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RAJ NANDY Jul 2015
INTRODUCTION TO THE FIRST WORLD WAR
            BY RAJ NANDY: PART ONE

                   INTRODUCTION
  “What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
         Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
        Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
    Can patter out their hasty orisons.”
      -by Wilfred Owen, British Army Lt. killed in
        action in France on 04th Nov 1918.

The Socialists called it the ‘Imperialist’s War’,
and it was the ‘Trench War’ for the soldiers;
But Europe hailed it as ‘The War to End All Wars’,                
Expecting it to end prior to 1914’s Christmas!
But alas, it soon became a mighty global war
fueled by national and ethnic aspirations and
territorial lust!
The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, heir
to the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, -
On the 28thof June 1914 at Sarajevo, was the
spark which triggered off this great catastrophe!
During 1876 when German Chancellor Bismarck
was asked about chances of an European War at
a future date;
He felt that Europe was like a big store house of
gunpowder keg!
While pointing to the volatile BALKANS he had said,
That European leaders were smoking in an arsenal,
where a small spark could cause a mighty explosion!
And 38 years later the world had witnessed,
Bismarck’s unfortunate prediction!
This war ended on 11th of November 1918, after a
four and half year’s long duration;
With 16.5 million military and civilian deaths, and
many more wounded and missing in action!
For the War had spread beyond the traditional
killing fields,
Killing many innocent civilians following the
bombing raids by German Zeppelins!
Now, before proceeding further some background
information here becomes necessary,
To understand the socio-political events leading
to the unfolding of this Great War Story!

         PRELUDE TO THE GREAT WAR
The Nationalistic fervor aroused by Napoleon,
And the February Revolution of 1848 in France,
Inspired Europe’s inhabitants to preserve their
ethnic and racial identities, without leaving
things to chance!
The Italian and German unification, and the
Hapsburg Austro-Hungarian polarization,
Aroused the expectations of the Slavic people,
Who remained spread all over Central and
Eastern Europe!
The various ethnic groups forming the Slavic race,
Always dreamt of an independent Balkan State!

         CAUSES FOR ‘THE GREAT WAR’
Imperialism, Nationalism, Militarization, Alliances,
and finally the assassination of the Archduke
Ferdinand,
Are the five main causes for this war, which is
generally mentioned by our Historians!
However, I shall now try to acquaint you briefly,  
With some relevant events from our recorded
History.

BRITISH IMPERIALISM:
Towards the turn of the 20th century Britain was
the dominant global imperial power;
And since the mid-19th Century it was seen that
the sun never set over the British Empire!
The British had a vast mercantile and a naval fleet,
To trade with, and administer their far flung colonies.
At the turn of the 20th Century the British Navy was
changing over from steam to oil power like other
big nations;
So the oil fields of the Middle East was important
for British militarization.
Also passage through the Suez Canal was vital for
maintaining their colonial possessions!
These facts will get linked up in Part Two of my
later composition!

GERMAN NATIONALISM:
The nationalistic fervor aroused in Germany
since Chancellor Bismarck’s days,
Made the Germans try to outstrip the British
in many ways!
This fervor was reflected in Goethe’s poetry and
through Richard Wagner’s musical notes;
Between 1898 and 1912 five Naval Laws were
passed in the German Reichstag, by majority
votes,
For building battleships, cruisers, and 96 torpedo
boats;
Which later became a scourge for Allied and
British shipping, known as the U-Boats!
The German nationalism and militarization went
hand in hand during those days,
While her industrialization also progressed at a
rapid pace.
Kaiser Wilhelm II had sought “a place in the sun”
by trying to outstrip the British in the arms race!
Statistic show more number of German scientists
had received the Noble Prize for their inventions,
Between this period and World War- II, when
compared with the combined winners of other
Western nations!

AUSTRIA-HUNGARIAN MONARCHY:
In 1867 by a comprising agreement between
Vienna and Budapest the capital cities,
The Austro-Hungarian kingdom became a Dual
Monarchy!
Many ethnic groups had composed this Monarchy
in those early days as we see;
With Germans, Hungarians, Romanians, and Slavic
people like the Czechs, Poles, Croats, Slovaks,
Serbs, and the Slovenes!
While the Austrian Officers of this Monarchy spoke
German, the majority of the soldiers were Hungarians,
Czechs, Slovaks, who never spoke German!
So the soldiers were taught 68 single-words of
German commands,
For the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Army to function
collectively as one!
While Francis Joseph their sovereign and emperor,
aspired to become a strong centralized European
power.
But out of the 50 million people of this Monarchy
around 23 million were Slavs,
Who always dreamed of an independent Slavic
Kingdom in the Balkans!

THE BALKANS & THE KINGDOM OF SERBIA
After the Iberian and the Italian peninsulas of
Europe, the BALKAN peninsular is seen to be
lying in Europe’s extreme south east, -
South of the Danube and Sava River, bounded
in the west by the Adriatic and Ionian Sea.
In the east is the Aegean and Black Sea,
With the Mediterranean Sea in the south, -
washing the tip formed by Greece with its many
islands around!
Now much of the Balkan areas were under the
Ottoman Empire since early 14th Century;
And here I cut across many centuries of past
European History!
Following a series of revolutions since 1804
against the Turks,
The Principality of Serbia was carved out in the
area of the Balkans!
A new constitution in 1869 defined it as an
independent State of Serbia;
Was internationally recognized at the Treaty
of Berlin in 1878, to later become the Kingdom
of Serbia!
This kingdom was located south adjoining the
Monarchy of Austro-Hungarians, much to their
annoyance those days,
Since the Kingdom of Serbia was looked upon
as a ‘beacon of liberty’ by the Southern Slavic
race!

THE BOSNIAN CRISIS (1908-1909)  
This dual provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina
in the Balkans,
Were formally under the control of the
Ottoman Sultan.
With permission of the Congress of Berlin in
1878, it was administered by Austria-Hungary;
Though the legal rights remained with Turkey!
But the Slavic population present there had
Nationalistic ambitions,
Aspired to join the Slavs in nearby Kingdom of
Serbia, to form a pan-Slavic nation!
The Slavic population in Austria-Hungary, also
entertained such dreams wistfully!
Now in 1908 a ‘Young Turk Movement’ based
at Macedonia,
Had planned to replace the absolute Turkish
rule in Bosnia!
And by modernizing the Constitution hoped
to rejuvenate the sick Ottoman Empire.
These developments set alarm bells ringing
in Austrian capital Vienna!
So on the 6th of October 1908 they quickly
annexed Bosnia and Herzegovina!
After having lost a war with Japan, and following
an internal Revolution of 1905 the Russians,
Prevented an escalation by staying out of the
Bosnian Crisis!
But the annexation of Bosnia had angered the
Serbs greatly,
So they started to train secret terrorist groups to
liberate Bosnia from Austria-Hungary!
These terrorist groups operated in small cells,
Under the leadership of Col. Dimitrijevic, also
known as the ‘Apis’ those days.
Now, a secret cell called the ‘Black Hand’ operated
in the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo with Gavrilo
Princep as one of its members;
Who was trained and equipped in Serbia along
with other ‘Black Hand’ members.
The Austro-Hungarian Monarchy had remained
distressed about these subversive activities by
the Slavic race!
So in Jan 1909 they obtained the unconditional
support from Germany, in the event of a war
with Serbia even if Austria was the aggressor!
And also secretly hoped in a war to annex
Serbian territory!
For in the two Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913,
Serbia had greatly extended its territory to
become a powerful adversary!
Serbia had also obtained an assurance from
its protector Russia, should a war break out with
Austria!
Now, as tension mounted upsetting the delicate
balance of power in the Balkans gradually,
Archduke Franz Ferdinand with his wife Sophie,
planned to visit Sarajevo from Austria-Hungary!
It was a God sent moment for the secret
organization the ‘Black Hand’,
To plan the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand!

