laughing and loathing while killing
A mocking moustache peeking from their elongated mouths smiles
A cigar smoking from their mouth and emitting from their nostrils
A red star labeled soviet beret on their ***** irking hairy heads
They killed you slowly loving and laughing of any strength you gave to live
Until at last you are lost-in the abyss arenas of death, your are done
Such a point you give up, you can’t fight, resist anymore

They chased after us–they pursued us
They were too determined to not let any of us live
But miraculously we lived-we somehow survived
Here in this snowy arena it is a fair ground for everyone-
There is no grandmaster, it is improvisation
Survival only for the willed-fittest
Not how well you were equipped or trained
Though too skills and determination also counted

We trapped them in their own constructed coliseum
A lot of them free-froze and fell in these forgotten fields
Their bones never to reach their of-kin commemorating cemeteries
Nature is JUST! As us, theirs too had to bitterly mourn their nature lost
The never to see graves, reminders of their never returned fighting loved ones
With God’s grace on us, we cheated their beginning to tire authorities
We reached home; we reached the earth’s of our ancestors

And here we gathered to charge back-to seek backups
To restore the lost glory of our nastily punished perishing people
Some we sneaked to safety in case we all perish we have remnants
Backups to tell of us-our sorrowful story-our liberty struggles
To Kiev and its heroes; to Kiev and its strong heroines
To Kiev and its resistant living; To Kiev and its resilient
We gathered to kick back, to tell the world of the evils of the Soviet Satans
To mourn with grace our gone and done in this dehumanizing disgrace!  
O Kiev, her heartless Holodomor; O Crimea, O Georgia…..
The Satanic Soviet infiltration brought you eternal sufferings!

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

Running in epileptic circles
my dreams that can't even escape
these malemetal mindtraps
securely locking up the bodies of the
evildoers happening to catch my soul
between the stainlesssteel and whitewash
and scratchy blankets on my cheek
my eyes sticking, body convulsing
and the Watchers! I can't take it
I feel my sanity quickly fleeing the beady
unblinking soulless inhumanity
black warts on the ceiling
I frantically count relying on obsessive compulsions
to sleep. I sleep out of the sour sweat of fear
but sleep only leads me to
running in epileptic circles

It was all taken
bare. that's how I was
naked labrat surrounded by
murderers
leaking sanity nastily
from artificial orifices
All the world part of perpetual seizures
running in epileptic circles

people die, and come back to life, the previous lives they had, might have gone nastily but still…..



you see, have you often worried why young dudes, who were born in the 60s 70s and 80s, how they

are very selfish, and other things like that, well, it could be the tragic deaths of how they finished their lives

you see one person was john f kennedy and another was martin luther king, another was marilyn monroe

and another was john lennon, and another was tupac, and i was greame thorne, and i was blackbeard the pirate

and captain cook, you see the paranormal world traps all the young, and greame thorne and the life before him

patrick dunbar, have been keeping my legs itching, and making me play cool for yeah mate yeah kids, and

forcing me to be that shy young dude, even if i know how to speak on stage, i am forcing myself into relaxation

so, i can easily, one day i can be an MC, or bring my santa claus character to the next level, you see i was st nicholas

as well, and i also was isabella of france, mate, there are a lot of brutal murders in the past, which could be the

reason, why a lot of today’s earth bodies are selfish, thinking, their last lives were treated so badly, they will take out

revenge on the world, and greame thorne and patrick dunbar and albert waldron are pushing my feet down to the floor

to make it feel like a hooligan or a little young dude, ya know, they were saying, don’t get bullied mate, be a hooligan

you see greame thorne was worried how i was getting teased at school and made me tie myself up very tightly

and i wanted to be a TV star, but my dad was an old fogie, who, hates young people misbehaving, i like the young dudes on TV

they are cool, and i was in two plays as an adult and a few school plays, they were cool, you see, anyone who was killed, ya see

