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                                  Asphalt Man
                                  Phantasm La
                                  Shaman Plat
                                  Asthma Plan
****** Hast
****** Hats
****** Shat
Napalms Hat
Plasma Than
Sampan Halt
Sampan Lath
                                                            ­        Manta Plash
                                                           ­         A Plasma Nth
                                                             ­       A Ham Plants
                                                          ­          A Hams Plant
A Mash Plant
A Sham Plant
A Maths Plan
A Math Plans
A Than Palms
A Than Lamps
A Than Psalm
Aha Plant Ms
Alpha Tan Ms
Alpha Ant Ms
Lama Pas Nth
Lama Asp Nth
Lama Spa Nth
Lama Sap Nth
Lamas Pa Nth
**** Path Ms
**** Phat Ms
Natal Hap Ms
Alas Amp Nth
Alas Map Nth
Ha Lam Pants
Ha Palm Tans
Ha Palm Ants
Ha Lamp Tans
Ha Lamp Ants
Ha Palms Tan
Ha Palms Ant
Ha Lamps Tan
Ha Lamps Ant
Ha Psalm Tan
Ha Psalm Ant
Ha Lams Pant
Ha Alms Pant
Ha Slam Pant
Ha Malts Nap
Ha Malts Pan
Ha Malt Pans
Ha Malt Snap
Ha Malt Naps
Ha Malt Span
Ha Plan Tams
Ha Plan Mast
Ha Plan Mats
Ha Plans Tam
Ha Plans Mat
                               Ha Plants Ma
Ha Plants Am
Ha Plant Sam
Ha Plant Mas
                               Ha Slant Amp
Ha Slant Map
Ha Splat Man
Ha Plats Man
                               Ha Plat Mans
Ah Lam Pants
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Ah Lamp Ants
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Ah Palms Ant
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Ah Alms Pant
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         Ah Slant Amp
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           Ah Splat Man
            Ah Plats Man
             Ah Plat Mans
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Plash Ma Ant
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Plash Am Ant
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Lash Man Tap
Lash Man Apt
Lash Man Pat
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Lash Map Tan
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Lash Tamp An
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Lash Mat Nap
Lash Mat Pan
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Ham La Pants
Ham Plan Sat
Ham Plans At
Ham Plant As
Ham Slant Pa
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Ham Alp Ants
Ham Lap Tans
Ham Lap Ants
Ham Pal Tans
Ham Pal Ants
Ham Laps Tan
Ham Laps Ant
Ham Pals Tan
Ham Pals Ant
Ham Alps Tan
Ham Alps Ant
Ham Slap Tan
Ham Slap Ant
Ham Splat An
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Ham Salt Nap
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Hat Lams Pan
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Hat Plan Mas
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Hat Lap Mans
Hat Pal Mans
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Hat Pals Man
Hat Alps Man
Hat Slap Man
A Ha Plant Ms
A Ah Plant Ms
A Halt Nap Ms
A Halt Pan Ms
A Lath Nap Ms
A Lath Pan Ms
A Than Alp Ms
A Than Lap Ms
A Than Pal Ms
A Hat Plan Ms
A La Maps Nth
A La Amps Nth
A Lam Pas Nth
A Lam Asp Nth
A Lam Spa Nth
A Lam Sap Nth
A Palm As Nth
A Lamp As Nth
A Lams Pa Nth
A Alms Pa Nth
A Slam Pa Nth
A Alp Sam Nth
A Alp Mas Nth
A Lap Sam Nth
A Lap Mas Nth
A Pal Sam Nth
A Pal Mas Nth
A Laps Ma Nth
A Laps Am Nth
A Pals Ma Nth
A Pals Am Nth
A Alps Ma Nth
A Alps Am Nth
A Slap Ma Nth
A Slap Am Nth
A Las Amp Nth
A Las Map Nth
Ha La Pant Ms
Ha Plan At Ms
Ha Alp Tan Ms
Ha Alp Ant Ms
Ha Lap Tan Ms
Ha Lap Ant Ms
Ha Pal Tan Ms
Ha Pal Ant Ms
Ha Plat An Ms
Ah La Pant Ms
Ah Plan At Ms
Ah Alp Tan Ms
Ah Alp Ant Ms
Ah Lap Tan Ms
Ah Lap Ant Ms
Ah Pal Tan Ms
Ah Pal Ant Ms
Ah Plat An Ms
Halt An Pa Ms
Lath An Pa Ms
Than La Pa Ms
Hap La Tan Ms
Hap La Ant Ms
Path La An Ms
Phat La An Ms
Hat La Nap Ms
Hat La Pan Ms
Hat Alp An Ms
Hat Lap An Ms
Hat Pal An Ms
La Ma Pas Nth
La Ma Asp Nth
La Ma Spa Nth
La Ma Sap Nth
La Am Pas Nth
La Am Asp Nth
La Am Spa Nth
La Am Sap Nth
La Amp As Nth
La Map As Nth
La Sam Pa Nth
La Mas Pa Nth
Lam Pa As Nth
Alp Ma As Nth
Alp Am As Nth
Lap Ma As Nth
Lap Am As Nth
Pal Ma As Nth
Pal Am As Nth
Las Ma Pa Nth
Las Am Pa Nth
A La Pa Nth Ms
onlylovepoetry Jun 2016
the Nth culling
she gentled sleeps besides the imperfect poet,
who has wandered the hallways since four am,

retuning his returning

to their temple bed,
to cull, pluck, her each precious breathing sound,
source material for his
love poem

smirking at his own
Nth foolishness,
weeping tears at the consequences
of human interactions,
he wonders,

why does he worry,
searching to distinguish
between the black and white of life,
hunting for meaningful words

when all the while
he has the vein of her breathing to mine,
as if he were a
following behind
the harvest reapers,
culling a bounty of
dropped grains,
fallen unto him to
garner, imbibe and memorize

those Nth breaths,

that last but seconds,
but here memorialized for
his own
all time
hashtag1stworldproblems, but
couldn't even win a prize for reading:
'But there was no give in the cat,
no flex anywhere but his tail. And for
a moment their roles reversed, as though it were
the train facing
the inevitable cat...'
'n' dog 69er
vukojebina Tasmaniandevil in a ******
ad under/overbiting off more than I can
chew Escher's pretzel autocannibal
Prometheus in a Faustian ****
stage pacman dragon fusion starbirth centre
of the earth Bruckheimer pileup of me

Meanwhile bombs fall everywhere but here.

Singing 'Suggasuggasugga my art ***,
liggaliggaligga my art hole'

putting out the bins Insta-grommet-
ed Fama-widgetted the world but the world
is washing its ***** homme moyen sensuel
feels neither ****** nor blessed
culdesac wilderness no 'Wot no samo
©' enriches but inside my flat wypipo
surahs are basquiated alll over bones stones
& date palm fronds Newyork Paris London
Norwich supernobody supernova of purple psychology
prisoner between the lines egotistical subprime of me.

Allthewhile bombs immortalise everywhere but here.

Praying ' Ia! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat
of the Woods With a 1000 Young'
  yet still
the DWP send brown envelopes like post-
al millenarian sandwichboards or economic
letterbombs mash of calendars unassailable
nth mph inevitable catastrophe alazonic
file Akashic Bureau declassifies
is conceit of a train facing a rhino of a meme by
necessity a meme of a rhino gardarhino swino
my geworfen gurn of response scenarios
geworfen backatcha megillah galaxy
fillet ubeity is barrow pig cosmic bootyclap of me.