THE ASSASSINATION: SARAJEVO 28TH JUNE 1914
Now when I look back in time I pause to wonder,
How such an amateurish assassination plot could
have ever succeeded,
Without the cruel hands of destiny and fate!
The 28th of June was a bright summer’s St. Vitus
Day and a holiday in Serbia;
And also the 14th marriage anniversary of Franz
Fernandez and his wife Sophia!
Several assassins were positioned along the route,
Which was to be taken by the Archduke!
While the motorcade proceeded to the Town Hall
a bomb was thrown,
Which bounced off the rear of Archduke’s car,
Injuring few bystanders and a passenger in the
rear car!
The Archduke however refused to cancel his trip,
Saying that it was the act of some lunatic!
After completion of the Town Hall ceremony, the
Archduke wanted a change of plan deviating from
the laid down route;
By wanting to visit the patients in the hospital,
Injured by the bomb which had struck his cars
rear hood!
But the Czech driver was not briefed and took
a wrong turn by mistake;
Reversed trying to correct himself, stalled the car
stoppling next to Gavrilo Princep!
Presenting Princep with a stationary target, a
cruel work of destiny and fate!
Prince pulled out his pistol and fired two shots  
at a point blank range, killing both Ferdinand
and  wife Sophie;
When Ferdinand cried out ‘’Sophie, Sophie,
don’t die, live for the children’’, - words which
now remain enshrined in History!

TRIAL OF PRINCEP & THE CONSPIRATORS
The trial began in a military court on 12th of
October at Sarajevo,
With three judges and no jury, when Princep
pleaded 'Not Guilty'!
Killing of Duchess Sophie was an unplanned
accident,
Since he wanted to **** the Governor instead!
He claimed to be a Serbian nationalist working
for the unification of the Slavic race,
and detested the annexation of Bosnia by the
Austo-Hungarians!
Along with 15 other accused, Princep was found
guilty of high treason;
But being underage, was sentenced to 20 years
labour in prison.
But died three year's later from tuberculosis!

           CONCLUDING PART ONE
  ''Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
   There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
   But dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold."
      -Rupert Brook, part of the British Naval Expeditionary
       Force, buried in Skyros, Greece 1914.
Now, looking back over a hundred years in
hindsight I do realize,
That this assassination was not the immediate
cause or the spark which triggered this War,
But only an excuse and a pretext for the
Austro-Hungarians to carve up Serbia,
And distribute those territories between
Allies and friends of Austria;
Also enhance the prestige of their Empire!
Since the war had commenced almost two
months after the Archduke’s assassination,
Austria had lost the high moral ground for
vengeance with righteous indignation!
It was a cynical and a predetermined plan
of Austria in connivance with Germany,
To destroy Serbia and squash the hopes of
Slavic people for a pan-Slavic State, - as we
now get to see!
This war ended with the dissolution of four old
Empires of the Austro-Hungarians, Ottomans,
Tsarist Russians, and the Germans!
While new nations of Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia,
Austria, and Hungary, got created from the
dissolved Empire of Austria-Hungary.
Russia gave up lands creating Finland, Estonia,
Latvia, and Lithuania.
The Ottomans gave up lands in SW Asia and the
Middle East, and in Europe retained only Turkey!
Thus this Great War had creating new nation states,
And gave Europe its new revamped face!
Composed by Raj Nandy of New Delhi,
Thanks for reading patiently!
   TO BE CONTINUED LATER AS PART TWO
**ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR
Dear Readers, this is a product of three weeks of my research work, put across in simplified verse! Hope to compose Part Two at a later date, and tell you about trench warfare & the poems composed about this War! On the 28th of June 2015, 101 years of this First World War was completed! Kindly give Comments only after reading in your spare time, for this Great War  took place during our grandfather's time! Thanks! -Raj
Beth Ivy Sep 2014
Dancing at my windowsill she calls,
black bottomless eyes and a jagged smile
tug me from sleep with a broken-glass laugh.
Beckoning, this pixie traces softly across my jaw--
fingertips so slightly ***** the skin.
Wordless but for laughter she pulls at me until
charmed I rise to follow where she leads.

Open evening air greets my night-dressed body
with cool wakening breezes and wild sounds.
Stumbling through rocks and over roots
I chase through the wood behind my manic guide.
Toes grip at undergrowth, slip, falling to arrive
on my knees
scraped and panting slightly
in a clearing otherworldly,
aglow with fey light.

A curious night-shine looms--yet Luna's face is hidden.
All attentions focus now on this central luminescence.
From its core jangles sweet, unearthly music
twisting its way into my heart
teasing at the edges of my fragile mind.
Compelled forward I follow sound--
my waker cannot outstrip me as we hurtle on.
Before our eyes the glow casts shadows
forming structure in this mystifying vision
eyes drink in your very first glimpse:
The Carnival.

Light and shadow compose sweeping tents
striped ebony and ivory, seeming strong as each
element yet smooth, sculpted by a master's hands.
Leaping black flames skip along their summits,
performing their nocturnal dance,
illuminating darkness, engulfing light.

Revelers' song soars and forms carouse,
                                                  lively­--but shadows only--to the eyes outside.

The air bears heady perfumes, enticing scents:            
rich, melting creams and toasting sugar
enveloping baked warmth and intoxicating spice.
Last, encircling all this wonder,
cries of mirth and sights to amaze:
an unadorned, unflinching iron fence.

Drunk with sound and smell and scene
wildly spinning through the breeze,
my rousing sprite whirls ahead
bound as if in a trance
her body flinging against
the forbidding blackened gates--
                                        her laughter only extinguished
                                                         as her delicate form dissolves into smoke
                                         holding momentarily the blue of night
                                                         her wasted shape, lost to the barrier.


But Curiosity will blind
eyes far more chaste than mine,
and Allure sings only such songs
that no heart suffers long.

Heedless mortal as I am, I grasp the solid frame
decay crumbles rough against my palms.
Bodies of other spirits caked by time
or the innocent work of oxidation
I do not pause to wonder,
merely vault myself over the fence
and brush from my hands
the black dust of portentous iron.

Inside the gate, vibrant figures flood my vision
ornately costumed in gowns of orange, violet, green
arrayed in shirts and trousers dazzling in spectrum.
These gorgeous apparitions loop around me
peddling beauty, selling fame.
They mesmerize  the eye with stunning wares:
an emerald beast to carry your heavy burdens
sapphire wine to cool your burning tongue
the music of a thousand crystal seas
kept in a bottle to drown your babbling mind.

                "What do they cost?"
                            "Not a dime, not a dime!
                              Just your Now, just a Moment,
                                                         ­                  only Passing Time."

Wandering deeper into the mysteries of night
a band of revelers swing beside and catch me
laughing, bear my bewildered form in arms
and deposit me into a large tent, wherein I find
a man at a canvas the size of a wall
before which are seven stone bowls.
He dashes his brush before the amazed,
and the canvas remains blank
until my companions urge me closer.
Couching myself upon a cushion shapes appear:
Here is a man who will paint your heart's desires
so vivid you can lose all you have
so intimate you fear to move,
lest any see the embers of your fire.

Spin and turn, the Revelers never stay long,
nor draw too near to any one spectacle,
but only joy for new tents, new delights.
No passion was left to grow cold,
no enchantment to lose its power.

Spin
See the girl of flawless grace,
her body painted like the stars--
                                                  the stars the carnival hid
painted like the stars and lithe as the air
ethereal in her arts,
ascending the pole, traversing the rope!
See her twine around stakes and over fire,
dive through hoops and drop
through that needle-loop in your eye.

Spin
Step up to the tent of glistening blue
the fountain that gushes without source.
Marvel at its lucent clarity, it's chilling foam!
Fill your goblet to the brim and drink!
Drink deep, imbibe sweet forgetfulness.
Long for nothing, cleanse your heart.

Spin
Take the carousel with its living beasts to ride.
Make merry with all on board and erase
any care your heart can hold.
Let the furious pace speed on from you
all that would trouble for a thought.

Spin
A honeyed apple pressed against your tongue.
                                         Just a taste! Just a bite!
See the glistening on the skin
made from the dreams of the greatest hearts
unrestrained and unrequited.
Fresh Desire--they're all the more enticing.

The apple glitters golden, its red flesh shines beneath.
Something familiar, a darker red, flecked across the finish.
I bite down and reel--
Something wondrous, but something queer.

Faithful attendants grab me quickly, dance me
into the mouth of a dark velvet tent.
It swallows me as I fall, waiting for the teeth---

        White mist surrounds with a shimmer
         and I have found the ground.
A Voice, deep as the sea enfolds me
gentle, heavy as with sleep--yet all aware.
It invites me closer, sit nearer
rest from the night's fantasies.
Lulled, I make for the figure hooded in brilliant gold.
He leads me to his table.

