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livin' is a crime
the dollar's worth a dime
local government
landlord wants the rent
the I. R. S.
says they get the rest

wooo, ooo, oo rat race, Oooooo ooo it's a rat race

working nine to five
just to stay alive
stabbin' in the back
catchin' all the flack
interest rates and loans
keepin' up with Jones

wooo. ooo, oo rat race, Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
are you a member of the rat race
keepin' with the fast pace
wooo, ooo, oo rat race

the dollar's worth a dime
livin' is a crime
just to stay alive
workin' nine to five
landlord wants the rent
D.C. government
guess who gets the rest
the I. R. S.

wooo, ooo, oo rat race, Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
are you a member of the rat race
keepin' with the fast pace
wooo, ooo, oo rat race

wooo. ooo, oo rat race, Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
are you a member of the rat race
keepin' with the fast pace
wooo, ooo, oo rat race
wooo. ooo, oo rat race
Oooooo ooo it's a rat race
rat race
rat race
Oooooo ooo it's a rat race*

written by
Warner Baxter
One Knight Stand Productions
all rights reserved
ryn Dec 2015
*    |                                       |                                              |
    |                                       |                                              |
    |                                       |                                              |
     |                                    •arches                                      |  
   |                                 up top bef-                                   |
   |                               ore tapering                                   |
   |                                   down to                                      |
   |                   ­                    the                                           |
    |                                         ­                                            ooo
       |                   ooo    bottom•a sym-      ooooo         ooo    o
   |              oooo    bol that holds my en-     oooo      ooo
|       oooo        tirety for ransom•a hos-      oooooo  
|   ooo              tage situation that made          ooo    
ooo                   me so willing•truss me                      
  ooo              up, bound...  i am not                      
oo            fighting•call this in-              
          oo            sensibility... name                         
ooo                  this foolery•i am                   
   ... but a branch
dangling off
|                           a  tree•                            |  
|                call                           thus            |  
|           me   an                        i   am           |  
|          idiot... la-                 the doll,          |    
|            bel  me a              from  oth-         |    
|            nitwit•for          ers, set far          |    
|                i only                    apart•           |    
|     have my                             i am the     |    
| strings...                                      marione-    
i am but                                             tte who's
a limp                                                        after
pup-                                              your
    ­ pet•                                         heart•
By far the toughest concrete poem I have ever attempted!

Concrete Poem 29 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
ryn May 2017

    oOOo           oOO      OOo     oOo                         
oOOOOo      OOo     Ooo      OO       oOo         
OoOoO                                               Oo          
ooO            •naked feet tread                
  with nonchalance•unafraid
    of what receding tides might
       bring•hardened heels soften
         to sunlit reverence•children
                   frolick accompanied by
                              unguarded peals
                                 that ring•towa-
                                     rd the ocean
                                      vast we halt
                                     to face•we
                                  look to the
                             horizon and
                         dream of un-
                   seen lands•we
          lift one foot with
   the other in place•
is this all we are...  
just impressions    
in the sand?•      

REAL Jan 2014
singing your heart out
as we used to
"cranberry ooo"

you have that kind of-
i have that kind of-
"cranberry ooo"

skin so pure
that the smell
rest in my nose
"cranberry ooo"

tell me
whats on your
troubled mind

please its still me

"Cranberry ooo
Cranberry ooo"
vircapio gale Dec 2012
oOo opening
of a common ground
dialogue's playing field hosts
not only games for diplomats and mediators.
channel expanse of what i know you know i know i know
you know
you breathe with fibers woven at the birth of words
ooo mutual standing under rain and pointing at the same - no, the same over  there.
consummation of lies released no longer held i tell you i lied i am ashamed and in love and free again.
O locution
of a private sky.
secrets working well contain
a single link entraining ignorance at war.
suppress, hold tight, forget,
forget forever toss remembrancers of loss
i grit against the tension, and tensest death of signs :):(:
o exclusive lay above the sun and grasping for unique - yes, the unique  here.
tragedy of honesties imprisoned for all time, proud, from a first kiss setting hate in stone.
smoking at a newborn's crib, righteous bigotry
yet the voiceless innocence of child
goodness tender-eared and
never closed
Bret Desrochers Oct 2011
Now this song will sound lame
But without you I wouldn't be the same
I'd be a long lost brother
With no escape from an evil mother

You help me with right and wrong
So I wrote you a thank you song

I know for me you'd walk through hell
Only one there when it all fell
We may not always see eye to eye
But your shoulders always there when I break down and cry

Sisters like you are to few
Some **** no one knows but you
Ry and Maritz will **** me if I don't include them to
Always filled with hugs, you'd be lost without those two

Now this song will sound lame
But without you I wouldn't be the same
I'd be a long lost brother
With no escape from an evil mother

You help me with right and wrong
So I wrote you a thank you song

Nobody will ever understand us
So a ******* to them, don't make a fuss
From Uno, War, and Rocket Power
To fighting for the first shower

You wear your heart on your sleave
Makes me glad to know you ain't ever gonna leave

Ooo Ooo Ooo

You help me with right and wrong
So for you, this is a thank you song

Ooo Ooo Ooo

Sister Sister
Copyright; Bret Desrochers
Bryce Simons Jul 2018
Ooo, I think you're in love with me.
This is where I want us to be.
Walkin long the beach skiping small rocks out to sea.

Ooo, I think you're in love with me.
I'll take your heart and lock it in a box.
Wrap it in lace with a cute bow on top.
I'll kiss you on our walk and let it drop off the dock
In our ocean of
Ooo, I think you're in love with me.

I wont make promises I can't keep.
I'll play with your hair and kiss your cheek
gently while you're trying to sleep.
Ooo, I think you're in love with me.

Sitting on a log, taking selfies n ****.
I'll grab your hand as we jump off the cliff.
Falling deeper in love - faster until we hit
the cold splash of all the times we've missed.

Ooo, the warmth of your kiss will increase the heat,
the breeze of your breath,
kiss on my skin.
a gentle caress.
Ooo, baby I'm in.