Everyday bombs bombarded the Mousetrap Theatre
but never hereatre.

Isn't everything just advanced basketmaking
everything is advanced basket-
making everything either that or egowanking
like urban legend of the Purple One ouroboros-
ing his purple one Janusjaws bittensmit-
ten by tailtaste once American sawboneses
optimised the Tom Thumb of Funk's
zeroshape with double ribectomy musta hadda sillycunt
implant ah the hiss of hubris human CMBR
soliphissing hero of selflove whited sepulchres
'This is the only musical the mouth & hopefully
the brain attached to the mouth, right?'
X-iestance of me.

The bombs they bombeth everyday, but I'm okay.

Big Gazrilo Princep Bang weltgeschichtlich pinup
modcon slave to my suprachiasmatic nucleus living
l'appel du vide in comfort fatarse sitrep
tragicecstatic bluff transparent as an exhibition-
ist pharaoh mummified in cling-
film hokeycokeying the keys till my right hand's in
court & my leftover hand doesn't count
tallies of tall realities like BasquiAT-ATs or Daliphants
skittled by Tippex the inner crickets' tip-
ple ghost grawlixes sculpsit grazes 00Q's qwerty spype
no carmen triumphale of poetical toothbrushes gets free
from chelseasmiled singularity inadequake scree of me.

But bombs being dropped is not the only way
this 40-yr-old 5'6 din of reverie will stop.
Tim Knight Oct 2016
I sit and try and be a lotus
after killing the third fly of the evening
with a pocket book of recipes and a
thirty centimetre ruler stolen
from bathroom **** measuring contests to our knees.

Young professionals tread these boards
and I watch, trying to paint them lotus.

I listen and learn like I was told to do
then clock watch, mop, cycle home to you;
I am still trying to be a lotus
even in wet shoes and no socks.

With less than five-hundred pounds to my various names,
an office-chair-***-clothes-horse, eight USB charging ports
and a future that stretches to Sunday’s last reluctant second,
I am sitting, trying to be lotus figuring out the professional path
David Attenborough heard in his gentleman’s class: that son of a-

- I walked into an army recruitment vault with dreams of being Gulliver,
though was asked to leave out the cat flap cathedral door back into war
as they’d got their laugh and didn’t applaud.

Perhaps I should’ve been better at maths
where apparently a career can be predicted on a scatter graph,
and the pigeons of today were the pigeons of next year and the months that’ll follow the century after that.

I am still trying to figure out the hoo-ha of *******
and ring fingers and collar sizes and the inner circles
of hyenas when the winter solstice splits the seasons.

There is no reason for this lotus procrastination
when what’s there to live for but a crooked world
and one bandage left.
JP Jun 2015
Love is learning how to give second chances, for the nth time.
Forgive and forgive and forgive.
Jami Samson Oct 2013
Shopping outfashioned hunting and gathering,
Processed beats fresh,
Groceries replaced fruit trees,
Malls superceded forests,
Churches outnumbered temples,
Countries dissolved to territories,
Places devolved to areas,
Paths broke down into highways,
Commodity converted to currency,
Laborers submit to machinery,
Masters engage in humbug,
Apprentices reduced to students,
Knowledge downgraded to education,
And education is deducted to a show of grades,
While schools are the stages,
And the corporate world is the bigger runway,
With work slumped to employment,
Wisdom demoted to profession,
Where in jobs are the only future,
Careers are the only success,
Clicking and pressing buttons are skills,
Computers are correspondent to brains,
Information refers to news reports,
Intelligence means up-to-dateness,
Browsing is preferable to reading,
Studying is in demand more than learning,
Viewing things flashed on screens yields awareness,
Transportation is to traveling,
As buying is to the three basic needs,
And needs embody worldly possessions,
Worldly possessions define happiness,
Happiness is due to selfishness,
Selfishness is traced to the lack of love,
The lack of love draws from the lack of faith,
Because faith stands for religion,
And religion stands for membership,
Where politicians are the gods,
Celebrities are the preachers,
And the preachers are the enemies,
While networking is equal to friendship,
And connection equates to communication,
Experiences require photos,
Memories necessitate uploading,
Souvenirs can be downloaded,
Smartphones are substitute to pets,
Gadgets are toys,
Holding controllers is playing,
Watching TV is exploring the great outdoors,
Internet is recreation,
And technology is a way of life;
While humans are scientists,
Nature is a guinea pig,
And the earth is a laboratory,
Where prices are misidentified for worth,
Processes are miscalculated as progress,
Impoverishment is confused with improvement,
And getting more is mistaken as getting better;
And then we wonder why
Homes have become houses,
Family members have become boarders,
Nations are separate species
Composed of tired and hungry citizens,
Children are monsters
Who are biochemically rascals,
Teenagers are zombies
Whose adventures lead to delinquency,
Adults are robots
Who just clang when touched,
And life is not so simple
As how it is said to be.
#41, Oct.14.13
False Poets May 2019
when you understand my poems perfectly then,

their utility is inutile,
their usefulness is, will. always be, in the


reinterpretation, a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth inner wired construct,
be pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
two lives (yours, mine), a paired wine tasting, we together,
believing in the greatness of joyous frustration

some say, as I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our at last armed embrace,

when at last we understand our mutuality of need and salve...
PrttyBrd Nov 2014
Born under the guise
Of endless possibilities
Raised to believe the old adage
2b or not 2b
Wherein the outcome of life
Is limited only by the edge of infinity

Truth is, there is only binary code
Open or closed
Black or white
Do or do not
One or zero

To be or not to be
mEb Dec 2010
Nth of everything I am

Newfangled and abnormal I stand

I eat my arid lips that peel away from stress

Must I assure myself over and over that I am fine

Deeply enticed, I wish no one knew this address

Does one or more espy on me I wonder

My heteromorphic way plundered

Salvage my derange

Rummage through my space

I am outré and weird here

Don't espy on my lipless face
Jowlough Oct 2010
You can go on your direction,
You can choose your operations,
but make sure it's worth the mission,
worth turning down my decision.

You know what I wanted,
with my suggestions that you've bended,
You knew what is the right path,
now get rewarded with pure wrath!

Look at the outcome, Go see!
drowning in regrets, move on,let it be!
What i have been telling you is not an order,
All for your sake, come out of your borders!

Pardon me for the words, It's for the better,
I Just wanted the even-fair weather.
Everything's for your benefit, it's true,
If I could only catch your burden, then I'll do.

Please hear this plead, I am telling,
Please learn how to listen, I am wishing.
Please re-consider,  for the nth time,
I hope that after the constraints,  you'll be fine.
Please reconsider for the nth time (C) Oct 3 2010
Dorothy A Aug 2010
Like three tigers in a cage
Fierce like fire
Having a desire
for revenge
Not making amends

Hateful disgrace
The world's often a hostile place
Anger out of control, corrupting the peace,
Becoming a riot, calling for the police
Anger is combative to a truce
When raw emotions are on the loose

Anger comes in many colors:

Tumultuous reds
boiling in your head
Purple passions
in warlike fashion
Seething greens,
for envy is a fiend
Anger that is a shocking yellow
is anything but mellow

They blend together in a melting ***
A big, boiling cauldron, scaulding hot
In its feverish calamity, anger reeks
Of dead men's bones, you shall see
Like tasting gasoline, it is a toxic tonic
You don't want to be anywhere around it!
Its angry concoction you partake in to sip
Though it's like deadly poison on your lips!
In your body, it courses through
Before it makes a fool out of you!