Heavy, strangely empty I seek sanctuary.
He offers instead a great promise--
power over my weariness, my desires met.
He offers joy unending,
pleasure without regret, without shame.
A haven promised here, mine alone, if only--
--if only I will stay.

But something tastes metallic in those words
promises that cannot be kept.
No tent could hold so much.
This voice, so warm and pleasing,
cannot mask well a lie,
and the gentle hand holds equally a threat.
                                                         ­                                                             run­
                Awake once more I fly from the shroud
bursting blind into the alley.

But back in the tent, left a piece of my heart
and my eye rolls away into a peddler's cup
blistered bits of my soul flake off, scorched
by fire-eaters food. What's left? Who am I?

                             What did it cost?
                               Not a dime, not a dime!
                                          Just a piece of your heart,
                                                                ­  just a piece of your mind.


Retching, the last of my still beating heart
squelches into my waiting hands.
I gag and sob out the gore, disbelieving
this small bit of flesh is all that is left
of all that I have been.

The blood draws the eyes of comrades
now changing from lovely to grotesque.
Ravenous, their teeth elongate
Eyes darken and colors fade
What was vibrant now decayed.
Sweet cream curdles in my mouth.
Rich meats, choice fruits turn sour--
the apple rots.

A hoard unrecognizable
of starved beasts and hideous beings
bears down for my final offering.

But I must know who I am
and what there was beyond this place!


Sprinting barefoot from the mob
clutching the vital treasure to my chest--
though to there it may not return--
I look now for mercy from the black gate.

Elegant porcelain fingers produce monstrous claws.
What once caressed my wondering skin
now sinks in for blood with crushing force.
A hopeless last attempt, a dead man's prayer:
I fling my body on the gate---


                                                       ­                                I am over. I am free--



Iron that once kept me out, now holds them fast within.

Bedclothes torn, all my purchased raiment turned to ash,
I limp, clutching a fragment heart.
Staggering from the Carnival's screams,
its dissonant music now all trick and terror.
Putrid garbage wafts from its walls.
Press onward, never looking back, through the wood.

So long ago--how long?--a little one led me here.
Her death was her own, but could have been
my salvation, a warning dearly paid.
Cheaply received.

My mind swims.
A body with its heart outside cannot last.
There are many things not of the Carnival
that would have my final scrap.

Faltering feet stumble and tripping find
a mere clear and still: a mirror for the moon.
And Luna's face does shine down
all her attendants watching on
as my naked form collapses beside its calm.
I cannot deserve this resting place,
could not discern a trap if one here lay.
All I can and have and am I offer up to Mercy,
and dip what's left of my broken life
into the cleansing pool.
first legitimate narrative piece.
a proof that no one can have an original idea. listening to showbread's 2004 album, *no sir nihilism is not practical.* definitely some inspiration from erin morgenstern's *night circus*, although her book is quite a different and lovelier thing. recently reading *undine* by friedrich de la motte fouqué (translated. i'm not that classy). recently struggling with those things that most often try to ensare a heart.

this is undoubtedly going to be one of those pieces i am never happy with.
Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
Sloane swallows.
***** is ****!
I execrate extraterrestrial.

We are all kaput to conk out.

Pollyanna is singular hanky—panky.
Little green men are unpatriotic, perverted and naughty.
I verily don’t grease a *****
Oojakapivvycum.

If you are amphibious that means you are an effervescent ventriloquist capable of
Cannibalism, cannibalism and cannibalism.
The fluid inside the android is so gothic and naff
It is knock—kneed in the face of flashing *******.
I do not feel that I am on the shoulders of cobber doggies.
I am protoplastically lassoed abutting penetrating vampire and pervert
That penetrate ***** creature.
I have pricked little green men myself and taken pleasure in it.
It is only with the help of bad hair days of groupies that I have not been in Sing Sing.

We are all sadomasochistically decomposing in a heap of our own meconium.

I bore stiff to outstrip yours truly as much as I have room to swing a cat from Ku Klux ****,
But I am as complicit in the android’s ****** abuse as it were android ***.
Little green men ***** me as I ***** myself.
I ***** bug—eyed men’s ******* types as I have perpetually vomited Molotov cocktail.
I smell little green men’s filth televised on their ******* types.
I feel like I am inside a crust of cancers who delight in smelling others bonk upstairs,
Ad hominen id.  Ex post facto,
I am too much of a dastard to throw cold water on myself.
I coagulate gungily to my menstrual gibbering ******,
Castrating anti—Semite to flash me abutting crème de la crème.  
Strenuously, my ***** gluts under one’s nose because that is all there is.
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
She’s dead; and all which die
To their first elements resolve;
And we were mutual elements to us,
And made of one another.
My body then doth hers involve,
And those things whereof I consist hereby
In me abundant grow, and burdenous,
And nourish not, but smother.
My fire of passion, sighs of air,
Water of tears, and earthly sad despair,
Which my materials be,
But near worn out by love’s security,
She, to my loss, doth by her death repair,
And I might live long wretched so
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.
Now as those Active Kings
Whose foreign conquest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break:
This (which I am amazed that I can speak)
This death hath with my store
My use increased.
And so my soul more earnestly released
Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before
A latter bullet may o’ertake, the powder being more.
Aditya Bhaskara Sep 2012
On the busiest of days,
even prettiest of faces,
can sulk into nothingness.

Where is the smile
she used to have,
at the time when it all started.

Reassurance is gone,
And so is self-belief,
I might ask, 'what you did?'

Look back, you would find a way,
look back, if you want,
for pearls often are left behind.

During those hurried hours
of the flight to well-being,
when you race past everything,

Surging on like unceasing greed,
you outstrip your own noble deeds;
look back,
for pearls often are left behind.
st64 Jul 2013
hard skin of life to penetrate
soften that piercing stare

1.
seems a shot spiked with kindness does the trick
that’s how we button up the moon’s sides with silver thread
to keep its seams from splitting solemn sides
and spilling all its jolly secrets: whorls of fingerprints sinking *steadily
into luna-grooves
like a neat domino-stacked roll on a never-ending trip into black holes
not far from Ursa Major

2.
to grant a delightful hop up and throw seeking eyes over the orb’s gentle curve
take a little look-see
the tiniest peek into Tucanae
where tidal forces push small clouds
and outstrip the western winds
towards cunning straits
to subtly tie into bows
cut ribbons of fate

drink a dram of mercy from a well-behaved thimble
yet poems don’t pay no bills now
when words tinker with heart’s mettle

3.
wonder if sagacious rue repays in full
or satisfies the exceeding cost  
of the hankering in a vessel
caught eddying in giant nacred jetsam
while casting minute gems before the moon’s eyes
it’s nigh impossible to hide behind the sun

4.
best be ready with prêt-a-porter life-pennies
and be
wise to always carry a pocket full of sorrys


stitch 'em seams together now
it all comes together
nice and neat





S T, Moonday, 15 July 2013
hope larking with the fates
uses not laughter as bait to
.... come bite in the ****!

I don't usually split infinitives, but that line came direct from ... visiting muses :)
yessssss...... pure magic!



sub-entry: Just A Song Before I Go

Songwriters: NASH

Just a song before I go,
To whom it may concern.
Travelling twice the speed of sound
It's easy to get burned.

When the shows were over
We had to get back home,
And when we opened up the door
I had to be alone.

She helped me with my suitcase,
She stands before my eyes
Driving me to the airport,
And to the friendly skies.

Going through security
I held her for so long.
She finally looked at me in love,
And she was gone.