This is where I want us to be.
Your kiss! Oh it makes me weak.
Your smile! I'll constantly seek.
Ooo I think you're in love with me.
Bret Desrochers Dec 2011
Not gonna lie it's pretty sad
When you forget everything we had
I don't know if you'll ever be found
Which sends me straight to the ground

Don't keep wishing, hell upon me
When all you do is destroy me
It's too late for that
I'm more then just another stat

Your just a sloot
Who doesn't give a hoot
To you, I mean ****
Our hands, never fit

I shed my anger and rage
Decide to turn a new page
Hopefully our paths never cross
If it comes to words, I'm at a loss

Guys come and go with you
Always knowing what to do
Stick around so the can *******
Cause well..

Your just a sloot
Who doesn't give a hoot
To you I meant ****
Explains why our hands never fit

Ooo Ooo Ooo

Just another ******* sloot

Ooo Ooo Ooo

Who doesn't give a hoot
Copyright; Bret Desrochers

This is about sloots at my school and in my life who have played me like a violin.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
.i. if Kant could have his von Kleist... well... who else to juggle juggernauts if not me? as a task of redeeming that poor soul who succumbed to the terminator of all poetic ambitions, with his systematisation off-the-page, as eccentric and punctual as a sunset on a sundial at 16:11... and in case either the spring of sunrise, or the autumn of sunset... but so many hours after exacting a sunset... that gluttony of the eyes to stare at it... 16:11 is the zenith of a sunset in november the 15th... much prolonged when warmer... supersized sun when setting in summer, and all that whiskey-copper wiring for the eyes to stare at it: oh for goodness sake, who really cares for Ikea likened assembling of words... we're not putting together a coffee table, we're looking for Darwinistic entrapment, we're scared of the aeons and yawns... we're trying to create a Darwinistic entrapment saying what segregates us from apes! that's how anti-Darwinism works - if they can easily call you a poet and a technophobe... then that hardly makes you a merchant with a Quran... to encapsulate the language of our modernity we're doing everything against writing the onomatopoeia of our beginning... monkey ooo! monkey ooo ah ah! or a gorilla grunting and then snorkeling... we're encapsulating our language more and more... because beginning with ape and then looking at history, and then looking at the consensus of the contemporary: Darwinism's greatest enemy is not theology... it's history... Darwinism and history are not compatible... oddly enough Darwinism and theology are compatible, simply because they are dynamically equal for the case of furthering both arguments in debate... but Darwinism is an odd starting point to argue, given that physicists argue from the perspective of prior to dinosaurs, prior to all things formed.

how can i begin this? it will leave me having to
write it for two days,
the anti-narrative sketch first, then filling in
the gaps sober... just to get second opinions...
i might have to cook a quasi-Hungarian borscht
and fry up a few potato flattenings to a crispy
yum... first the narrator comes in to describe what's
in store, a bit like a translator comes in and says
of Joyce: that's Irish... well, yeah.
               hence the italic preface...
as some would say, the person who wrote these
sketches worked quicker that an algorithm in asking
and also quicker to copy & paste the required
atomic encoding... e.g. ч and ch
                   э and euro and epsilon...
      once upon a time there was nothing prior
to Copernicus, then the somersaults came,
    h ч y        what coordinates where?
    well of course perfecting the encoding of something,
if things weren't stated awry there would be
no optometrists either...
                  it's not hard to read, it's hard to
remember how to read, given that being literate reached
the omnipresent velocity, the new powers had to
include some new power struggle...
mingling Latin and Runes, Greek and Cyrillic...
     and the proto-Latin of additional diacritical marks...
they exposed the entirety of humanity to literacy
within the framework of post-industrial society,
after hitchhiking a ride on the 19th century donkeys
they suddenly had to reveal their power-secret of
being literate, and by the account of women:
corset bound and bored in salons...
      but something else appeared that didn't really fascinate
them: that over-complication of Latin with
punctuation marks above letters: or diacritical
distinction, crowns over letters, subatomic particularisation
of once favoured: universal applicability...
as a narrator? i have to make a complicated
introduction, the sketch lends itself to do so,
it suggests that not all writing can be as simple as
a nursery rhyme, not all writing can actually
    **** memory, not all writing desires being remembered,
not all writing can be remembered,
                in the mediation of the two chiral opposites
there's fiction, which is suspended in an armchair of
pleasurability... but on the opposite side of a nursery rhyme
or a well versed poem? writing akin to arithmetic...
  something truly painful for those competent with
lettering, but not really competent with ten digits...
      as a narrator who has already read the sketch,
i'm trying to not write a "filling in the gaps" to the sketch
like an art-critic might do to a painting deviating from:
brushstrokes were employed. well... d'uh!
variation of italics as in transcending the pause that
implies a condescending variation of taking a pause,
also excluded are: dot, comma, hyphen, semicolon
and colon.                         dot-dot-dot is not joining up
the dots: it implies a variation of how to anticipate
a punchline: drummed: tu-dum wet snare!
     i am actually a narrator who is trying to find
that other part of me that might digest this sketch properly,
     and return fully competent to pick up another
sketch... if ever there was a narrator in this sketch,
it has to be me, after the sketch has been scripted,
and i am left to suggest a need for a dot-dot-dot connectivity
of the strokes of the pen...
i warned myself: do not overdo the introduction in italics,
you know how picky people are...
whether pickled pineapple of cucumber...
i swear Turks invented pickling chillies...
         oh look! an inflatable gazebo filled with helium!
no one's laughing: only because i didn't mention vegina.
narrative puritanism? you get distracted a lot...
but this sketch is really a thesis for narration,
all i have to do is find the antithesis of narration in it:
an actual narrative!          it stretches for ~30 pages...
   well that's me turned archaeologist with a Grecian urn
with a snap of the finger... because that's how this
sketch looks like: ancient -
                         but understandably modern.
              so .  ,  - and ;
        were racing... out came the world record
             9.58(0)         the full-stop is the bracket-bound
0... i.e. it actually happened: hence the pinpoint...
or in Formula 1 a timed nonsense of ave. m/ph
     noted to three decimal points: 130.703...
                                    or chicane cha chicane cha cha!
as said, this is an actual representation of a narrator
encountering this sketch: so before you lose your head...
i've lost mine!
  look at the correlation though!
we've gone way past atoms with the atomic bomb
and encountered subatomic particles...
    we're not going to get beyond subatomic particles
because we're going to encounter the already apparent
reality of obatomic particle: namely our bodies,
   the perceived ******* (ob- is the antonym
                                                  prefixation of sub-):
             that's were the microscope adventure ends,
    and this is parallel to cutting up a second with
three decimal points, as the safetynet suggests:
                                                              π / 3.14;
yep, the obstructive - hence we can't spontaneously
combust... but then again Goethe's Werther did:
  out of love... down the spiral: you sweet little *******.