Like two lighted matches on your tongue
Anger does the tango just for fun!

This mouthful of hot pins and needles stings!
You swallow it down, the whole **** thing!

You wash it all down with wine as it smolders
Down your throat anger goes, like jagged boulders!

Through your esophagus, resisting a slippery slide
Anger within you does not want to hide!

Into your gut, like a rugged coastline of pain
You now see the world with great disdain!

Your stomach evolves into a volcanic hole
Hot as a furnace with blazing coals!

Anger soon rises from the volcanic mountain
Lava bursting forth like a fiery fountain!

That is anger's transition that I see
My vision portrayed in this poetic story
Anger does have a rightful place
But out of control, it turns into hate
On one hand, it can help us fight evil
On the other, it can hurt other people
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
Every corner
every nook is full.
Bouquets of stars
flower over the Moon!

Lo, unleashing every
bit of the inky night
the sleeping beauty
to wake soon!

Go to the nth degree
when everything is full
look for somewhere new!
It's a full circle, full-blown
but a ceaseless moving world
to one more new angle!
Sa Sa Ra Sep 2013
It would seem
for you don't
feel right
and you do
know better
about it all!!!

Book, books,
no book

we know,
we feel
and are most acute
to how we affect one another...

Directly about
being dead on our feet
walking and talking within
certain illusions of comparative
successes whereby there are
winners and losers...

we debate in relative fashion
ceaseless and endless senseless

but no one is
an island unto

we can only
win or lose together...

so very obvious
that we each care
to the nth degree!!!

Fire to all
that stand
in the way
of love truly!!
Janelle Dec 2014
i want this poem to be mad
i want to hand you this poem because you hurt me again for the nth time
i am so angry with myself because i waited
but now
i hate myself for hating you
i want to slapped this poem on your face,
the scenery i used to admire
i want to punch you on your shoulders,
places where i used to lean
i want to break your hands
for they used to held mine

i want to use these fists not to fist bump you
but for the last time,
to break your **** heart without me regretting it
terra nova Dec 2014
it's come again,
just in time for christmas-
bitter weight that makes you want to scream
(you feel strangled by violin chords,
the sun burns but clouds stick in you
throat and choke you- you are
safest in the dark).

block out the stars, God please don't
let them in- they're acid on your eyelids
and they

oh- this nameless monster.
they say it doesn't exist but then what
is this within you, all blunt fangs and
hoovering up your insides
(you're a walking vacuum,
about to collapse in on yourself,
and nobody can see).
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
the construction industry is filled with Englishmen... well, let's just say the management and bricklayers, and from i hear it's a ****** management, they think it's cheaper to loan a crane than to install one... as i heard, a typical construction site of has about 30 Englishmen tops, a construction site population of about 400... i might be exaggerating, but i heard it first hand, and i've seen it, well 10 years ago it was a bit different, but the cracks were already showing - how one Brit undermined another Brit, dehumanised one ethnicity using another's desperation / exaggeration of rewards: by lowering wages of the former's.

only a casual inference of the vote -
it's one thing pushing away the psychology
of the collective into the recesses of Hades -
even further into Tartarus -
well, you can see Tartarus from here -
the Titans are above us, Luna, and Helios,
Jupiter and Saturn and Mars - we rise
from this place, at least with faithful command
to whatever childish ambition -
psychology can shove collective psychology
of a populace into theory - that calm resolve
of reason, the unconscious and its archetypes -
but to concern oneself with passions,
that's also necessary - side with the "enemy"
to understand them, and then see past the fog...
in a fashion magazine... citation:
if we block free movement, and experienced
Polish or Bulgarian seamstresses cannot come
into the country, it is not obvious how they will
be replaced - "we couldn't have grown the business
without the help and support of these killed people,"
says designer *Christopher Raeburn
, who
wasn't able to find similarly experienced Brits
in London (pedantic note, the dittoing of that quote
should belong to me, i'm assuming direct contact
with the designer and the writer of the article,
ditto quotation starts with third party members,
people like me, not with the person interviewed
and the interviewee - i now understand how
dittoing works in English in terms of quoting
someone - in means as above, but by another person;
but i'm sure the quote was passed as word-of-mouth,
so the person who's first to pass a quote shouldn't
immediately use " " marks, he's not a third-person
encapsulation of a newspaper article, this isn't
a novel - simple math: origin (0, on an axis of
x, y, z), person who first encounters the origin-al
notes it with precision 'the sun will come up
tomorrow' - after that a person who encounters
'the sun will come up tomorrow' will then pass
the message down as: "the sun will come up tomorrow",
and then the dittoing cascade appears - the way
gossip spreads - it's not exact - it's ~truth -
people add to it, change it, overhear it and modulate
it - only the first person from the naked origin
should be allowed to ditto the quote - i.e. use
the " " marks - the second person directly citing
the origin makes a single layered membrane encapsulation -
after that it's a repeat of two layers, with the second
layer ably fluctuating, hence not loss of the origin
but a polymer of interpretations - Odysseus said of me:
'Homer' cited the 'Trojan war', we cite "Homer" and
the "Trojan war" as 'Odysseus' said, myth making in ambiguity
or the gossip factory, but given the sequence
0, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2... nth
a, 'a', "a", "a", "a", "a", "a", "a", "a", "a"... nth we all have a
chance to cite something from the third person,
after all, isn't fiction's limit based on the third person?
the pedant in me had to mule over this to get some
alcohol frenzy from it... and hey! i did).
it wasn't immigration to be honest, the racist smears
were a smokescreen... look at it this way...
the English Civil War... a friend of mine at university
once said: 'no great nation emerges without a civil war',
i could have written something in excess of that
but then i'd be writing as a third person " " inventing it
and almost treating it as my own, which is a no-go
zone - but from scraps you get the idea - go home,
things are about to get ugly between our civil partners...
and it doesn't boil down to wages as such,
Brits love the fact that Swedish students come to
the Norfolk fields for strawberry harvests, or whoever...
you know what i think it is? London urbanity got
to the vein of countryside folk, or Manchester being
overshadowed, actually globalisation ensured that
only capitals are "representative" of each nation
(inverse the dittoing, that's insinuating a passing-on
from an abstract, like Sartre's notation of "ego" meaning:
imitate me in between each "ego" with my narrative) -
they're not, but the golden nugget in my reasoning
is primarily concerned with You-Tube Sensations -
you name them: eat a tablespoon of cinnamon
and then sniff a ***** sneaker - film it, earn a billion -
become a unit of advertisement, sell it, bin it,
record your life, people binge on it, earn a windmill -
Vlog Blog Bog Sven and Fjoorn - remember when
children were employed in Victorian England?
this isn't between a Brit and a Bulgarian - this **** is
about a Brit and a Brit, hindsight: the English Civil war...
one Brit is saying, deep in the countryside:
you know what, there are people in urban environments
that teach their children that milk comes from
supermarkets and not cows, there's a borderline between
milking a cow and ******* on a part of a woman's
body overly sexed up - this has nothing to do with migration,
well, party it does, it want labourers to understand
a master, some ******* Bulgarian who speaks one
sentence of English gives about two nanoseconds trying
to understand authority - it's not demeaning to him,
he's told what to do, and off he goes and does it and
daydreams about his family reaping the benefits back home...
but employ someone proficient in the language,
who understands it, who has leisure time in it,
and you get a different picture dear Oliver - please sir,
can i have some more? no! back to work you filthy
little Beatnik! it's the self-worth pride, the self-sustaining
pride of nations - the people are saying: did we reduce
our youth to write video biography entries that only
tell other young people to buy the stuff they're advertising,
and all of them have become so fragile as to write poetry?!
well... better think again! minus the influx of migrants...
the doctor that relocated the upper-part of my index
was Hungarian... if it weren't for him... i'd probably have
to use a door to pull it back in...
and i understand what they're saying: i'm not racist... but...
my own countrymen have become so ******* lazy
i have to disguise my racism against other ethnic races...
because if i don't... it's back to Cromwell and the
Parliamentarians of the Square Table.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.why? why?! why would i even be, remotely,
    esp. with a story from yesterday
akin to that of a feminist poster being
taken down, that read:

   adult human female

because some, sorry... i love the word:
****** / doctor "thought" the word:
woman was endangering
transgender people...
looks like the homosexuals are on the attack...
can you be a misogynist and a homosexual,
simultaneously? well... apparently you can!
bravo! encore! encore!
    so should i be bothered when such antics
are taking place in: of all places, Liverpool?
**** it, i'm going to have a beer and watch
the sunset - or at least that's what i thought
a few hours prior.

the **** was i doing, watching channel 4
      i do remember watching it...
why was i watching it?
     for all it's worth...
                they do a pretty solid job,
**** me, they even reported on Iranians
using instagram...
                        gotta love the Shiites...
probably my favorite Muslims...
   given their Persian background -
proud face, like those native Americans
in the film hostiles:
   proud faces...
                        well... if you're going
to root for someone, root for the "underdogs"...
those Persians were never going
to bow down to the camel jockey Arabs,
sure as **** they wouldn't, and didn't...
ah ****...
  that's the problem with drinking,
and writing at the same time...
   in vino veritas...
     shh... it's a secret...
                    one downfall of drinking
and writing...
                         ­     really hard to tell a lie...
by god it's hard to tell a lie
while drinking...
     why? there's no fun in telling a lie,
spinning a fictive narrative,
marketing character understudies or
                a bit like:
                     versus a ******* orchestra...
(yeah, sorry about that...
   oath words, i swear,
   are compiled in the category of and:
i.e., they're conjunctions...
   otherwise i'd stutter, or something much
worse, like a writer's block & ****)...
   what was i going to say?
   channel 4 news... sure... it pure left,
globalism, multi- blah blah blah
and further blah to the nth term...
i couldn't believe it though!
   obviously the two stories were going
to be spoken about side by side...
     first... the second arrest of Tony Robinson...
apparently yet another, or another yet:
contempt of court...
     scenes from the Old Bailey...
and, d'uh, obviously,
   Jeremy Corbyn opening a placard of
a sq. dedicated to the far right
    "terrorist" attack on... ***...
  can't remember her name...
    Joe... hey Joe... where do you think
you're going with that gun?
Janie's got a gun...
                   this **** never gets old:
Chris Rea: Josephine...
       i send you all my love,
  and every single step i take
i take for you...
i would never believe that so much of
Van Morrison has that many
  jazzy accents in the oeuvre...
   and a crisp, cloudless early
afternoon illuminating the birds,
the blues of flowers and the contract
of the about to shoot
  into embers of होली Holī
envious greens...
turmeric, chilli powder,
     cumin, fading cardamon,
garam masala,
           then the masalas:
   tandori, achar, tikka....
    then korma and the sri lankan
blue indians have their celebrations
in spring,
  i'm about to spectate the celebrations
of autumn... win win...
but that's still not the point...
channel 4 news...
  oh ****!
   Gavin Mcinnes!
    **** me!
   love the tartan suit...
******* looks plush!
about as much style as matt preston
  (from Australian Masterchef)...
**** it,
   i forgot which of the chicken
wings recipes i am supposed
to make tomorrow....
the Azerbaijan recipe, or the...
oh ****... o.k. i can tell the difference
between the porcelain of the Japanese,
and say... someone from Thailand...
whatever... i'll cook something anyway.
Francie Lynch Aug 2014
After all, we're not savages. We're English.
And the English are the best at everything.
                                                     ­       (Piggy)
The hovelled huts
Near  school house ditches
Hardly sheltered starving children.
Emaciated, pale and ghastly,
Three million lost.
Exports defined them,
Imports denied them,
The world was told their hunger
Was the wrath of God.
For seven hundred years
Untolled Rachels wept;
Twice as long
As Jews were kept
Enslaved in pagan Egypt.
This was Ireland,
Not Auschwitz.

Beneath the banners of
Labour and Freedom,
Toiled the innocents.
Eyes burning from hot peppers,
Bodies weak and wrecked
From boarding;
Skin separated by flogging
Thousands of Cypriots.

Over soup and sandwiches
A demarcation's drawn,
So Hindus now face Muslims
Seeking their new homes.
Three million displaced
During lunch,
Brain salad served up on a hunch
By a line
Drawn by one man.
This wasn't Treblinka,
But Pakistan.

Millions fenced in labour camps
In what they called  
The Dark Continent.
The torture was horrendous,
With random executions.
Think the worse, you're still not there,
Think ravenous dogs and mutilation,
**** and human degradation.
Eyes gouged out, ears cut off,
This was Kenya,
Not Warsaw.

Sir Winston wore
His crocodile shoes,
Feigning the blues,
While blocking friendly supplies;
Letting three million hungry die.
His callousness was cruelly matched
When delivering Mahatma's epithet:
“Has Gandhi not starved yet?”
This was Bengal,
Not Dachau.

Their ****** count adds up.
Their new policy was errant:
Imprison all the peasants.
It was racist to the Nth degree,
A million desperate detainees
To exile when they're freed.
But half died on their knees
In Malay,
Not Buchenwald.

The Boer War and Apartheid
Were blessed with Royal Assent.
In Amritsar Brits opened fire,
To cut down Innocents.

This isn't just in history,
It's happened all too recently.

Argentina's watery graves
Gurgle from The Belgrano,
Sunk by Royal torpedoes
For a rock of sheep.
Such was the work
Of a band of brothers,
To fly their flag
Over Falkland waters?

There's no denying
The atrocities
Of her maternal
The Spinners
Wrapped their glories
Furled in Jack's war stories.
The winners
Have detoured their crimes,
Enjoin us denouncing
**** times;
But the sun hasn't set
On Empire fires:
China, India, Kenya, Aden,
Ireland, Africa,
All invaded.
All degraded.
Imperialism is not benign,
The legacy lives on
In Palestine.

Under pretence
Of flag and king,
The English are
Best at everything
I removed this earlier in deference to some who found it offensive. I've re-considered.
Yedidnefesh Feb 2013
I passed by ---but I saw you. I stopped and looked back
  ---right then and there, I knew you are special.
  You came to me and asked for my name.
I was coy, I was shy..I am fascinated by you.
Your green eyes is telling me of your stories.
Such gentleness, such calm, and chivalriouness,
I defenitely learned the very meaning of "Swept off my feet".