they get their bones dug up, but the should is in the youth of today, like patrick dunbar and greame thorne are with me, which forced

me to be a kidnapper, i was the 323 year old man born on christmas day, i was blackbeard the pirate, i was bigfoot who was the illusion

of the loch ness monster, you see i was a reincarnation hooligan, but people are treating me like a shy hooligan, the feeling comes about

because i tried to be a kid, to avoid being kidnapped when i was drinking and throwing beer bottles on top of st matthews roof

the medication i am on, is pushing me down on the floor, making me feel dad was doing it, but it was steven bradley sand all the other

bad guys, and because i was blackbeard the pirate and bigfoot and a vicious dog, i am being told i am not a family person, since i tied

up a boy in 1990, i caused a lot of trouble as blackbeard and bigfoot, and this dog was really my last evil life which was killed, you see i

am not evil in this life, and big foot turned into the loch ness monster, i am working in all these lives, to make the world easier to live in

if i had a million, i could use it to take homeless people off the street, and try and stop the hooligan itchy feet push down

I WANNA BE FAMOUS, in what i can do,   I AM NOT SHY, MY REINCARNATION HOOLIGAN, is striking again

Christina sat at the dressing table
to brush her hair, the hairbrush
her aunt had given her, in her hand.
She was still in her nightgown,

her school uniform
was on a chair by the bed,
the bed still unmade.
She looked at her features,

her hair a mess, her eyes
still had sleep in them.
She brushed her hair slowly,
a hundred times, her mother said,

does it best. She dragged the brush
through, pulling through the knots
at the ends. She thought on Benedict,
her friend's brother, the boy she

had become smitten by. She wondered
if she'd see him today; unless she
waited by the school fence and peered
through when his school bus arrived

and he descended and went by the fence
into his playground, she might not.
Maybe if it was fine and they were
permitted to go out on the sports field

she would. They'd met the first time there,
after his sister had told him that
Christina liked him. Thinking about
him now, made her feel excited, made

her insides turn over, not nastily, but
weirdly, as if fingers stirred inside of her.
She had dreamed of him the night before,
dreamed he had sat at the end of her bed,

and she had wanted him to enter, but
he just sat there talking. She stopped
brushing her hair and put the brush down
on the dressing table. They had kissed.

Hard to find a place at school where
they could be alone. They had found
a few moments in the gym during recess
a week ago, just them, the smell of

sweating bodies, gym shoes and feet.
They had their ears pricked for any
sounds, but then kissed. Lips on lips.
His tongue met hers, touched, strange

sensation that, she murmured to herself
sitting gazing at her reflection in the mirror,
as if she'd touched a live wire, it tingled,
rather made her feel open, wide open as

if someone had pressed something within.
She daren't tell or ask her mother even
if her mother wasn't in one of her low moods.
Only when she menstruated the first time

did she mention to her mother about her body.
Oh you'll get use to it, her mother said,
the curse women have to put up with.
Sometimes in bed or when she got out

of the bath, she would put her arms about
her body and pretend it was Benedict,
imagined it was he doing the caressing
and holding and touching. Time to get

ready for school, she thought, taking out
of the photo of Benedict out of the drawer
and kissing it. He gave it to her after she
had given him one of herself. Not a good one,

she had to sneak one out of the photo box
her parents wouldn't miss. Benedict liked it,
said he kept it somewhere safe. His was
good, her damp lips had left an impression.

She wiped it off and held it against her *******.
She sighed. At night she kept the photo under
her pillow and took it out to kiss before
going off to sleep. She put the photo away

again and stood up. Time to get dress
and get down for breakfast before her
mother bawled out up the stairs to her.
Out of the window she could see blue

skies, a sun was rising. Might see
Benedict after all, she said, taking
off her nightgown, and letting it slip
to the floor. Oh to see him always,
and see him more and more and more.