~ii. i'm actually too lazy to write the sketch and fill
in the blanks... so i'm going to fill in the blanks as i go along,
  or that's what's called the rebellious stance of narrator: mmm,
work in progress, could you see that coming?

ii. a beer in between glugs of whiskey - runes
combined in the ******* / sigma, variant of agliz or
the rune-zeta extended toward a dark shadow of the rebirth
of Ishrael: zoological enclosure; sigma *******
sigma ******* sigma *******, sigma *******...
rune-zeta... we cannot say there are ******
mathematicians and poets akin,
not then one optic encoding states
     a b c d e
         another states f u þ a r
yet another а б (ρ) в г
  α β γ δ:
for worth of gamma into a trill only because of
   a wave, that's ~ approx. on the side of the letter
   e.g. г & r.
   or rho upside down? what the ****?
did Voltaire write this? reading Candide,
i hope he ****** did!
you the problem is pixelated paper? if you know
how you enter a deciphering mode...
                    but you require a personal library to boot,
all that dos formatting,
                       well there's formatting in the humanity
outstretch of this white medium too...
after it isn't all ******* white when all the psychiatric
pills are white too... i have really found something better
than the Bermuda Δ...
       Greek, Latin, Cyrillic and Runes...
i could say neo or proto otherwise,
but i still haven't unearthed the sketch, that
is probably puzzling the Danes, with Cnut on the forefront...
                    but the arrangement of numbers is universal,
but it's not universal, given the particularity of
how language is encoded and why some people are
richer than others...
            but it's still a beer between glugs of whiskey that
makes more sense...
i said, retype the sketch and go to bed...
and i figured: that's probably the wisest of all possible
events stemming from this...
    that's ~27 pages of notes to retype... and i'm already
in a disclosure mode as to expect what's to be jargoned...

p. 1        cкεтч       /      σкεтχ
   necessity of                        (acute
a-       -the           (ism)
is that of language structure,
          only from the use of one's language does
a deity present itself: from within the noumenon
ground work, not the reverse, as in from
(pp. 2, 3)
                 a phenomenological exercise in
the use of language: Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, (etc.)...
       e.g. Islam is a phenomenon,
  it's not a noumenon: or a thing-in-itself...
  for the Islamic god to emerge from Islam's-in-itself
Islam will have to prevent itself from being-outside-itself...
or overpowering other in-itself contentions
but still: to no apparent success narrative of true intention
as satisfactory appropriation and hence lending itself
to a widespread nod of approval.
  challenging space: word compounding, or the space
between conjunctional deficiencies: nod-of-approval (e.g.).

p. 2    concussion (great film, Alec and Will, 2015, NFL)
concussion... Blitzkrieg Alzheimer's....
brain is fat.... dementia = attacking proteins...
  steroids... the noumenological use of language:
e.g. that ****** is an enigma,
therefore his views will not go viral,
and he'll not become fashion trendy...
it's not individualistic idealism, it's reality.
as will die sonne satan - orbis reach more than 5K
views... so... clap clap... clap, clap.
           what i meant about the a-     and -the
and the ism is following a sentence that sort of
does away with conjunctional fluidity,
apart from the big words, i treat all minor words as
categorically conunctional... and, the, a, is, to, too...
given the sentence: brain fatty *****,
brian organic giraffe wall... ******* hieroglyphic...
           stood above the rest, rest assured.
  dementia: invading protein cells
   (bulging prune of the opportune: purely
digestion?) no thought to eat or eat itself like,
cannibalistically. the brain is fatty...
not fat in muscle for mmm, schmile and flex
for the selfie. how about a protein inhibitor?
(by now, rewriting the sketch, i've lost the page count,
it's actually p. 5 of note paged toward 27).
how about the explanation that we're living in
times of post-industrialisation and thanksgiving
feminism? to me post-industrialisation has created
a class of meaningless white-collar workers
and no blues... it's what the Chinese blues call
the Amazonian nomads: ******* happy...
no amount of crosswords or sudoku will exert
your body to do things for others...
   no amount of mind games will actually tell your
brain to be equipped with: a bunch of hyenas... run!
dementia is a result of creating too many
white-collar jobs (thanks to feminism)
and exporting the blues to China (thanks to feminism
and: oh i broke a nail, can i get a Ching plumber to
fix my heating while i get a ****** to **** me up my
****?!) - maybe i'm just dreaming...
it's great to censor dreaming, i mean: you stop dreaming,
you get to see reality, and you don't even need to
read Proust on a ricochet.
  - so we have brain as fat, and invader cells as protein...
protein digests fat... and creates cucumbers out
of people... where do the carbohydrates come into play?
it can't be at the point of a.d.h.d., can it?
     i'm blaming post-industrialisation, the complete
disappearance of the blues (formerly known as the reds,
in the east) for the whites...
or that old chestnut of: my god you're goon'ah luv it!
   to till for worth from the sweat of yer brow -
funny funny funny... to earn your loaf of bread
you will toil...
                   and toil until you are physically assured
that not ghostly / mental life can enter your world /
books... that went well... didn't it?
   i should be tilling a potato plateau rather than
be bound to be writing this epic (by modern standards)
             but that's the curse of exporting all the blue
collar jobs to China, then importing mindless
white collar jobs to the west, what the hell do you think
would happen, not the pandemic of dementia?
if you do not exert the body, and then you do not
exert / exhaust the mind... do you think
you can secure a narrative with a post-industrial
westerner on the premise of that person simply being
able to solve a crossword? well... i believe in santa
claus too... but i don't believe in him giving out
presents... because to me, in my oh-so-called maturity
that's called an anagram of satan's clause: which is a legal
term for: i can turn civilisation into shrapnel
of what's said and what's to be said: and what's not to be
said. people can't expect to turn honest labour
for the recreational run on the treadmill in a gym...
and they can't expect photocopying in an office space
to replace Newton's curiosity, and then compensate
all this distraction with mind-games...
          can they? well... they did!