I can invent a thousand songs and ways to tell our story---believe me I can..
Stories of how we were good _TOGETHER.

I will sing of the flickering Shabbath light in the midst of melee and chaos..
of sea of endless discussions of some complicated logics
and jest with your friends
all the while chasing for my hand, held it a little while
and crochet you fingers to mine.
I then would tenderly gaze upon you while listening to the clatter and clang
of silverwares and silent stares.
  I will then transport us to my days, where all is sweet and innocent..
of another epoch of where the Mothers I held dear, and sisters, and no-blood brothers
would sing the same exact hymn,, held the same flame
of timeless prayers of Shema Israel,
  Yeshoua, and Avenou Shabbat Shamaim,..

Of how Friday nights would pass by the door
And eavesdrop while we can laugh about The Dictator,
goose-pricked by Pia Jesu, or ransacked your refrigirator.
  Or sit by the talking box and be glued to it's endless chatter about
pots, frying pans, Birjaya University, or Emanuelle Stroobant.

I can paint our Saturday mornings with lazy hues and anchorings
thanks to Bernard Lewis, stumble upon,
our dears Kindle 4th and Kindle touch
with Jon Snow and Daenerys of houseTargaryen.

Zara will then invite us to her house of fashion
and oh! how I hate the prices and prefer to accompany you in
dockers or gaps and spencers. Same thing my love,
I have not coveted you for this, not at all.
I always, always love the sound of your voice
while you were explaining about the craftmanship and quality of tis and artistry in tat.

I will remind you,,.. of how we or rather ‘I’ banged the tables of Le Chateu?
and forks and knives flying to and pro?
  All because we agree and disagree about liberalism, Islam,
Catholic bishops, Religious Tolerance, and dogmas of Christendom.

Put on the cherry of the week in my O's ice cream.. SUNDAY.

We would stir and wake to the gentle nudging of the sunlight...
of mornings full of laughter and wonderful thoughts and prayers.
You would often ask me, why do I dance..
dance like a child or a crazy woman if you may..
In the middle of the streets as we thread the route to the Sunday market.
I dance because I am happy..because I don't care ,
Because I love to sway my hand and jump on my feet and hung at your neck..
and kiss you and tell you how even after eating to the nth time that same
Morrocan chicken stuff, I still love the taste of it. It's our SUNDAY RITUAL my darling!

QUE SERA SERA... you said…
We as opposed to time, is like a ticking bomb..                        
Reality is our friend, he would remind us by his tic, by his tac…tic..tac..tic..tac.
He would sing no matter how good we are together… Que sera sera..whatever will be, will be...
Oh how I hate the very sound of it…
I will fight it, claw at it, beg…admonish..placate..and scream!
I lived and breath by the PRESENT.
I wish you would stay.., I wish you would like me enough to love me forever.

I want to give everything without reservation, as love
Love is what I have, I am , and will be…
To offer and spread it upon your feet…
Behind my heart is a  prophecy..
We will build our long line of family dynasty.
Family that is gravitated towards God,
and molded into mine heart and your being.
A family where laughter is the main hearth of inspiration,
idealism, and warming love.
I want you to teach our kids to be good men and women,
I'm sure they would, as you are a good man.
So compact and resilient and gentle in nature...

You my darling is the person that I would love to get to grow old with...
The very person I have fallen inlove with and will always love.

YOU asked me to be BRAVE...
I said I am... as Always.

You fly...

I talked to the silver moon beyond the dark sky.
pour out my heart, wretched and wanting to die.

I roam the streets of where we've been ...
Drank a cup or two at Tea leaf and Coffee Bean.
I could not forget you and what could have been.
Sitting in that same chairs of what has been,
Mirage across my desert of sorrow would appear as if I am insane.
Somewhere across the Universe...of thousand stars and leagues.

There my Lord... him at the end of the road.
A smiling and familiar face of a man.

My heart started to pound with every heart beat.
The steps I take are but a sing-song in my feet.
I will to run towards you,  but you do not believe it.
I am floating with each stride, an exhilarating excitement
towards whose smile I so love.

It is wonderful a feeling to be enveloped in your kisses
and be overwhelmed by your gaze – AGAIN.
(like all firsts, you
may bet)
it hurts        (but
through the second, third, fourth and nth)

(it does the) hurts
all the more,     just
to make it

perfect; to seem as though


my heart    (could be red
not for)

it bled
for you

more    (for it is
     more)    than

a tatoo
False Poets Apr 2019
words conveyed with a mutual clarity parity for communication
will end only when the world ends first
and the communitas is no more,and words, exist purposelessly  
for there is no left with whom to communicate, precisely

but now, of this moment,
write words, sentences multiplied but circumscribed,
verses with mystical aura,
whose utility so suspect and multiple meanings hidden within,
taken by you for the specific utility you uncover and create

ah, to write of things clearly visible to all,
but possessed differently, by each reader, this is the greatest commonsensical commonwealth useful
for and of humans indexed by unique word tendons tenderly

when this passes, when literature no longer
can be messengered to 127 Persian provinces,
each the message same,
yet given up in 127 different languages^

when you understand my poems perfectly then,
their utility is inutile,
the usefulness is in the
nth reinterpretation,
a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth wired inner construct,
being pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
a lives paired wine tasting, together believing
in the greatness of joyous frustration

some say, I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our armed embrace at last

p.s. Pradip, be careful what you wish for....a poet false...