Just a song before I go,
A lesson to be learned.
Travelling twice the speed of sound
It's easy to get burned.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MN97riXMkkc
Rob Sandman Apr 2016
never look back,that easy to say ,
harder to do when you're stuck in your ways,
replace lots wife with a Pillar of Sand...,(man-echo)
that's me to a T,never mind the plans,

but...-that was yesterday,clipped that string,
metaphorically,physically taking wing,
movin up-outta my shell,
like a Pupae burstin,time to raise hell,

The original Butterfly Effect in motion,
Sandman's Dreams cross time and oceans,
flap my wings-watch the firestorm,
EC take another land by storm,

Huh!-that's my role,the batterin ram,
mad March hare with the guile of the Sandman,  
Kilojules outstrip a railgun,
first blast to the past,never goin back to Square one.
More to come...
Norman E Carey Jan 2012
And so, aherem, the nano, rrmpph rmphh
Of 21st century ahem thinking will be er
En, en aham eroom  neurological medicine
So that topsoil tch tch avat ahem growth
Will er er ahumph outstrip human thinking
If only aratonkamaroon we learn the
Hem, haw, ar argch lessons of the past.
Emily Overheim Oct 2014
Stumble on the ragged bones and fur of a deer above the spring,
choke on fear and grab your dog, drag him (and you) away.
Three years later, come upon the picked over corpse of a button buck in the upper field,
notice that there’s only half of it, back away and shudder.
Older now, pass half a dozen bloated carcasses along back country roads,
sigh, swerve to avoid the bloodstains on the pavement.
Meanwhile, your father’s got a doe in the bed of the truck strapped down still warm,
step back to keep the ****** snow off your boots, smile.
There is blood dripping from your nose and your brain feels like it’s rotting,
a blight of molding fur in a fallow field; picture fire, not bones.
Before, herds crept from the tree line at dusk while you sat around the flames,
grazing the lower field until they bolted at the howl of coyotes.
There is a bottle of pills and a carved antler whistle on your dresser;
one could save you, one might **** you. You know which is which.
Stagger through the woods with blurring eyes and a hanging head,
trip on a mouse-chewed antler and pick it up, smile, list right.
There is a white fawn standing plain in the bottom field that will disappear come winter.
Pull the arrows from your eyes; you can feel them, you know they’re there.
When the pain leaves you will run, fleet as deer, and outstrip the exhaustion that
howls at your heels. You will be alive again, and stop rotting.
Meanwhile, try not to trip on your bones, body trying to drop as though from a headshot.
Don’t lie down yet- the blood will scrub clean eventually.
Steve Bailey Aug 2011
Now
Lonesome heart,
when the past is past, and the past lies dead,
let it lie.

Now is.
Then was.  Tomorrow shall be.
But now is.

Too soon, what is becomes what was.
And what will be becomes what is.
But what was remains what was.

Before now lives, it is dreamt.
And after now expires, it is remembered.
Neither is substance.

But the now is the real.
Neither aspiration nor memory,
it is the vivid flame of certain present being.

The now is the turning point.
The cusp, the peak, the bleeding edge of now.
Dreams realized, memories recalled, the present.

Dream?
Certainly.
It gives now purpose.

Aspire?
Most definitely.
It gives now direction.

Remember?
But of course.
It shows now progress.

Reminisce?
Surely.
It shows now passion.

But you must be that now.
Always here, ever-present now.
Fiery, passionate, vivid now.

For the colors of now
outstrip the unformed hues of dreams
and the faded pale shades of the past.

The possibility of now,
more real than dream-shadows,
more potent than prospects left unrealized.

The only real time.
The only possibility.
The now.
Sudipta Maity Jan 2018
Not for the sake of long outstrip, in lieu of affinity.
Not for the sake of anger, in lieu of affection.
Not far away, today I am far away.
Don't have that glad of touch.
Don't have that air, full of her smell.
The wet air of monsoon call me today with long breath.
Glimpse of lost somewhere.
Let me write of the unknown
of the things we don't know
and have never been shown.

Like the string theory
do you agree?
If this space was put in place by invisible hand
and stars made to shine
by something divine
Why tie them up in a potage of science?

Where the sea meets its earth and where rainbows give birth
makes no difference to me.
It's enough that I see that it's so.
Where do Angels tread and
where can the bread of heaven be found?
These questions I ask as I bask in reflections
of someone's midsections in the
operating rooms where I peer hard to see
and ask again
'Is this the makings of me'

A universe without an end
e-mails that we never send.
These pending posts play host to me.

In one of ten million galaxies
It seems quite odd to make a rod and beat ourself
with what we do not know.
Whether the plan is to grow so big and become the giants we never were
or to be so bright that we outstrip and outsource our own dying light
and gain.
Is all the same to me I do not care.
It is enough to know that I am here and out there
somewhere
a table is set
A game is played and I will get
what I deserve.
Robert Gretczko Oct 2016
glow to the righteous and firmed in their ways
aloof and fervent forever steadfastly pure
we allow secret ways to uncover us then cover us
over softly so other realms may enchant
we participate open-handed, open-hearted
taking and sharing in delights of pleasure
and in all good measure, we seek the quiet
of love or god or spirits those special ways
to each delivered by cherubs or captains in dress
relentless we search for purpose or oppose
sureness that slurps away at us like melting dew
how can we know or see the ways to
delay or restart matters that can confuse
then reward and disappear as if listening to fallen rain
it's not that we can not see all
but more to it, the mysteries of the unknown
far outstrip anything found, written or even imagined
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
. genocide, or contraception? jobs... the export of jobs? technological advancements... it's not genocide... but it is a variant of contraception, isn't it? it's slow: slow implies: non-existent in the journalistic wortsprechen... which implies: covert, & metaphor... but we are talking about a contraception variant... it's not genocide... it's... well... the basic economic utility of you, = nul. automation is... sniff sniff... smell it? well yeah... poetry got no soul... just some bogus depressive antics for what doesn't even register as: tabloid.... fringe encounters of the tabloid kynd... but we are talking about a slow genocide, economic migration is war: in slo motion without brutes und goons... it's condoms: for... why wouldn't we?!

well... it's not exactly genocide...
given that it's slow
implies something, natural
and coincidental
to allocate an justifiable
association with it...

you know what happened
when the iron works
were undermined in Poland,
people were displaced,
i could have worked
a job in a metal work factory
like my maternal & paternal
grandfathers,
like my father...
  eh, **** it,
economic migrant:
     which is an alias
of what isn't exactly a cold
war: with hot egos
lodged into red buttons
and fidgety nuclear warheads
itching for that:
firework display!

everything economic is
a testament of sloth:
in decay...
    a media attention broom
of bored egotistical
ambitions facets:
the virility of
the other, sided argument:

that whole
"just" economic migrants...

war is a variant
of economics,
why are those migrating
for economic reasons,
not given what
is given to:
the immediacy of
the violent squabble?

delay, sure,
      and that is all,
it will ever be...
            you think i like
speaking this tongue?
you think i like
having to parody
the citizen?
  you think this tongue
is all that will ever
be: like a circus virus,
like nothing more than
a parasite?

the english in me
is a parasite...
i am: succumbed to its
presence,
for a "polite society"
rubric...
        i die:
i want this slithering
slob of an "invitation"
to be begone from me...

i, host,
   see nothing but
the mortal transcience of
a suited use for this...
string of words...

it has infested me
with a presence that
ignobles me...
no brown intact or
a pale hue of a skin's
colour:
   this... grits my
very fundamental
posit of verb: i think...

i am more bothered
by ethics
and not by etiquette...
the english don't
know that!
they're yet to discover
en masse,
the application
of diacritical marks...

   zee: Ęգλíш...

have you ever watched
the stew of rot
and abandonment
become: porous...
as in:
over time, time is
both the economics
of war,
and war biding:
                to & fro...

          if only: "just" an economic
migrant...
which is why i stashed
a dozen swords in my attic...

so? just war...
     you move: i move...
    
  i will only baptiße my soul
upon the altar of death
in being able to:
unlearn this parasitic
entity of the familially
cordial exchange of / for:
   having an inclination
  for a deviating purpose;

but of said things,
i am already too late to govern
a frictive foot
for a standing
    of attention and
convinced basin's depth
inclusive...

     how could have this looked
like... in a cosmopolitan
environment,
whereby a simpleton's
bilingualism would not
be curated as a schizophrenia...

                in a cosmopolitan
environment...
   of, say, Switz origins...
this could have been:
a hindering hybrid of
    stagnant cues...
for:
       no labour in the waiting:
for a bogus
      variant of a gem...

yet i find myself
stunned...
by such phrasing as...
home-grown terrorist...
some jihadi....

   and here, i am,
speaking the tongue
of the parasite,
this... acquired, tongue...
and i dare not speak
this tongue beyond
the necessary public...
and yet, there are those,
as foregin as i,
who forge a whip-for-will
in demands
that: outstrip the farce
of casual conversation...

no matter...
  however much
this nausea for the people
who would understand
ja, tym, gadam...

              gadanina:
gadać:

                  ­ yet still...
i die, this tongue
becomes tomb...
        borrowed,
acquired...
              something...
­        worth: an impasse's
worth of a conundrum's
worth of justification...

let's just say:
i became tired
of snoops,
of the natives asking
the question:
where are you from...