poets are gagged by writers of prose,
no wonder they write so sparingly,
      they are gagged in the sense that they write
as if asphyxiated: they need breathing room.

well sure, if he can revive the Polish steel industry
and i can go back to steel plates and pillars,
then the rust belt will get a polishing also.

or what's called: shrapnel before the waterfall of
narration: darting eyes, and poncy **** all the way through...

     muse... muse...

        well, how about we take the fluidity out of language?
declassify certain words into one grammatical broth,
say words like i and they
                              a  and the    are all conjunctions?
how about that? let's strip it bare, after all: what categories
of words exist for us to primarily speak (let alone think)?
     nouns, verbs, adjectives... adverbs?
       but all those words in between are so jungly classified
into a tangle that i'm about to sprout a handshake
          of a Japanese vine grip: and never let go...

an actual extract from the sketch:

      https that doesn't recognise UCS
                   and insists on IPA cannot be deemed

              i need runes for this! i need runes for this idea!
i don't need transliteration right now...
                but hey! that's an idea, etymological transliteration...
bugly term, sure, but the previous night i was thinking
  of transcendental etymology, as you do, likened to
carbohydrates... so it was transliteration after all...
but a dead end when it comes to geometry and Pythagoras...
    three words... and they are computerised (i guess you
have to buy a decent book to decode this), a bit like
buying paint in a d.i.y. shop...
       16DE (dagaz / d) 16DC (ingwaz / ŋ / grapheme of n & j)
                  16DF (ōþala / Valhalla / o / ō = oo),
in total d'njoo / d'nyoo - even i concede the fact that this
is a ******* mind-******... it's a ****** congregation of
four optic encodings of phonos... i moved away from
the ancient greek fetish for the logos... i'm looking at
the phonos... not the logos with Heraclitus et al.
               φº θ þ фª f

  ºcyrillic                ever see a prettier pentagram?
                      i haven't.

(false original title:
škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic - pending)

looking at the phonos is painful, actually painful,
it's like reading a book with a myopic pair of glasses:
a ******* aquarium blurry right there, befor...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

'e'? were you: was i, looking for an 'e'?

i can say this much...
what do you get when you mix a shot
of whiskey with a shot of bourbon:
i'm moving between bottles...
it's nearing christmas eve and i'm a ripe
taoist... i.e. i better this world:
by not having the world mind me...
on the odd occasion: oh... you're still here?!

yeah... i'm still here... i have glued-to-fascination
with my shadow... i'm just waiting
for the atom bomb to relieve me of a body
but ensuring my shadow is kept intact...
as if it were a Monet signature on a wall...

but i lament... the momentum has vanished...
i don't even know why i'm so idiotic as
to presume that: from the hour 22:00GMT
to the hours 00:00 circa 00:30GMT...
something will land into my lap,
my lisp... my cranium the oyster shell
my tongue the oyster...

it will not... i can't simply **** anything into
an existence that doesn't want to exist...
perhaps lurking in a canvas of:
"lost luggage" in an airport...
perhaps "there"...
i could be excused my... lethargy...

when was this written? back in 2018?
so i was thinking about teasing cyrillic even then?
wasn't i?
sketch cкэтч or?

what do you get when you mix a shot of whiskey
with some bourbon?
a Burguandian whisker...
i am not going to sound witty...
Ron's key...

that's still a cyrillic "or"... isn't it?
шкиц: škic...

i'm... deflated... nothing "new" has come my way...
i would have thought that...
reading some Knausgård would have /
could have... invigorated me:
reading him was supposed to be my:
dialysis my transfusion!
my zombie-go-to-literature...
it has proven an exhaustive enterprise
to begin writing again:
i became too comfortable
in reading - i almost forgot
the agony of writing...

alas... a contemporary of mine...
and someone well adjusted to prose...

notably: who would have thought
that death in june - the calling (MK II)
was something to be recorded in 1985...
for one: i wouldn't...

but i did begin: back in november 2016...
begin what? to tickle the cyrillic alphabet...
which is way before i discovered my reply
to the runes... to the ancient greek...
and this... "ancient", ahem... still in use...
latin script...

that script that went into the molloch couldron
of being invested in to code...
pristine as the hebrews cited:
how many holes in it?
to write onto a canvas of 0?
q Q R O o p P A a D d g b B...
which leaves...
Z X C V N and M "out of the equation"...

škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic (pending):
i better rename it as... circa 2016...
that's way before i even acknowledged
the cyrillic text applying diacritical markers...
i thought them too crude at the time...

beside borrowing outright from greek...
the already at hand oddities of glagolitic,
notably: Ⱎ...Ⱋ...

it's only a single word i'm using...
i have abandoned all notions of metaphysics
in favor for orthography...
i'm not going to burden myself
with: what's after the physics...
i'm after: what's now...
in the respective tongues...
2 tongue deviations from
the original latin and greek...

what came with the runes and what
came with the glagolitic scripts...
what was ****** and had to succumb
to inter-breeding...

come 2020... i will have one clarification
to base my existence on...
pronouncing the growth of my ****** hair...
i will hope to aim at a length of beard
that will forever hide the neck...
i will aim at... somewhere to the level
of my heart... when i will then manage
to turn my beard into an orchestra's
nieche of violins when i procrastinate with it...

since 2016...
i have identified russian in ******...
i've seen it... finally!
зъaрт... i.e. żart
and the "hard sign" becoming a "soft sign"
in źrenica: зьрeницa...

i still think the russian orthography
is... as... primitive as the western slavic...

after all... зъ = ż...
зь = ź...
the balkan slavs have a caron...
which is neither a hard or a soft sign / acute...

their caron is... ч (č) or cz...
CHeaper in english...
and their caron is ш (š) or sz...
or the two together...
and always шч (šč): szczekam...
i'm barking...

pu-shch-air... a rare example in english
of the puщair...
but then lookie lookie 'ere:

CZACHA... skull...

perhaps this is my "revenge ****" on russia?
hey! boris the kremlin mascoot...
come and 'ave a look...
with how i disect your orthography
on the / with the language that asks
too many metaphysical questions and no
orthographic curiosities!

i'll meet you in Warsaw... given that you're
probably moving from Novosibirsk...
and i'm either in Stockholm...
Edinburgh or the outskirts of London:
Warsaw will be halfway for both of us...
you don't have to like Warsaw...
i only like it when the Ukrainian smugglers
and the Mongols appear
in the West Warsaw coach station...

smart as who? i am discovering this for
the first time myself...
i was only teasing it back in 2016...
way before i found the right sort of accents
in mother russian...

i do know that that crescent oddity:
above the ja: йa... is what it is...
if you only cut off the head in english... ȷ...
again: it's я given that most russians
are pulled toward an anglophile world-view...
they all see the window to europe...
the baltic and st. petersburg is somehow...
London... and the atlantic...
like hell it is...

i guess i feel it was a waste of time to
have re(a)d Kant, simply because:
i'm not here for the schematics...
i want to know how my thought my labyrinth
building architecture is coming along...
but with no one to talk to about it?

i found the categorical imperative most
dissatisfying... i didn't want to abide by universal laws...
poetry is already shoved out of waiting room
of the republic...
if my "poetry" is not a categorical imperative...
and it's not quiet a a hypothetical imperative...
it needs to be sharpened on a thesaurus
and some grammar...

categorical (adjective)... imperative (adjective)...
well two adjectives never imply much
if there's no noun involved...
and i'm pretty sure that... if i sharpen
the next word i'll compound with categorical-
in that hyphen construct that's only
allowed in oxford dictionary english:
since it's not: propergermannonhyphenfaustian:
i.e. carboxylic (carbo-xylic) acidity...

poetry doesn't belong in either
the categorical imperative focus...
nor the hypothetical imperative focus...

i.e. i must write a poem... to feel better...
i must write a poem... to organise my thoughts...
no! a poem is not a maxim is not a categorical
imperative! a language of poetry is not
a language of morality: it's a language
of experience - or a lack / a lackey's "sentiment"...

i need a... categorical: impetus!
it's not enough to have read kant's critique of pure
reason... it must also involved
having re(a)d the: groundwork of
the metaphysics of morals...
but i'm a democratic reader...
i need to hear the other voices...
i can't be a kantian scholar...
a snippet 'ere, a snippet v'ere (funny how
THETA disappears when making the posit:
THERE - ver!)

who needs metaphysical absolutes...
when orthography (or a lack of it)
in english... spreads open its legs...
and the tongue remembers its tongue-brain-phallus
stage of co-existence in the oyster?!

i'm pretty sure that a categorical imperative
is by no means a categorical impetus...
this had to be written,
but it had to be written in order to disregard
anything a priori... prior to it...
a poem is a shady concern for action or inaction...
it's a deviation from the cartesian crux:
res cogitans (thinking thing)...
into the cartesian levy (res extensa)...
it's an action of inactivity...
as much as it's an inactive activity...
"the rest"...

impetus is not an imperative...
an impetus sources its meaning in a per se
investement... of itself - in itself - for itself...
an imperative?
in pronouns... impetus: i want... i will...
imperative? you want... you will...

an impetus is self-dictative...
an imperative is: indicative...
someone would rightly claim...
those that mourn indicatively...
will don the right garments for the process
of mourning...
which is indicative and devoid of
the per se manifestation of mourning...
it is an imperative when compared to
the impetus to mourn -
which is self-dictative...
which does now shallow itself in
grief by making a socially agreed to fiasco
of a very specific choice of wardrobe...

basically: however you like it...
the year is almost over and i want to break-off
the dust from the thoughts that fudge-packed themselves
as worthy of occupying the minor instance
of having to count a depth of:
not dead within the year of being written.
THE    I. R. S.








written by
Warner Baxter
One Knight Stand Productions
Under A Tangerine Sky Entertainment
Phoenix Arizona 2010
all rights reserved
ryn Nov 2015
o                    oo
oo                       oo
ooo                       ooo
ooo                    ooo

eternity it
   seems like•dang-
ling your hook in the
sea of life•hoping for bre-
am, salmon or pike•one of
which would make the perfect
wife•many a fish in rivers and lakes
•plenty more awaiting in oceans and seas•
many would do whatever it takes • battling
the days' heat  and  nights' breeze • wishing
upon      many moonbeams•followed      by
•            the  passing of indifferent          •
sun-rays •waiting an
entire  lifetime
it seems
•just to
finally land
that coveted catch 
  of the                 day 
   •                           •

Concrete Poem 6 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
Ston Poet Dec 2015
(baby come through, & come chill wit me..3) come chill wit me..(come through5)..come chill wit me, Ayee, ( girl what you tryna do,Yeah2)..come chill wit me,Yeah..(what you tryna do girl2)..come chill wit me baby what you tryna do..(come through3)..Yeah baby come (chill wit me5) yeah.. (come through3)..& (come chill wit me3)..come through,..