9:15am  April 3, 2019
^ Book of Esther 1:22 For he (the King) sent letters into all the king's 127 provinces, into every province according to the writing thereof, and to every people after their language, that every man should bear rule in his own house, and that it should be published according to the language of every people.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
my linguistic observations were not written onto a blank canvas,
they arose from a backdrop that suggested political apathy,
and language games: my observations
came about not from observing
the necessity of what was suggested,
my observations didn't come
from omission - by was to consider
mathematical acute and macron
sense of what's to be punctuated
in addition, or stressed multiplication -
it didn't arise from omitting something,
it actually came about from
the futility of the leisurely fragrance
of language that politics could abuse
and leave many politically apathetic -
similarities with mathematics:
whenever the arithmetic cauldron
reached out-of-proportion counting methods
to value things -
same with these 26x nth term variations -
(nth term? the easiest allocation,
globalisation: ask a Croat of a Slovene
and i wonder if a Californian
might regard a Nebraskan in the same way) -
no, my observations came by way of
antidote: i looked at language and thought:
they're wasting it...
                  what with language entertainment:
crosswords and anagrams -
               i never understood why poetry
became obsolete by some noble pursuit
akin to philosophy... it didn't...
philosophy, pure philosophy didn't undermine
poetry, offshoots of philosophy: logic
games bedded the goodbye of emotion,
we're great at self-preserving emotions bound
to anagrams and crosswords,
   but cross love and hate together
  you get:                       h
                     ­                   t
                 l       o      v     e...
                                                      philos­ophy is
at some points poetry, when there's a new crossword,
when there's a game of anagrams -
well, it write a new poem every day,
because people rarely acknowledge their everyday
apathy, they think they're without pathology,
and in a sense, they're without pathology,
their only pathology is finalised with
a connectivity of emotions, the paradoxical
unity of chiral emotions, a chance of opposites
solidified within the opposites of man, and woman -
when we speak of man, we tend to speak
primarily of femininity -
            and when we tend to speak to woman,
we tend to speak primarily of masculinity -
   the noun with the opposite-effect adjective -
but as sure as i am: it's a tightrope experience,;=1600&bih;=775orld+trade+towers+tightrope&oq;=world+trade+towers+tightrope&g;_lp..r_cp.&bv;;=bv.132479545,bs.1d24&ech;=1ψ=kOjZV5HjNckUqoiegM.1473898640411.14&ei;=UPTZ_IOKAbinangBw&emsg;=CSR&noj;=1 - is unreachable
Philippe Petit's expertise would do just now,
but on the confusing subjective deviation scope,
not minding the objective facts - two buildings,
one rope, one man... oh there's logic in subjectivity:
you just have to revise the objects surrounding the
feat - it's not exactly a United Nation's translation...
something has to uptake a poetic feeding,
and some has to be discarded...
   crosswords are philosophy's version of a poem...
i'm pretty **** at them... which spurns me to
write a poem, i'm with the Japanese squares -
as always, an optical consideration to allow variation...
but a poet usually wakes up when he sees
what others have done with language:
   crosswords are thesauruses in disguise -
      the hint is aligned to a thesaurus, more than
a dictionary - there isn't a care for
                       your vocabulary,
given that philosophers systematise and therefore
   acknowledge a need to curb a chance vocabulary
deviation as: in addition to... it never happens...
     but when did poetry become so discredited
form of entertainment in the use of language,
averting poetry as not music is wrong -
              poetry was replaced by crosswords and
the play on anagrams... music was wrongly attributed
to poetry by philosophy - it was a double blow -
a secondary **** - poetry was never music,
                    it was never about hitting rhymes:
Tenacious D's one note song and the clinically
   real:                              hate
                         ­                ate
                                         late - same ****, different cover.
imagine an onomatopoeia orchestra: doors, knock knock,
        sand in hands: the sounding of mortality,
whatever...                             can you see this
****** attack? i know Nietzsche's poetry was pish-poor,
but his maxims stand out for me to provide the
necessary reflex - philosophy attacked poetry,
the thespian art took over, the monologue is a holy
grail: a monologue that is free from narrator -
narrator exclusive - spontaneously: here! there!
nowhere! omnipresent!
                                          the pleasure from poetry
is in every household, not the poncy pretentious
households of frail households,
  your grandma is doing it already,
she's doing the crossword, she's not raising an emotion,
a gamble, she's a sterile duck, doing a crossword
rather than reading a poem -
                            and the philosophers?
the Shiva-disciples? before another art-form is attacked
they'll make money from being critical of films...
    to be honest, they'll have a hard time attacking music...
they can be great film critics... but in terms of music?
  well... the original confrontation with poetry
has made them impotent in this field... music is pure emotion...
including all the cheese entanglements -
however cheap an emotion might be (cheap: pop,
appealing to the universal attainment, shy, hidden,
the standard base of later improvements / idiosyncrasy) -
they can't attack music, it's double jeopardy -
given that poetry is deemed akin to music...
although caveman orchestra: man and his echo -
philosophy can't attack music, Plato's cave and the movies
beckons them... try once more,
                         and here comes the spectacular!
Sam Temple May 2015
flaccid pacifists symbolizing sexism
single-mindedly corrupting hostile youth
ruining bullying and facilitating inbreeding
through top-down initiatives laced with bath salts
the pussify-ing of America has begun –
tear soaked cheeks distort with rage
at the blatant separatist ideals propagated
creating not one nation under rule of law,
but many angry independent states bent on torture laws  
and privatized prison for profit
shareholders holding gavels and lives
in an unjust system of justification
……they deserve this –
broken-hearted mothers line razor-wire fences
defenseless against the tyrannical bureaucracy
beholden to the loved one wrongly incarcerated
banging bloodied fists against walls that hear no cries,
defeated, they slip into damaged Datsun’s disappearing
freeway anonymity is the course of the day –
Pallavi Jul 2015
God made Eve and she is the testimony,
Of what Eve could herself be
The smile on her face, zillion emotions in disguise
The twinkle in her eyes,
only speaks of love no lies

A mother, a sister, a daughter, a wife and her roles multiply,
But dare come a moment when she is out of time,
Keeping her world at the back she always moves ahead
She will laugh and she will cry,
She will burn and she will light up the fire

If only we could be possibly be an inch tall of her will that has no heights,
We would have still given up trying after some time

One Super Woman she is,
an epitome of how godly Eve can be
Thousand tributes may fall short,
but you'll never be less of words
Having one like her in your life,
And you may be writing this again the nth time!
Olivia Kent Nov 2013
It is 11th hour of the eleventh month.
And where the hell are we now.
Am not in Capitol myself.

In thoughts once true.
We started hot then off did trot.
Upon the demon's cloven hooves.
Spurned by the devil's inference.
Interference well ablaze.
Lest not forget the magic moments.
At this poignant time!
(c)Ladylivvi 11/11/2013 11am
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
of course the age of scientific positivism
was glorious,
the hopes for curing the lamentable ivory cavity
the hopes for anaesthesia in surgery,
it was all there, with all the great minds...
but then our age came along with humanism’s negativism,
and i mean that sincerely...
if you take a concept, like god, and give it to science,
the best it can do in its parameters is take 1...
divide it by the nth term and say something like
in relation to something else, which its a part of...
i wish i was deeply religious on this point,
but a catholic school education reminding me
to start early with ethics minding only one ethical decision,
i.e. abortion brought feminism with it...
but as one orthodox christian girl said: even without
legal rights between us... you must accept!
eh... why?
god does not belong to science, science deals with numbers
and a few words...
imagine the book of genesis: and in the beginning was a number...
any random number... let’s say six... and six correlated
with aries, taurus, gemini, cancer, leo, libra...
well that’s half missing...
this argument is starting to make me look silly...
this whole word word word... let’s quantify vocabulary for quality assurance...
it’s the q. and q. relativity, the q-q in terms of saying
(that's the coordinate parallelism between science
and human-ism, where the former states
two essentials - space & time - the latter states
its two essentials - quantity & quality;
now imagine einstein working in the humanistic medium,
it would sound something like... 'hmm
of a french novelist's output i can say as much
as: eat your j. keats and have him too):
the closest i came in comparing the greeks with the jews
is to claim that the students of the kabbalah are like the greek philosophers
in the vein of democritus... who took to a, b, c... x, y, z equivalent to atoms...
albeit phonetic atoms that gave us BIG physics of the planets
and meteros and newtonian linear(s)... and little physics... quantum stuff...
like why the romans wrote el... the greeks lambda and the hebrews lamed...
ah you know trivial stuff.
all i’m saying is that scientific atheism, in terms of using words
is, too coherent... if you want real atheism, you have to turn to the humanities,
james joyce is perfect... we don’t live in an age of scientific positivism,
we live in an age of humanistic negativism...
all this talk of extinction and nuclear weaponry,
it’s almost like a scare tactic to allow certain professions mechanisation
by robotics... i know it’s real... would the newsstand sell insensible newspapers?
again... if you deny something you’ll only end up doubting it later,
so with sartre trying to escape the cartesian dialectic if a complete and utter failure,
by denying something it’s hardly possible to erase it, make it extinct,
the faculty of memory does not allow this to happen,
so doubt re-enters and the doubting thought process revs up,
the negating thought process is only momentary, a nano-second if you will,
doubting takes aeons to consider itself un-doubted;
so i ask... coming from a scientific background, why would we
care to push scientific positivism further, given all the discoveries and
ease-of-life assurances when there’s this bulging and growing
humanistic negativism, entitled: we are the 99%! hmm?
science will not make economic strategies go away,
nor will humanism... but with humanism, at least there’s a human face
saying something... rather than science itemising everything
to fit 0 next to 1 with a dot between and call it: a tenth of a metre.