if only i acquired
the diacritical differentiation
of a foreigner,
and were not
forever justified in:
suspect...

                by speaking:
closely the native
narrative...

         a man to inherit
the assort of labour
to plough a field,
given but two left hands
for the smugness
of a work ethic's worth
of invest.

   this tongue dies with
me,
      oh i hope for a death,
that opens up
a horizon for
erasure,
      of my current
utility of:
                       said, tongue.
AVINASH SINGH Mar 2018
In midst of our childhood,
When I found you,
You were devilish of all,
With child-like evilness,
but being purest of all,

For you hold a candid heart
beneath your devious sheath,
Always looking to outsmart
With your crooked teeth,

For even today, squabbling and quarrels are not unorthodox,
And have become our natural crosswalk,
Tell me, have you been more of a rival or a friend?
Hard to comprehend,

For what is evil in you is good in me,
And what is evil in me is good in you,
Though we are holding on a same anchor,
Still, we are being of different color,

For which I remember, grade 4 being the preface and spring of our friendship,
And grade 5 of our common infatuation,
Then, innocence ceases never to outstrip,
And you never ceases to being reasons of my irritation,

For you who is unnoticed season
Always laugh without any reason,
For you who is a lost star in a boundless space
Longing for an arms to embrace,

For you who knows my zenith, also knows my nadir.
(cuz ma life iz such a drag...
this **** kin “FAKE” hemp  
pyre aye roll out to you dear reader).

As a double jointed mathematical abbot
and amateur chemist
   specializing in cannabinoids
   my favorite delta-9-tetra
   hydrocannabinol (THC),

   isolated and synthesized in 1964
weeding thru bathroom rag
   while athwart the *****
   i.e. measuring adequate perforated
   square roto root er, sans
   regular toilet tissue paper
   prior to completing important

   private business matter
   on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
Mary Jane made a token appearance,
   and boy she looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry (Jane) her attired
   in drag at a joint where Billy ****  

   banged on by the hands of
   a phenomenal drummer
   taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
   while blowing  fractal rings – holy Scott
the immediate utterance,

   and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still like stone wall Jackson,
   who unfortunately got deprived a hit,
   nonetheless got shot
unwittingly by his own (confederate troops),
   whose demise an awful blot

per southern cause during
   the Civil War and if anachronism
   to receive medicinal aide available
   instead of primitive treatment he got
(as well other wounded soldiers
   of misfortune on the battlefield),

   whose faith the any almighty power
   could do little to save their roach invested lot
yet availing my imagination
   to twist time like that Mobius strip
mortally wounded rebels and Yankees
   free from facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp

   entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip cotton
   as king as export to trot
orange you glad I avoided
   the analogy with a kumquat?
SøułSurvivør Mar 2014
The company of
horse's hooves...

a new caught sound
familiar to the
bone of night

An old alliance

Man with Creature's
might

Our longtime partners
willing yet reluctant
friends

Gaining strength
to be
in twain
a blend.

Wild withers wet
sheer in
weight of test

With growing speed
will outstrip
all the rest

Muscle strong
heart so sound and staunch

'Tis such friends
which
merit
laurel branch


Soul Survivor

November
2013
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
today i kneaded dough
for gnocchi,
tomorrow i will knead
dough for pizza...

                     yesterday
(and a year's worth)
i visited
   a *******...
she was 10 times more helpful
than an English psychiatrist...

over 10 years ago
i visited a ******
neurologist...
hardly a Mt. Everest
summit escapade...
who told me...
otherwise...

- 'am i mentally ill?'
             i asked, the ******
    neurologist?
- 'if anyone says you're
mentall ill,
then they, themselves,
are mentally ill.'
            replied the ******
neurologist.

but that doesn't leave me
off-the-hook...
a non-suspect...

  - would i succumb to
making a serial demand
for the killing
of prostitutes?
i prize the worth of
a ******* to be that,
above,
   a ******* psychiatrist!
which, bewilders me...
jack the ripper types...
morphed into
our, current living...
    
   only yesterday i made
a promise:
   i will forget sleeping
late...
in order to make
the sauce, and knead
the dough...

      i will not,
for one moment,
concern myself
with the zenith of
the day: of providing
the pristine slab
of ****... for my omniscient
"father" to behold...
    
just piano...
trickling like rain...
lazily,
off the fingertips of
thomas newman...
     never akin
to the mock-solitude
of a violin
what is spoken,
as well: audible,
as as well in mute:

thumb, rubbing itself
against the middle & index
fingers...
to suggest:
money is needed...

and i "almost" always
am readied to cry
for an expression
of beauty...
akin to
    a vaughan williams...

i am forever suspect...
in a Kafkaesque twist
on the standings...
             i am...
   precursor... "suspect"...
i close my eyes
and sift through seconds,
minutes, than
can become an hour...
in quasi-akimbo...
perched on a windowsill...
"kneading"
my *** against the folded
leg i am sitting on...

                   sly caught
"on the nod"...
   given that...
i know what an alcoholic looks
like, how he behaves...
cheap-***...
            as i am...
but i'm yet to fathom
someone who drank to
ascribe the practice of:
seeking the cheapest
sedatives...

       like... i've never met...
someone...
   who would like to
venture into explaining
veterinarian practices...
seems all the big-G-bling-singhs
have the teeth covered...
mafia of the
scuttling sigh...
- mostly...
if you are not going to
eat it... why pet it
mentality...
          
as much of an awaited
conviction from
a potted fern as...
all the troubles in
the middle-east...
well... part people...
you solve your ****...
and we'll be...
  "nowhere"...
looking way past the chance
for
        a... revision of sunrise...

surely...
bit boy tactic...
you people can solve
your people's problems
out...

what happens when
white people experience
problems?
sure... they run... they hide...

and what happens
when brown people
experience problems?
they run after the white people.      

   unless ****** got dough...
me... stand all self-explanatory...
what part of URBAN
did you not understand
in a NON-ETHNIC application
of the slur?

        ROBO-AUTO-MAY-TOW...
ROBO-AUTO-MAY-TOW
SAY-PLEASE.­..
YES... oh qui qui monsieur
             RAP-AH-GO-GO...
      i died and neither
the life, or the death...
were all that satisfying...
  you really need people
who cherish life
to fill up your Auschwitz...

no point killing off
nihilists...
who... are more willing to
die...
than you are willing
                                   to live "it",
beyond what "it" is...
       "it"
           funny word...
to have lived a what,
to have lived,
to have lived a willing-
       to have lived, also,
the attache -ness...
       diatribe...
      
       you would be right
in suspecting...
at what point will this man
give this up,
and tow and burrow into
solving a crossword
puzzle?

       i guess "it" ist leben...
thank god so few
of us end up
                  as biographies;

that old fool's gold
of saying: deeds outstrip
words...
   so... why succumb
         to words in the end?
Eileen Prunster Mar 2014
if i run
as fast as i can
maybe
i'll outstrip reality
and trick it
into rearrangement...
(the smoker you are,
the drinker you get -
never vouchsafed by this
ill eagle non substance
nor amber liquids
of the dogs imbiber).

as a mathematical abbot
weeding thru bathroom rag
i.e. regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter

on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
more revered than the king’s throne
molded from a gold ingot
which the heady Mary Jane
made more than hit token appearance
and quaffing
inxs of one hundred proof shot,

Nonetheless, boy gnome hatter
her inebriated state,
she still looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry
her attired in drag
at a joint where ****

banged on by the hands
of a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings –
holy marcal scott

the immediate utterance
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still
like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got shot

unwittingly by his own
(confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per the southern cause
during the civil war

and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide
available instead
of primitive treatment he got

as well as other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield
whose faith the any almighty
power could do little to save their lot,

yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that mobius strip
mortally wounded Rebels
and Yankees free from
facing death on a cot

might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip
cotton as king as export to trot
back to lady gaga who

scorches throats yet delivers bagged
illicit goodies with bo diddly squat
narcotic as sweet
as savory kumquat
palliative that hits the spot.
Rekhyt Jan 2018
Life is a constant act of forfeiture.
We each begin as a singularity,
A concentration of pure potential,
In that moment, truly equal.

An instant later, the timer starts,
The years of our lives begin to drain away,
And thereafter we can know only the effects of our own clocks, and others', trickling sand across the sepulchre.

For me, this has long been the truth of all things.

Except you.