Babygirl yeah what's good , I know dat you are really in to me & I'm feeling you too,..Babygirl Yeah I see you & you looking cute, your so beautiful, Oooo, boo you got my heart jumping outta my chest beating so fast like I just took 50 pulls from a ****..Ohh, Babygirl you be boosting up my high like a newport, girl your love is so strong, baby your love got me strunged,..Babygirl what you tryna do,..Babygirl come through, kickback wit me Yeah..relax wit me, let's **** & smoke some good ****..I know that's what you tryna do girl..girl (Yeah..what you tryna do 2)...wit me..come through & then  baby we can see.. yeah (come through3)..

Aye, girl what you tryna do..stop playing games & chasing after these **** boys..You need to spray some raid to keep them lames away from ya, because you mines, Yeah girl you my boo, girl I know exactly what you need & want you need a King, Uhh you want a real man to help flourish yo dreams, baby let me plant my seed in you, & I really mean that boo, let's start our own kingdom, & family BabyGirl so come through & hang wit me baby..I'll teach you how to live freer girl,..You that type of woman I'll let sit on my face, Babygirl yeah, I wanna drink you, like tea..,&
I ain't even tryna be a player no I ain't just ryhming game to ya, I really mean what I say, Yeah everything that is written is true..,Yeah boo, for sure..Uhh, so..

(Come through4)..Yeah..Yeah..(girl what you tryna do2)..Uhh,..(come through4)..(Yeah2)..come through & come chill wit me,Yeah..chill wit me,girl
I'll show you how a real man suppose to do you so come chill wit me Yeah..(baby come through2)..(come through2)..Aye

Babygirl bring yo **** *** over, & let me undress ya, I wanna hit it from the front, I wanna hit from the side, & I wanna get the back to..**** I'm feeling really freaky girl, I wanna caress you girl I really care for you..Yeah
, I might just lick yo *******, Imma ******* so good, Imma put you in a coma,,no ruthies,Uhh..Imma blow that good kush up in yo nose in the morning, & I bet you'll wake up from it, girl I know yo back hurting, & legs so sore to ****, I got you have spasming,baby just let the good smoke relax ya,Aye..Uhh..

Yeah that's what Imma do to you when you come over, boo, baby so come through..Oooo, I wanna *** you up girl, Yeah that's what Imma you..Uhh, Imma ******* so good, Yeah girl, Imma ******* so good..Oooo,yeah I wanna please you so baby..(come through3)..Yeah come through..(girl what you tryna do2)..Yeah what you tryna do,..(come through, Yeah3)..(come through....3)..Ooo,

Aye baby, Imma call you , to come through & when you get to me girl, don't be shy at all Noo, baby I wanna see what you all about, yeah girl, show me  what that mouth can do Ooo,..Uhh, baby let me be that *****, I said let me be yo *****, yeah let me be yo best friend, no friends wit benefits, I want you to be my wifey,..Yeah I want you forever & ever baby..
Yeah girl let me be yo man, babygirl..tease me, Yeah dance & strip for a real *****, yeah show me what you all about, Yeah I wanna see what you about, baby..(come through11)..Ooo
Yeah girl what you tryna do, girl what you been up through

Oooo,what you tryna do Yeah..girl what you tryna do yeah..what you been up to..BabyGirl.. (Come through4)..Yeah girl, what you tryna do, let's make a move now,..
Yeah let's make our own movie baby..just..(come through
3)..Babygirl..Yeah..(come through8) Yeah..(come through3)..Yeah come through.. Girl, what you been up to, baby what you tryna do..,
(girl Yeah, what you tryna do3)..
Just (come through..
Ooo..Yeah..(come through..*3)
Zeeb Jul 2018
The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway… man that’s one long bridge
I drive it every day for my pay - here’s what I see along the way

Here comes:
Corvette Kary, setting pace, he thinks he’s in a race
When Kary’s not waxing his ride, for your safety you'd best pull aside

Petrified Patty, she’s over water and has never learned how to swim
She’s driving a white Lexus, so scared she has no reflexus

Miata Mike, chasing Kary's Vette, not gonna get too far
Trying to convince himself, he didn’t buy a girly car

Watch out for:

Makeup Mary, on cruise-control, wow she’s one of the worst
She loves her new Camry, but her next car might just be a hearse

Yes, that Causeway, can be a long and boring ride
And if you get a flat… there’s no place to pull aside
Oh but that Causeway has its points, take time to see
24 miles of entertainment, and the Northbound way is free

Here comes:

Road Rage Randy, always ****** and he doesn't know why
Today he’s running late, but finds time to escalate

Doughnut Danny, rolling breakfast and a tea
Such mechanized efficiency, has a newspaper on his knee

Wackin Wayne, you're kidding me, you thought I couldn't see?  Vibrating Virginia close behind, now we have equality

We've got:

Maypop Marty, thinks tires last forever
Does he even check the air?.... never

Mark The Spark needs a muffler shop, something heavy about to drop.  Comes Innocent Mike on his motorbike too bad he just couldn't stop.

Headphone Harry and his Pandora, he's hear but also... he's not.  He likes his music best, you see, after a few long tokes of his ***.

Fugitive Fred on the go, at 65 point ooo.  Not a mile to fast or to slow, got to blend in on this bridge don't you know.