My tongue is on fire
And stuck am I, in a mire
Dangling like a carrot
And waiting to be devoured
Is some rather delicious food
Unfortunately, I am not in the mood
Because, every time I take a bite
My ******* tongue puts up a humungous fight
Locking me up in a torture chamber
And thus filling me with loads of anger
How dare you do this to me, O darned tongue?
Do you think I am a piece of dung?

My tongue is on fire
And it does not care
How hungry I am
Serious, it gives not a ****
Set before me, is a mouthwatering meal
However, becoming am I, rather dull
As I struggle and struggle
My tongue pulling me into deep trouble
Slowly, do I begin to think
That, desperately do I need a drink
Thus, do I consume an entire bottle of water
However, just as I begin to feel better
That infernal tongue throws tantrum after tantrum
Thus spelling my doom
Predictably, coming to my rescue is a sweet
Dear Diabetes, soon we may meet!

My tongue is on fire
However, beginning am I, to fight
Because, I give up not, so easily
And I DO take the doctor's advice seriously
However, my tongue ends up having the last laugh
Since all those medicines are apparently not enough
To prevent me from being forced
To make a few sacrifices
When it cometh to food
Which again spoils my mood
Moreover, just when the situation seems to be getting back to normal
Dinner turns out to be quite the ordeal
Not for the first time
And definitely not the last
I even wonder if I should fast!!

My tongue is on fire
However, as mentioned before
Never do I give up easily
Dear tongue, for now you may smile nastily
However, soon will the tables be turned
And then YOU are gonna be doomed
Enjoy your time while it lasts
And NO, I will NOT fast
No matter how many tricks you may have up your sleeve
Victory you are not gonna achieve
Never again!!

I don't want you to lie to me like you lie to yourself.
Confess to me instead of filtering your personality to me.
You don't have to worry about me getting offended or judgmental.
I want you to be raw, I love you for who you are.
I just want to really know you because you are a masterpiece.
Yes, I've had my share of experiences I never wanted to admit.
I, too, swept them under the rug at one point in my life.
But, just like anything suppressed, it resurfaces.
Sometimes it happens quick and nastily, other times it is slow and becomes a part of the way you act.
I want you to know it doesn't matter, because it doesn't matter what you did in the past and it shouldn't to anyone but it helps to remember it so you can figure out who you are today.
Sometimes, you want to remember it so you can change something you may not like about yourself.
I can see the pain in your eyes, just let me be your home. Your diary.
Trust me and you will be surprised that you actually can.
Everyone experiences "bad decisions" and we can go somewhere far away together.
No one else has to matter.
It's up to you, baby doll.

In the Shadow Valley;
Ferocious Black Crows strike
Like poisonous propaganda of Third *****.
They circle around:
Viciously striking Children at first sight-
Leaving their frail body with ****** wounds!

Black Crows nastily grin;
Children cry; tears of fright.
The Children’s spirit scarred with sinister sin.
What will become of them?
Innocence lost by this evil sickness.
They are discarded like infected phlegm.

Voice so powerless!
Black Crows pure victims;
The Children has tasted the world’s wickedness.
Darkness now stronger;
Lost in the wilderness of dark shadows,
Will cruel corruption of evil conquer?

In the dusky distance,
The rod and staff glimmers-
Black Crows tremble at the sight of its existence.
A fire torch shimmers-
Sparking hope; Children follow like sheep
To the mystical luminous sight.  

Though wounds may be deep,
Their soul shall heal with the Light.