p.s. there's only one doubt of denial and it's unconscious,
because denial is a safety mechanism that automates
to provide a blockage against the world events:
*******, ******... war...
denial is automation... doubt is nurturing...
regret... well... that's natural concerning choice
in events not engaged with; honestly, there are people
who have regrets not engaging within the napoleonic wars,
thus they idolise napoleon... a bit like the neo-nazis
and the third ***** scenario... they can deny certain
aspects of the third ***** mechanisation didn't happen,
but they can't doubt it, because doubt-in-itself
is a sort of thrill
(that's covered by a blatant truism in argumentation,
which is denial, which technically robs it
of the doubt cherished for the thrill)...
'****! it happened! it really really happened!'
and then regret comes in and says: 'but you weren't there.'
then nostalgia kicks in... and that line from w. burroughs
about how you got to be an ss-man in a concentration camp:
gauge the cat's eyes out... yes, the one you petted for a month,
fed and gave affection to: gauge... the... cat's... eyes... out!
dass ist ein anführer befehl!
Blissful Nobody Jul 2014
Hundredth time she fell,
The devil inside never awakened,
Eyes still glinting,
The same faith within,
The crimson clouds shall part,
She’ll see the distant star.

Only at the zenith of ecstasy,
Did she realize,
Her soul clenched by sorrows,
She fell again,
For the nth time,
Never did she barter her soul,
Still strong and holding on.

Temptations of the real world,
Pulled her heart and soul apart,
Teary glint in her eyes-
Weak now.
“Give away thy soul ”- He asks
“Never” – She whispered.

“I’ll come again.”- He says,
Gods own child,
The precious one - Weak Now.
“Never” – She held onto her mass
She sees the distant star,
Her chaste soul departs.
Bluie Mar 2016
how do you measure
intensities of pain?
how do you compare
deep wounds
and broken hearts?
for the nth time,
you're the reason behind my pain
Third Mate Third May 2014
early morning, the hoses out,
washing away the fluids,
the ****, the *****,
hallmark low points of the prior night's,
bons moments de roulement,
rolling, burning, down into the sewers

dark coffee, beignets,
white powdered sugar,
a cleanser of both
dirtied bodies and souls,
makeup~coverup of human excesses

this morn, the sun,
aidez-moi with an assist
of a canon and a gigue,
a string ensemble (parfait!),
three violins and a continuo,
a quartet in the quarter,
blossoming Johann, budding now
in my ears and
my purification process
de bourbon
is now

the Nth new day has begun,
the Nth purification has begun,

but my first in the French Quarter

7:35 am
May 23rd, 2014
New Orleans
Ember Bryce Sep 2013
We write because there is an unexplainable magical phenomenon surrounding us called conscious.

It is what expanded in the very beginning, it's will evolved everything living.
It invented these elements, that binded to create compounds.
With the help of gravity and expansion, these natural chemical compounds slowly started structures.
Other elements were produced, binded, and reproduced, exponentially manifesting other life.

Thankfully, consciousness is beautiful.
And it has an exquisite pattern that boggles the mind. Astronomers, mathematicians, scientists, artists, and other mortal men are astounded by it (even if they don't know 'it' yet). Because of this pattern, known as The Fibonacci Sequence, also relates to geometry, dimensions, and space, creates "The Flower of Life".

Look up into the stars and you will see them all pointing out, all moving still as one, there will be one brighter star that seems to serve as the center point for the flower. But focus on another and you will see the flower there too. Howl at the stars and you will see a dimension of movement as they shine a tail reacting to your vibrations. (I wonder if that's what wolves always see).

It is because of this pattern that the compounds "fell" into place. They happened upon a dimensional line and shaped nicely into spheres that includes all their elements they were attracted too. They followed the Sun and other stars for the light and a leading center point. Our rock (this planet) just so happened to be perfectly away yet close enough to the Sun, and had the right kinda elements, that it was able to form a livable habitat for something..

It was the first four main elements that came alive with activity on the surface of this land. Earth, Water, Fire, and Air started oozing, spilling, swimming, forming, into a place that gave way for the compounds that make up the cells of plants to sprout. Bacteria grew also out of cells and atoms and ****. Bugs and other simple creatures where the first to be bestowed upon this mass. This consciousness just wanted to grow, however way it can or does, it did. Even as reptiles, as dinosaurs, as birds, as sea creatures. The consciousness that started the craziness was snot stopping any time soon. It was going through trial and error, how we, everyday, always do. The consciousness just wanted to grow, to do, to be, it needed to replenish it's energy through eating whatever else it had created, it needed to reproduce so as to continue, and it needed to die to make room for the new and improved. But this consciousness is always there, always around, flying everywhere.

Other habitants of this universal consciousness has seen our Planet, and they were pleased. Good and Evil wanted to help or destroy.

The weather, and geology, are also still a part of this consciousness, and with their elements and the expanding evolution of the atmosphere and core of the Earth, were able to evolve as well. Other animals came about as a reaction and adapted to the ever changing environment.

Finally, the consciousness that exists in every thing that tells it to move, to change, to do, to be, to create: started having emotions.. Thus, humans were created. We still have that older consciousness of wanting to do, to be, to create, to reproduce. We have viral qualities of latching on to a host and slowly destroying here (Mother Earth), we have plant like and animalistic qualities becuase we have a male and a female that reproduce, we feed, we grow, we protect, we crave the Sun, we crave acceptance. But now we also crave Love. We encompass compassion. We have consciousness, and we KNOW we have consciousness, we not only think and make decision, but we know that we are. Isn't that crazy!? I believe many animals are starting to think this way too..

We embody emotions, the greatest being love. Fear was an emotion for the first creatures on this Earth, it is slowly evolving to Love. Fear made us make more. As bacteria and viruses, we fear deceasing to nonexistence, so we become stronger to keep up with the cures. As plants we feared being over powered by others, so we reached out our limbs and branches to touch closer to the Sun. As animals we fear other animals. As humans, we know what it is to love and be loved.

Some Earthlings know the powers we carry, and of the Mother and Father.
Some give praise to these every day, because we are the children.
Some don't, some have lost what it means to be.