Yes that old Causeway, can be a long and boring ride
And if you get a flat… there’s no place to pull aside
Oh but that Causeway, has its points, take time to see
The mechanized circus on parade, our hilarious humanity

Don’t forget:

Frozen Frita, every rainstorm stops her dead in her track
Then here comes Ramin’ Ron, goin 60, aint too good for her back

No Tie-down Tim, **** flyin’ out of his truck
For everyone behind him, Tim doesn’t give a ****

NPR Nancy, she must be in a “Driveway Moment”
Only problem is, she’s on a god-**** bridge

Texting Theresa, I’ve saved the best for last
The last thing in life she did see, was an idiotic emoji

Lookin’ Lee, that’s me, pretty sad that I’m just as bad
Come join us nuts on the Causeway, might be the most fun you ever had
Ryan O'Leary Jan 2019
question mark comma zero zero zero comma
zero zero zero comma zero zero zero was the
title of a poem I had intended to write, but I
completely forgot the subject matter, ah, it was
no doubt nothing of any importance anyway!
Timothy Brown Jun 2013
Name: Finn The Human
Age: 17
Date of Birth: Unknown
Residence: Tree House, Grass Kingdom. Land of Ooo
Known Relatives: Jake The Dog.(Brother) Stormo (Son)

Finn The Human was a beloved Hero in the land of Ooo. Saved Ooo and the universe several times from the evils that happen in our crazy magical world. Loved and adored by All that live in the land of Ooo ( except the stupid globbingl Lich King) He will be dearly missed. A statue will be raised in his honor tomorrow in the center of the Candy Kingdom. Princess Bubblegum, Flame Princess, Lumpy Space Princess, Jake The Dog, Cinnamon Bun, the Ice King and Gunter will be speaking at his funeral expressing their sorrow. Feels all around to those whom loved him. Finn was all of our hero and will be dearly missed.
© June 21th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Bunhead17 Nov 2013
'Sace, 'sace
'Knock one, 'knock one
Mustard on the beat, **

Shirt, shirt by Versace
***** you better **** sumn
**, Hoes wanna knock one
***** you better **** sumn
Shirt, shirt by Versace
***** you better **** sumn
**, Hoes wanna knock one
***** you better **** sumn

[Verse 1: Kirko Bangz]
I just bought a shirt for tonight, **
And it cost five-hundred (Better **** sumn!)
I seen a bad ***** at the light, oh!
My car cost two-hundred (Better **** sumn!)
Uh, got 'Sace on the chain
Louis, that's my side **. Versace, that's my main
'Sace in the car so that's 'Sace in the lane
All day I dream about Versace on the linen
****** at work and now she bugging me. Versace John Lennon.
I only want the ***** if she expensive
**** the ** in Versace, had some boojie *** children
Doing what I’m suppose to do
I'm in Versace my ****** they in 'Sace too
Ain't no fun unless we all get some
If I'm *******, then my ******, they ******* too


[Verse 2: French Montana]
Hundred-Thou' what I'm buying here?
Talking lion head (***** better **** sumn!)
Hundred-Thou' on these Cuban Links.
Medusa Face (***** better **** sumn!)
And my shirt eight-hundred
And just copped a honey (***** better **** sumn!)
These bottles they hundred
I just copped a hundred (Man, ***** better **** sumn!)
Got syrup by the liter. *****. Homie, Ima beat it
Catch the ***** like Jeter haa
Picture a ***** balling the ***** get to calling
******* get to fallin
Kamikaze. Shirt by Versace
Know my diamonds flash paparazzi
Give a **** about a hater
I be getting to the paper
**** ***** get your weight up haa


[Verse 3: YG]
It's YG 400!
Shirt Versace, ******* is a hobby
I love a ***** that **** **** so sloppy
In high school she was a **
Hundred dollar bills on the floor
***** you better **** sumn!
And that's straight up
I prefer a bad ***** with no make-up
I got my cake up. Ya'll playas say sumn
I'm never paying for ***** and I'm never going bankrupt
My shirt's Versace. ***** red like Rudolph
Try to rob me I'll **** back that shooter
Trying to count how many ******* ***** I ate
Why you do that? Cuz I love how it taste. Ooo!
Me and Kirko on that purple
Geeked up like Urkel
Middle fingers in the air I don't trust you *******
Spent my money on me so I can ******* *******. Ooo!


[Verse 4: G-Haze]
Got a shirt by Gianni
In your main ** that's where you can find me
Why these haters want to mean mug me
Cuz I'm coming down clean and they ******* wanna **** sumn
Trick you better **** sumn
Stepped in the party make a ***** wanna cuff sumn
Po-Po that's a No-No
Give me Ocho-Cinco!
Uhh, **** that ****** by Versace when I hit from the back
She gon' call me "Papi" while she sit up on my lap
Sip syrup lean and I got it from the trap
But I ain't a dope boy
Shirt by Versace got me feeling like a coke boy
Gold grillz, gold chain, LMG be the game
***** you better **** sumn!
i Love this song... lyrics "Shirt by Versace" By: Kirko Bangz ft French Montana, GHaze, & YG.
NZ Feb 2015
'May I meet you soon, my yet unseen child,' I always wished as I ­stroked my belly.

Ooo, Ooo (shouts of joy) I wonder how your face looks like? 
Ooo, Ooo, I wonder how your voice sounds like?


I see mysel­f reflected in your big eyes 
as your tears trickled down your ch­eeks

'Mama, mama, come, I'm finished with my food!' 
'Tatata, ta­tata, come,  let's go out for a walk!'

You hugged your knees, cr­ying out your eyes 
Tell me why, I'll listen to everything 
Don't­ worry, I'm not going anywhere 
No matter what happens, I'll be w­ith you 
I love your face when you laugh 
Even when you're down, ­please try to cheer up

'Ru-ru-ru, ru-ru-ru, come, let's sing a s­ong' 
'U-o-on, u-o-on, come, shout your hearts out'

Ki-ra-ra, ki-ra-ra (Shouts of Cheering) may you grow free from care!


Run through snow,­ count the clouds, play in the rain, 
get blown by the wind, get ­buried in flowers, make your grass flutes sing  
with your four l­egs, with your two legs

A new morning,  
a new wind, 
prepared j­ust for you

A new morning,  
a new light, 
a world just for you
A new morning,  
a new rainbow, 
a world full of wonder

No matt­er which of the two roads you choose, 
I would probably no longer­ be able to gaze at you from afar 
Someday, when you set out on y­our journey, 
I'm sure I will see you off with a smile

Uuu, uuu (sounds of crying), 
but perhaps I'll be a bit lonely..
Uoon, Uoon (shout of cheers) Please, live strong.......
This is a mother song for her children, thanks your mom a lot for being there. Even if you don't have any parents or your mother don't like you, cheer up! you will be mother yourself. Have a heart, love your family.