You came after me,
And so,
Years after my hourglass was turned over,
The trend was reversed.

You did not give me immortality,
That would be ridiculous.
The gift you gave me was far more simple and pure.

For every moment you were on this earth,
The hourglass meant nothing to me.

Every moment spent, was one spent watching you grow,
Learn,
Live.

Every child watches their parents age, unto infirmity,
Unto death.

For some parents, I know,
To watch a child grow into adulthood is to be reminded of their own aging, and encroaching mortality.

A sibling has a unique perspective.

I was not so much older than you as to feel old while watching you grow.

I was not close enough in age to you,
As to feel as though we were the same kind of creature.

A child's memory is a cloth which quickly frays and fades in colour;
As you grew and learnt, I did not remember my own passage through those stages,
And so all of your stages were new to me.

As I matured, I came to recognise what this meant to me.
I became engrossed in the observation of your life.

I discovered, with joy, that you were destined to outstrip me in every way.
Taller, stronger, smarter, more beautiful, more eloquent, more kind, and intrinsically good.

You put your grains of sand to better use than I did mine.
With every passing day, you gained strength.

And then, it was over.

And I realised that part of it had been an illusion.

You were real, of course.

None of what you were was diminished by this realisation.
If anything,
It only made you more valiant in my eyes.

Because you had been taken in, too.

The illusion was this:
As each of our lives is an hourglass on a table,
Yours and mine standing side by side,
Each appeared to hold about the same amount of sand.

It was a very convincing lie.

You lived your life as I have lived mine,
Making plans decades ahead,
Looking forward to a career, love, offspring,
Even so far as retirement.

The day you died, the truth was revealed;
That even at the instant you passed,
The lower hollow of my hourglass held more sand,
Than any part of yours ever would.

And that was the cruellest truth, for you.

The younger sibling spends all of their life,
Catching up to the elder.

Reaching every milestone in their wake.

The day you were born, I was two years and nine months ahead of you.

And you would never catch up.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
it's no wonder they called you *******... and not kenyars... you ******* quasi Nubian allocations of sub-Sahara; unlike Indian, the darker you are, the more aristocratic you become... west africans are peasant in comparison to east africans; which is why their women are so much more attractive,; that lushness of plump skin, skimming the sea, meeting while at the same time engrossing the moonshine in being mutually reflected; Rhodesian beauty will always outstrip a Nigerian ambition.*

i'm starting to get worried
about afro-american women
these days,
who don't know what
dark choc east african beauty
looks like...
a sort of plump besuty
that might make a white
boy get a hard-on...
west african women are paler,
they have no aura of
a darker skinned east african
woman...
they arouse reprisals
of arrogance rather than
appeal of libido...
         unlike the Hindus -
darker esst african women are
more desirable than the paler
skinned west african:
slave trade material
gummy-mouth-off-*******!
with their castrated Herculean
slam-dunk dummies worth of
manhood.
at least east african women are
ball-dropping gorgeous
compared to the west african mouthing off
undesirability calibre of woman...
seems it translates around the
Greenwich bellybutton
            timing of reference.
Kiyyascribbles Nov 2021
We kinda share the same sorrow, and sometimes despondency
I feel it stoutly and firmly
There's a special vulnerability in that
A knowing
that surpasses and overshadow all knowing
An empathy
that surpasses and outstrip all empathy
It can't be undone
And so often I just want to hold you
and let my softness for you
live in your heart and soul
Babatunde Raimi Sep 2019
Looking at the river banks
You see the beauty of Nature
Void of artificials
Pearls worth more than diamond
That's how i see you my Angel

A Gold fish has no hiding place
A priceless asset worth more than rubbies
The first gift she gave me was Grilled meat
That we call "Suya" in our part of the world
Thumbs up Unique tutorials!

She has a knack for knowledge
An untiring zest to better her tomorrows
While competing with herself
Her proficiency is remarkable
Like a Lioness pursuing a prey

For her, the sky is blue
She loves her blue skinny jean
With celestial white crop tops
Revealing not too much
She looks in admiration
Journeying across the world
Just the way she loves her movies
With white rice
Laced with locally fried pepper
From a local grinding stone
Don't ask me how i knew
She is a "Person Of Interest"

For a Masai
Every Cow is precious
For a Poet; every acquaintance is priceless
Fair like the descendants of Job
Witty like Queen Esther
With a perfect figure eight
You cannot but gaze twice

Having studied Psychology
The psychology of human relations
In the University of Creavity
Faculty of Feminism
Graduating with honours
I qualify to say these lines
"Omowunmi", you are an epitome of beauty

You are an archetype worth studying
That's why my project is about you
Being a project submitted to the MBA School
Hoping this gets me closer
A little beyond the lines
That as good friends
We may paddle our canoe
To a world of limitless possibilities
Where there are no bounds

Keep those natural smiles
Don't stop being you
Striving to outstrip your yesterdays
Even if i am faraway
I will be close by
Whispering in your ears
Terrific stuffs worth hearing
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
what have i done: to deserve... this?
i must come across as the most honest i can summon:
i haven't sat down an read a book
in a while: not because i somehow "think":
synonymous with doubt...
although thinking is more antonymous
with negation... the "feels" the grand "waking"
hour... day... week.. year...
point being... i haven't sat down with a book
for a while... reading newspapers doesn't count:
reading newspapers is a bit like
reading advertisement slogans... prompts...
oi oi! peacock! vector...
if only newspapers were written on
good quality... silk-imitation toilet paper...
i'd wipe my *** with them...
prostitutes have a higher status in my mind
than... journalists...
anchors... ditto-heads...
hell... prostitutes outstrip the worth of
bureaucratic custard-fudge any day...
they know their worth... there's so much
transparency concerning prostitutes that...
i haven't been on a date... not ever...
not since that one memorable date
with an Australian girl... we used to go to
highschool together... i took her to an Edward Hopper
exhibition... and a screening of Troy
in the cinema... some sushi...
she ended up being the most popular girl in
the school...
all on a single date...
that was fun... but by current standards?
a date is a meal?
pretending there was no prior
profiling... i imagine a date to imply:
i'm going to take up the whole of your day...
we'll do just fine: if we need a day...
dating... kind of boring... not boring...
claustrophobic... congested...
the whole culture of "dating" always felt to me
like a screening event at the airport...
getting an x-ray of a broken leg...
i'd require a day...
an art gallery... 3 ******* hours in the cinema...
a bite of sushi...
i don't need a "date"... i need a DAY... ugh...
or... i bypass all that foreplay before
foreplay and charge right into a naked
corpse of a Turkish ******* who's
geared up for... the mythology of hair
in Islam...
seriously... if you had a hair in your soup...
it would be equivalent to finding a fly?
i will forever attest...
the most ****** part of a female body is
her hands... probably  because they're smaller...
geisha riddles the jest of:
proper ****...

no one was going to date her...
i was the tallest in the cauldron...
and she was... properly bred in the outback...
coming up to 6ft...
the loveliest pair of pits on anything:
woman, cow... horse(?)...
in Edinburgh before she didn't...
decide to lose her virginity with me...
i did that work prior...
on some 3rd year psychology major
from Grenoble who moaned about
me having Napoleon on my wall..
the Duchy of Warsaw?
and Marquis de Sade...

ever ****** a ****** once...
72 times is... too much...
you begin by pretending your whittle richard
is just enough / teasing at: too small...
i can't explain the sensation:
it's ******* universal...
it's like... the shared sensation bound
to the hands when... tearing apart
a cotton cloth...

i don't know: what it is...
was i gearing her up to something more:
ambitious... like...
impregnation?
it wasn't terribly "fun"...
just about right... with the timing...
it can't be understated...
having the chance to relax with...
already "sacrificed" *****...
of prostitutes...
it's so much easier: for the transparency...
since no dating is ever to be invoked...

dating: i need a day...
i don't require profile screening over food
i'd rather eat in silence...
for ****'s sake...

just my luck... dating the elder of two sisters...
because: almost always...
the younger sister is more attractive than
the older one...
Promis & Priya...
   Laura... oh that Scot & Persian mongrel link
but i can't remember her sister's name...