My life's in vain
I'm going insane,
And I can't help feeling sad

I'm going bonkers,
I've fell off my rocker,
And I'm completely, utterly mad

Caught in confusion,
My minds a delusion,
And in the shadows I hide

My life's a mistake,
Filled with things that I break,
No matter how hard I tried

I'm not doing so well,
I'm going through hell,
They ignored my hapless pleas

I fell to the ground,
And wept without sound
They left my down on my knees

Away I was tossed,
And now I'm so lost,
I feel so wonderfully dumb

I cried my tears,
And I faced my fears,
But everything now is just numb

2 a.m knows my woes,
And as a write this prose,
A tear slides down my cheek

A sob breaks free,
And I whimper softly,
That I'm so pathetic and weak

My skin is stained,
From the blood that I drained,
From my wrist in a thin little line

I perfect a disguise,
With a smile full of lies
And everyone thought I was fine

My mind's in a whirl
The demon gave a slow curl
Of his bony skeletal finger

He crept up to me,
And smiled nastily,
"You'd be prettier if you were much thinner"

I smiled a fake smile,
And held on, for a while,
but my life was filled with strife

My blood was red,
And mixed with tears that I shed,
Left alone in the room with a knife

So I put on a mask,
and completed the task,
I placed the gun to my head

I curled my finger,
And pulled the trigger,
And In the end I was dead

Memories get up lazily
Makes me  ponder hopefully
Days bloom hastily
Idleness prevails clumsily
Songs sprout  cheerfully
Tinge of misery breaks nastily
Crayons of blood pass through vein gradually
Multiple ideas clash momentarily
Saline thoughts spring
Heartily
Bones  want the brain to act blankly

I was just there wherever, doing nothing overtly sinless when I saw
this scruffy dog with a nastily-productive T.B. cough, crapping on a
bench. I sniffed him from an angle, peed on him & gaily trotted off.

To be honest, there's nothing I love more than being a writer
They say, to be one, there's nothing you really need to do
Except put the thoughts and words you wish to relay
In smooth ink that flows over the rugged, pale paper
That's all it takes, they say
It makes a bitter laugh escape from my chest
'Oh really? ' I think nastily
They have no idea.
But never mind, for truly, I love being a writer.
There's this bitter feeling that curls in my gut, though
That seems to wrap  itself around my neck, stifling me
Whenever I look down at the scribbled words, words I wrote
And hear the disembodied, treacherous whisper hiss in my ear
'That's not good enough. '
It seems to cut through the elation and wonder
I feel reading another's work
That has left me astounded, amazed
It whispers this time
'You can never dream to write like that. '
I try to force the thoughts away, repeat to myself
'You're doing this for yourself'
After all, there's nothing I love more than being a writer.
But when I'm sitting glaring at my pen
Looking at an empty page that seems to stare me down
The mocking drawl comes again
'You didn't think you'd actually suceed, did you? '

She is my ****** ***** with a ***** on a logo that's a hobo who is
loco, dressed in a red rococo dress, eating tuna-fish salad at Sunoco
I was just there wherever, doin' nothing overtly skinless when I saw
this scruffy dog with a nastily-productive T.B. cough, crapping on a
bench. I sniffed him from an angle, peed on him & gaily trotted off.
No ***** bone wants ***** old as through history it has been shown
that a man wants to knock up a fair maiden, not a mother or a crone

She is my ****** ***** with a ***** on a logo that's a hobo who is
loco, dressed in a red rococo dress, eating tuna-fish salad at Sunoco
I was just there wherever, doin' nothing overtly skinless when I saw
this scruffy dog with a nastily-productive T.B. cough, crapping on a
bench. I sniffed him from an angle, peed on him & gaily trotted off.
No ***** bone wants ***** old as through history it has been shown
that a man wants to knock up a fair maiden, not a mother or a crone
Which end of it do you want? I want the bitter end of it because the
bitter end of it is where nothing is, when doll Barbie toys with Ken.
It is wrong to ****** men, who were in the Olympics, with hollow-
point bullets, Bowie knives, caustic ash or Eric Idle's pointed sticks
Our precious love was like a golf ball made of gum bands & plastic
& I only beat you with golf clubs 'cause you are a ******-up spastic
I announce my presence & all my fans clutch their chests in fear for
the ******* who run to ***** gynecologists for a cervical pap smear
I once realized my *** & gender, I used to know it so well, but now
when I look, with a magnifying glass at my crotch, I really can't tell