I cried when I read this....
Ken Manuel Aug 2017
Yo yo yo Check it mic one two!
Ima spiritually inclined mastermind designed ta blow ya mind with every rhyme! Filled with real emotions & mindful notions deepest than all the oceans! It’s like an explosion, to push out all the corrosion! Leavin you with all these riddles, not to belittle, but get in the middle! It’s so intoxicating, invigorating! I’m only just stating! The beginning to Love is when two people start relating! Now start concentrating! Hocus-Pocus! Don’t lose your focus! My words are about to swarm you like locusts! The meanin to Love, isn’t whatcha thinkin of! It’s nothing short of a miracle, deep n’ Spiritual! A way of Life Ritual! Keep it habitual! Un-conditional! There’s no expectations when it comes to relations! It’s always patient!  Like some form of sedation! Embrace it and just face it! Don’t try to erase it! Look deep inside you’ll see Love is elemental, non-judgemental! It’s very gentle! Sentimental! Not just for rental! True Love never dies, even though it cries! It’s heart it cannot deny, only electrify! Stupify! And this is just the start, So look deep within your heart! Those three words begin the art! It’s the message sent to me from the Cosmo Memory!
ryn Jan 2015
\       |       /

\               •think my               /
pen's almost dry•it's get-
ting oh so hard•ideas seem to just
\   fly on by•i'm unable to deal any more   /
cards•bottom of the barrel•i seem to be
scraping•trapped in a long, dark tunnel•
coherence eluding...the words that need
inking•i need a simple little trick...•to
soothe this perpetual itch•need my
/        bulb come on really quick•hope-        \
fully as soon as I flick on
/               the...switch•               \
|   ooooooooooo   |
jeffrey robin Dec 2015


From the 1000 dreams


Themselves into song


She sings

Of the holiness

In the stranger

As he is wandering

Unknown streets


My love !

She does !


)      (

We come

With the power

Of all mountains

Like the

Primordial Sea



With the fierceness of creation


What we need to be

Wind on the cheek child

Laughing or crying

Being born or dying



If the god they speak of

Is not your own


Walk on alone

If the nation they

Ask you to defend

Is of vague and alien men

do not pretend

That it is yours

Stay pure

And true

Only to your own images


When someone says


tell them that

She is not

She is

The daughter of the likes


Her and me

And it's only a lie that you see

Stay free


You are only real when you talk to me



She sees

The holy stranger

She takes his hand

And they go home

jeffrey robin Jun 2015
crown of glory

                                                    ( Glory ! )

//             //

strangers movin all around

And in the glory

Happiness is found

we killed the injuns

                                           ( it is in our        Blood )

We hurt each other

                                                ( and we call it    Love )


Soldiers movin

Up and down our streets

It must mean something

But we don't know how to think



Crown of glory

The thorns cut our face


we hope that we are wanted

But we know that soon we'll be replaced


Know each other !

Before it is too late

Know each other !

And become stronger than Fate

know each other !

And be stronger than Fate








(chorus x2)


written by
Warner Baxter
One Knight Stand Productions
Under A Tangerine Sky Entertainment
Phoenix Arizona 2010
all rights reserved
Poetry by MAN Jun 2013
Here we go again
Just you and I
Running in a circle I just keep wondering why
We play these games
With no shame
I was the one who took the first look
You never saw my face
I was so out of place
your lips I wanted to taste.
I finally caught your eye
I wasn't an average guy
Fates intertwine as the circle starts to connect
Like the infinity sign my love for you forever set
To keep running in a circle I just keep wondering why....
6-25-13 M.A.N
Bret Desrochers Nov 2011
It seems that I can finally agree
About what everyone has said, involving you and me
Let's not slow down at all
I'll hold you tight when it all starts to fall

Hey baby, lets get out of here
Hey baby, tonight we can finally disappear

My heart skips a beat all the time
Thinking of you, I can hardly rhyme
I breath out carbon breath in air
Losing you was an awful scare

This town holds us back like a rope
Sending us into a downward *****
Wanting us to never leave
Never letting us wear our hearts on our sleave

Hey baby, lets get out of here
Hey baby, tonight we can finally disappear

Ooo Ooo Ooo

I wanna leave with you tonight!
I wanna escape with you tonight!
Copyright; Bret Desrochers
Lucky Santos Oct 2013
So, dope  young fellow
With your pretty boy swag.
With your SnapBack on.
Pants so **** low.
Every girl just waiting in line just to give you a blow.
You're royalty around here, but this is still high school.
Taking every girls cherries and jewels.
You think that you're raising the bar but I've seen this before:
Call it VCR.

And then there's me:
Who don't get no ladies.
Because I'm the type of person who actually treats females as actually human beings.
Not toys.
I'll put them before myself.
I care about their joy.
You know what's dead: chivalry.
And it can never be reborn.
Not like Call of Duty: zombies.
Boom, headshot.
But there's another ten coming your way.
Then it gets to the point when you're just blown away.
But I'll be your player 2.
Girl, I'd give up all my perks just for you.

So you guys out there with the pretty boy swag.
Who just zip it all up cuz they think they got  it in the bag.
I'm going to fight.
I'm going to step up for the voices not heard.
Cuz you've drowned them in depression, you've choke them with cruelty, and you've slapped them with sadness.
Unable to act.
Like a flightless bird.
I'll let them out of their cages so they can fly once again.
So you can't weight them down:
Call you Anchormen. Ooo, **** em'

So, pretty boy, nothing close to fantastic.
I just wanna say:
That I know  I'm swagtastic.
S- saving
W- women
A- against
G- guys
T- that
A- abuse
S- sensitive
T- tender
I- innocent
C- companions.

Shorten that: swag.
S- she
W- wants
A- a
G- gentlemen.

So now boy,
Lets just see which one of us got that "Pretty Boy Swag"
Overall what I want to say is that chivalry is dying...

— The End —