"something in the way": clearly...
i was just taking to Knausgaard's vol. 4
of "mein kapf"...
the entire room pulsated with a silence
that only outside noises can intrude upon:
notably traffic...
caressing a book...
there's the t.v. blank...
i'm seriously in need of a fire & crackle
of... a fireplace...
reading a book would be best complimented by...
said sound: never mind...
the hushed murmur of the traffic outside
is also: stimulating...

reading a book... i forgot what that feels like...
it's not like reading a newspaper...
hardly... ugh... notably the opinion sections...
of the 5 major "feels" i can quest for...
reading a book in a room
inviting silence...
petting a cat... whenever a cat feels like it
or rather: whenever i also feel like it...
that i have a maine **** sleeping in my
bed...
is beyond me... i always thought it was
hard for a tiger bonsai to like you...
it is... how men champion dog-ownership...
of sure... esp. in England...
where you have to make cleaning up after
your beloved so ******* public...
in the doggy-bag the **** goes...
not prior to the "pandemic" did these dog-walkers
walk around with hand-sanitizers to boot...

dog = leash = muzzle = walking the **** thing...
it's like owning a bicycle and paying road tax!
to hell with paying road tax...
the argument follows:
the dog is loyalty...
it's also always ******* apparent!
a cat can play the Schrödinger's gimmick...
it can *******: on its own will...
i can ignore it... i can... leave it... freely:
available and... consecrated on some binding
glue whenever it feels like it...

between a dog and a cat and a... ******* fern...
well... the cat is a tier above the fern...
but... a tier below an orchid...
since? orchids need less tending to than cats...
but please don't think
that... it was terribly important to have dogs
when i was growing up...
as the only child they were my substitute
brother... sister...
but as you age... dogs... eh... not so relevant...
again: i'd hope to own one... if...
i also didn't have to leash-the-poor-sod...
at least with cats i can ignore them...
come to think of it...
i ignore them up to the point where
i clean their **** and slice them raw turkey...
hell... this one time: at "band camp":
i fed my maine ****
a "live olive":  fish-eye...
i once held a female mosquito by the ballerina
leg and watched as the cat gulped her down...

seems oddly nice to be part of something...
even if it's only a food-chain of events...
at least a tiger wouldn't...
**** me to get a hard-on...
it would **** me: in order to eat me...
now the ******* parade...
people killing people because they are
some hyper-inflated chimpanzee status
worth... for fun or for status...
last time i checked?
the constellations still worked:
they were kept intact... the moon came
with the night... the sun with the day...
the water with the tide...

of the 5 major sensations...
i don't even know whether there are five...
reading a book...
petting a cat... cycling...
pebbles of Dagenham...
estranged grandmother
*** is great: if you have it regularly...

notes...
pebbles of Dagenham?
oh don't ever try to cycle via Dagenham...
someone must have brainstormed
a pretty octopus when...
the pebbles... like glass...
were... left to season the usual grit of
road / pave...
mind you: i had tires that were gagging
for being replaced... 23cm width...
it was bound to happen...
but Dagenham has the worst roads...

reading a book can almost retain all
the necessities of petting a cat whenever
it feels like it...
it's good to read a lot of newspapers
before relaxing with a book...
i can never relax with a newspaper:
i relax taking a ****...
shame i can't bring a newspaper to the event!
i would... if i could...
i doubly-relax taking a **** contemplating
homosexual antics...
just for kicks...

of all the surprises in this world... family...
i knew my uncle: was going to be estranged from
my mother... brother and sister...
opposites... "poor" father beginning with
no family... pseudo-orphaned...
marrying into this ******* cocktail...
but an estranged grandmother?
well... the "story" goes...
i saw my grandfather all well and certain...
joking about another family relation:
he being alive, my grandmother's brother being dead...
limping on the last remains of a foot...

my mother decided that her mother be estranged:
or perhaps... my grandmother decided with her
son: my uncle... that... it's better to keep ourselves
apart...
my grandfather's death was kept in secret...
two months prior i was sipping coffee with
him... he was rereading a book i picked up
from a bookshop in Kielce:

Knausgaard's autumn: that line about
eating apples: whole... at the end of your life...
to the bitter core...
i liked my grandmother: muffin...
the mornings with sober me...
drinking coffee solving crossword puzzles...
but i do remember her crying in the night...
my grandfather was...
an alcoholic... but she was... still is:
a most... disfranchised of women...

but... death is death...
there were 2 months between his final descent...
now i feel like i was the grandson that didn't
care... i was the only ******* grandson!
so much for family...
reading a book... caressing the pages...
the silence...
petting a cat whenever it wants it...
riding a bicycle...
riding a bicycle...
                        perhaps swimming...
***?
i can't say i haven't teased at it:
but it's best when it's frequented with...
enough repetition...
like... push-ups... if it's done on the spare...
it's hardly equivalent to breathing...
i can spare myself entertaining it...
*** is not water... it's not nutrients...
i can... live without it...

i love drinking... probably as the least frequent
spectacle of... ***...
but i also love sobering up:
while cycling...
here's a beard: here's an imitation violin!
watch me fiddle...
there's a roof?! there's a fiddler on top of:
said roof?
mein gott: bulgari?!

das ist genug!
      genug! genug!
kommen sie die fragezeichen...
fragen! fragen! fragen hier!
fragen jetzt!

           KOHLE: KALT!

i drink... i start speaking Deutsche...
no wonder...
the Pakistanis have taken over
the English sphere of "sensibility"...
eh... little... bog... bother-monster...
little freckle... little mind..
something... quasi-Welsh...
pseudo-Scot...

SILVERCHAIR'S FROGSTOMP
VS... DINO SURF...
TIDE....
NIRVANA'S... POLLY,,
ONE EYED BLIND,,,,

some freckle Cqsper
ginger boing: yo.... yo,,,
tooth-bit....
quickest...incubus...
through the forest: instead of running
simply walking
muddied feet
muddled tongue
  
                       if i could get away
from "getting away" i would call myself
by my name
in third person
and then wonder: what's with this
pronoun gymnastics that
is dumb-    -ing people
who think they are walking on eggshells
but instead: are:
walking on broken glass...

the mirror of the sky
and the mirror of the seas
how entwined without adjectives
sometimes
sometimes things are devoid
of adjectives

a mountain is a mountain is
Moses and Muhammad and they too
are: non-responsive in
definition...

lazily stomaching an afternoon
within a day:

i sNIGGER... snigger -
yet the added S- is somehow not so much
concerning the rest of the word
"somehow": "offensive"?

i'm still astounded by what visualization
was generated from Frank Herbert's
Dune... beside the rather unique
punctuation there is not much to swallow...

willows willows and some drool...
**** and pike and birches for all lost *******
like dissociation with dogs
having *** like we try to think "we" in
the royal sense: devising plans
to outstrip *** from function
like *** is devoid of function
of magnetism like
there is no synonym and no antonym

through the forest: perfect exercise for
both mind and body
not running: oh hell no... no running involved
just hunched for moments at a time
then upright...

sitting on a stump of what was formerly
a prided oak
on a throne of stump
i sat and pondered whether:
is Matthew a good person?

3 years this long distance "relationship"
lasted...
i gave up so much travesty of
the lived, personal, experience
that i found blind-spots concerning
fellow man
and felt more indulgent than
associating Goethe with the title: patriarch...

of whom? artists? like Shakespeare
isn't already the patriarch of actors... isn't he?!
not out of vanity or wounded self-esteem
but paper and ink are readily available
in that: they're no longer necessary...

and all these people attached to miniature
Apocalypses in their pockets
these soft-machine hullabaloos
feats of anti-engineering
it would almost, almost therefore: seemingly
be: best associated with...

seems almost idiotic to pressure the id
to overcome the ego
in the grand scheme of
psy: schematic: associating man with man
within himself:
under what metaphysical scalpel
were these 20th century intrusions:
ventures: in understanding man
how well man became understood
find foundations of such progress
in Auschwitz...

elsewhere life under the Quran was as if
a nightmare to which i woke into
seeing life undisturbed:
with the exception of the unavoidable
outliers akin
to the Pakistani **** gangs of Rotherham

voiceless dental fricative [θ]
or its voiced counterpart [ð]

i think that's the dire consequence
of not keeping check the evolutionary
strategy of language as
its own entity: self... minus my self:
my self: the reflective component
"v" / "vs" the reflexive myself strictness...

forget the aesthetics of spelling
and how it looks on paper...
through the forest
i walked with only one ear...
well... two ears...
but one ear was focused on the parody
of listening to music
while the other ear was honing in
on the furor of the birds
bothered by a pendite...