Some have evolved in the opposite intended direction. Which is silly to say because as consciousness' only meaning is to grow, be and do, with this statement, consciousness is going in the 'right' direction. I do not know yet why there is good and evil sides of consciousness. did one come as a result of the other? were they nth part of consciousness at the same time? Can we all agree we need both? (cannot feel pleasure without pain, etc) or can we see what it is like with just good surrounding.. then in that case, who is to say what is good: The child dancing in the rain, watching her garden grow, catching droplet on her tongue, would say the weather is 'good'. The lovers' getting washed away in the flood trying to save each other, would not. But all this is 'the way things are'. Anyways..

to be continued
Sa Sa Ra Jun 2012
What to do when you’ve got the blues
Was it me or is it you
My plans are simple
To love life and be loved too
Their must be some kinds of deception
For you must love life and need one too
Or be one of
Billions of bricks in a grand pyramid scheme
But where in the mirror thee one on top
Is the one of thee ruse
Whom is under all
And who saves all fooled
Is there one among you who is more
Or less than precious you
Come on you’all
What would you be kidding me for
Like my lies to and about you
Like I could live without you
And rather forget or shout rat at ya
Have you scrounge through ******* that ye’
may you eat
or wire tie tire scraps to the souls of your feet
For we’ve come such a long way
To be here today
While it’s not been to long
Or far to go with squabble, plunder, resource **** and plow it under
That climates are for shifting
Seasons without reasons
Masses are off for the drifting
Our earth without our gratitude we sure aren’t 'a pleasin’
Thee oceanic cradle of conception 'tis sewer now
Like could I be without thee sky above me
Would thee auto or truck eat the one last bean
And every brick without a home
Not a hunting ground
Some tillable earth or seed to sow
Toxic fish in the untamable sea
And She will do as she wants
She will do as she needs
She’ll easily come and suddenly recede
Upon her eggshell basin we drill siphon pump poison and bleed
We blow holes in the ionosphere
Magnetic shifts and solar flairs
Does our wild kingdom wish us well
Or rather see us off into exile from our hells
Of dust bowls and Goodyear treads to save our souls
Journey on wayward ones
Is not a thing sacred not a one
Holy  liars say anti-christ better hurry fast
So saviors come to condemn our past
And free us from, to us what’s been done
Seven say there is the Savior
And six are sick evil ones
And we can not agree of the one
Seven times to the nth degree is what we will need
Till our actions are thee savings grace
As Great Exemplars have professed
Each of us must overcome
And Holy Creature become
In the stregnth of forgiveness
We undo to thee and us done
We are the ones to feel to see
That Love is the fire
Which is pure bravery
You forge in the now
Without the forgetting
Tomorrows you desire
Where love will rise
And set as thee One in all
(Winter/Spring 2010)
Yes! Call me a crazy fanatic,
a God intoxicated fool!
stark raving madly
in love with beautiful You

I stalk Your every invisible move
Breathless, I run through
fog and mist that clouds
Your celestial, elusive Presence
chanting Your holy name
contemplating the glorious leelas
and remembering the power and
splendor that created all this

And Yes! I would
move heaven and hell
for a chance to
consciously, perfectly, wholly and
Be with You
heart and soul forever
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
America the land of obesity and greed
Mean and morally bankrupt in the face of world poverty
Ever ready to eagerly attack a foreign country
Rednecked and rabidly racist
Ignorant and parochial to a sickening degree
Canada's ugly southern neighbour
Arrogant and self-opinionated
Narrow-minded and bigoted to the Nth degree
A total ******* disgrace really.
Author notes

This is an acrostic for those too dim to have spotted it yet.
This is a nice one for you all out there
Cherisse May May 2017
I'm alone again.
Not literally,
But mentally alone.
Trying to battle my thoughts.

I'm lost again.
Not literally,
But emotionally lost.
Staring blankly, dejectedly, at my reflection.
Sorishti Marwha Sep 2014
Shivering she sits painfully
in the corner,
hoping it's not time yet.

the room, her prison
the haven of broken dreams
and painful scars.

rocking herself back and forth
she hears the creak,
'he's coming', she thinks
and wishes for the nth time
that she were dead.

he drags her by the hair
painfully slamming into her
she crumbles down

paying for something,
she doesn't deserve
Richard Riddle Aug 2015
In August, 1977, My wife, Karen, and son Russ, moved back to Texas after eight years of being away. Back to Dallas, Karen's hometown. A house which just happened to be next door to her parents was going up for sale. However, the owners decided to rent it to us, with an offer no sane person could refuse.

Now the neighborhood was a long- established residential area. The majority of the residents, like my in-laws, had been there from its inception, which made the move easier, for we knew most of them. But, there is always one, whose antics over time, become legendary.

Joe, a Scotsman to the nth degree. Every new years eve, at the stroke   of midnight, he would appear on his front porch dressed in his kilt, with his bagpipes, heralding in the coming year with supposedly,
"Auld Lang Syne ". At least that's what it was supposed to be, but with bagpipes, how does anyone really know.  He didn't stop there; never ceasing to take  advantage to publicly play that over-sized vacuum bag, he would often welcome newborn children, puppies, kittens, etc.

The day the moving van arrived, there he was, out on his porch wearing that plaid kilt, bagpipes clutched against his chest. Except, there was an unexpected "twist." After every two or three bars he would stop and yell out, "Stay away from the moors! Stay away from the moors!" Some of the neighbors stepped out on their porches just to see what was going on now. Even the crew unloading the van seemed to enjoy the entertainment and it helped the time seem to go faster.

Within ten days after somewhat settling in to our new place, Karen and I realized that the "moors" of which Joe spoke, actually were the "Moore's" who were our next door neighbors. Needless to say, it was an interesting neighborhood. That could be "another story."

copyright: richard riddle-august 03, 2015
Cunning Linguist Mar 2014
Shut up
in abysmal oblivion
to the millio(
nth) degree

Shoot up
the drug writhes,
pulsating through my veins

Usurping my brain
as my visual modality turns inward
awakening my inner eye

Mentally breaks the binding constraints
finding my center,
I enter the

Then I shoot off in space and time
inserting my Mind someplace
light years away from reality

Inert I remain
And what was once pain and indifference
Has become

in transcending
To the point of omniscience
Inspired by "Soy Sauce" from the novel and film
"John Dies at the End"
"A drug plot in the novel's first act sees a demonic presence taking the form of a narcotic referred to as "soy sauce," with its non-lethal side effects including enhanced sensory perception and clairvoyance, used by David and John in their paranormal investigations."
Sour Patched Kid Oct 2015
Huddled beneath the desk
The files found were less
The script I scribed not
Of false fellowship

Murmured were the verses
Pawing for the curses
My hands I lended
Gave all I could spend

Battling my vices
Tampered herbs and spices
My wrist I twisted
Shy 'way from the shiv

Hands spinning lazily
Tracks run, a maze in me
The map I crumpled
To bridges I shan't pass.
maxime Oct 2016
press restart
simple enough
a new beginning
a brand new experience
but really, it's not all that different

press restart
for the nth time
again and again
another attempt
how many will there be?

press restart
and wonder now
how long it will be
until restart is pressed again
and it doesn't work

press restart
everything i write is **** so i've decided to just give up and publish whatever the hell i want. better than doing something else that's stupid
Lightbulb Martin Jul 2014
Ditch ewe sea Mai poem?
Eye sore year phlegm on yootoob!
Knot of ill my mean,
Ice awe yore fitty oh on yewtwoob!
No won you sis Phil mini moor...

Aisle Ike did the Bell eve id Dio.
**** wear wuss aye at?
Cuss ein owe fur sheer.
God Knowed out debt
Hugh phlegmed me giddy
Nth arc are!

Watt Chew say a bow to that?
Whole Don.
Dead Yew sin sir writ?
Sense err meow tough fit?
High share open aught!

Bay bee!
Hi muss tar!!!
Please forgive me these indulgences

— The End —