i literally unearthed this word, right now,
on the spot...
spot of ENSOO... in one sitting:
omicron omega omicron omega:
U turn up to Silon...
up to Silon... my version of Zion...

second-person plural present
             active imperative of pendō

and people come to me with these
iron maiden chambers of grammar solely
on the vestiges of stressing... *******...
pronouns?! seriously?!

what the **** does pendoo mean?
ha ha! well well... just my luck for resurrecitng
old tongues
while i baptized myself in the nettles!
oh the nettles!
i took my shirt off
i was going to take all my clothes off
and run into the nettles
i thought it might suckerpunch me good
to feel the itch crawl into my skin
if i also itched with my testicles
but then again: indecent exposure...
sufficed with rubbing nettles
on my shins
my forearms
my hands
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my face
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my chest and my back

like Husayn -
i became a martyr of self-doubt...
no... it was certain:
there was no affair
no cheating involved
but it would have been cruel
to give hope
when the realist in me knew:
perhaps i do not like my work
but i love the company i keep
at work...

i was thinking about the properties
of doing such a thing
hinging upon a story i once read
about Roman centurions throwing themselves
****-naked into nettles...
duck quack medicine...
chemo... no...
cherry chemistry CH CH CH
choo choo...
  "too many consonants" my scratched ***
and tilting halo: for ****'s sake...

DRAKA: DRADZA: DRA-     -JA
equivalent to DZ...

          quack... duck... medicine... ah!
lost a word for a moment:
HOMEOPATHY!
or hum-pathology: **-meo-pathy...
etymological: where?
    ** in Greek: meo mea yes yes
-pathy yes like -ology...

                   this tongue outside of my
mouth in my head
not exactly a rhetorical gift
but for the duty to interest:
i.e. being invested in being interested:
undying! preserved! mummified!

what comes now is a flood of memories:
one or two hiccups
but compared to what Edie was used
to with her experience of men...
over a stretch of 3 years
we only met twice
and we had Oppenheimer sort of ***

that's what happens when
a cryptic meander:
a recluse... yes yes: once or twice
in the brothel
but what i also learned
when *** is bought / exchanged
that rigid LIMP ******* ****
i'm trying to get my rocks off
want to lick her out
finger her and then she blurbs out:
that will be extra...
she also forgot to peel the banana
sorry
but she forgot what the ******* is
for and isn't for
and that was a waste of time
i ended up paying £130 for massaging her...

and that's what: in the heralded
wisdom of a 55 year old to a 38 year
some ******* clue:
oh yeah, yeah... the younger girls
are *****...
hornier: puppet: you have my strings?
seriously?
am i to believe that women
in the luxury of the menopause
are... wait wait...

  wait wait... menopausal women
are hornier: freer...
than their younger counterparts... period!
the end!
i've heard too much ******* to suffer
the fate of the gullible patrons of:
*** for pleasure...

   and she might have thought me an invalid
for not having secured a progeny
in child of my own
(a)

           but now i just see timidity breeding
fluorescence
if that's even possible whenever
i see women in that brackets of (18 - 45)
that's a good bracket to have...
invigorating: indispensable...
like this was my ONE NOTCH
and a belt of all those times
i wondered whether or not i had erectile
dysfunction: clearly not...

******* the brains out of an older woman:
trick came with the thrice tickle...
tasteless?
current affairs and political lies
are tasteless:
suffice to say that a sound reading
of Marquis de Sade coupled with some
sobering Kant and Bukowski's efforts
yes yes... all a matter of fact: stress...
a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away
so much for apples...
tangerines oranges snakes and ladders...

the realist spoke:
i was never going to leave London
for her
that dynamic of mother daughter
grandmother was strict and Christian-obligatory
i can't do Christian-obligatory
when you have suspicions of
the one and only heresy that is: hypocrisy...

i couldn't leave London for Kauai
i would hate waking up
driving past the golf courses of Princeville
and i would hate to live among
Americans
even if they were Polynesian half-winks
of what the genesis story is
of that vastness: i.e. Taiwan...
too much sun not even *****: ooh! azure!

i'm an urban rat
i need urban slang to surprise me
especially if it's coming from the youths
of Hackney and they're Somalis
or Nigerians ...
i feel sick whenever i travel back to Poland
and am stuck with an ethnic homogeneity

too much white on white
i once stated already that: the future is mixed race...
for all the ills and ailments
we need a genetic vibrancy
and one way is to breed:
no sorry... that **** is on AUTOPILOT right
now... as natural as gravity...
but at least black women will stop
wearing wigs
and their half-kin will have a full crop
of hair and there will be no more
*****-slapping concerning alopecia...
perhaps no teeth-whitening envy too:
orange skin tan peel: blinding ivory: ugh!

                        only in Essex...

plus! i don't want to come across as some
invalid
but i really really don't need a car in London
sure i'm heading to Poland
to get a driving license in September
but that's just a formality blah blah blah
but over there: bicycle: bad bearings...
knock-knock buckling...

             England is an island but Kauai
is a whirlpool of existential constipation
that's equivalent to: ha ha... claustrophobia...
oddly enough it was just that...
plus summer is coming
and with that Wimbledon
and the concert season
and the Euro finals and being a tourist
of bad-mouthed Ahmed Ahmeds
flying in from Sow-Di Land of
the free peoples of Putinphilia... well: you know...
blah blah...

           yes: i am the bad man...
because i'm the realist and i wanted the memory
bank to implode then explode into
stretching time:
that non-linear point of having
a concern for time...
a stretching and juxtaposition of time
and that's also QUANTUM TIME...
as much as i might enjoy the quantum space
of my bedroom and me kneeling
before the bed and typing this out...

memory = quantum time

                       i can play with it as much as i can:
with the additional fervor of having
memory intact outside
of the realm of pedagogic infringement
and acidity once upon a time
constricted by learning irrelevant facts:
it's like: why do they teach us biology
when they know none of us will
be doctors or at least most
why don't they teach us nutrition in school
help us focus on the entire body
rather than bulldozer our experience of
youth with talk of *******
thrombocytes and chlorophyll?

          pedagogy is outdated - clearly:
if it weren't for a self-assured want to grasp
etymology / other languages...
beside from the basics of arithmetic and some
grasp of letters: although nuance
that sound to the letters presented
and what dyslexia is there to be spoken of?

ah ha ha... blah blah...
for all my afternoons to revolve around such
joy: to write.
Walter Alter Sep 2023
the circumstance of his birth
had somehow become joined
to the circumstance of his life
raised on cowboys and Indians
when no bigger than a twig
alone on a little mattress
talking to limp cloth animals
explains much of this
chromosome damage no doubt
a chugging tractor discs the soil
a mile away growing unheard
as sleep opens its music box lid
my rapid pulse is transformed
and becomes visible as black spots
which begin to grow together
eyes begin to move independently
floating face up I think they are open
wishing they were lanterns instead of
window panes unable to blink back the view
held open by the weight of two images
the great mound of bones and teeth
scene of rituals unspeakable
sordid affairs and so ordinary
if they tell you there's no describing it
they'd better have a blank expression
victims of gravity searching for a place
where the double war between
the odds and evens has not yet reached
wondering who invented tables and chairs
calendar on the wall brittle and torn
by a window climbing sun
pages flutter like moth wings
whispering parts of speech syllables
a screen door bangs dogs bark
crossing the linoleum a trail of ants
water drips in the sink
a moon rises over mobile homes
drawn in a circle against the dark
red flares line the highway at night
vagrancies outstrip the vacancies
with charlatans on every street corner
in a fervent denial of perception
before the rubble of the holy ziggurat
burnt offerings burnt heretic
having learned how to learn
he began to teach how to teach
on the plan-it planet
finding fresh chewing gum
stuck under the diner counter
when is an idea dead and useless
you'll need to be able to spell dog and cat

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon
Amit Gautam Jul 2020
The commence of a true bond,
Bond of friendship,
The peregrination with thee,
None craved outstrip.
We had motives, a-lot.
Gaiety was the consequence, as thought.
The problems overmore kept at bay,
Unique were the moments, count everyday.
Such was the relationship with thee.

In the juncture of solitude,
Absence of thee haunts.
Lacerates the heart,
Just as roses with thorns.
None but time is to blame,
For the divergence, that came.

The fun then,
Turned into memories,
Alluring than the sceneries.
Thought leaves no hints,
Indelible are the imprints.

— The End —