"parliaments" poems
We lied we need change
When all we feel is rage
For the government we create
Who don’t feel shake if the economical price inflate
*
We lied we are happy
When we hide in the bathroom; crying
We lied we are living
When we are striving for surviving
*
We lied we are grown
When we are yet to be birth
We lied we are strong
And here we are; paralysed
*
We lied we are in traffic
When we’re still on our bed dreaming
We lied we are set
When with default setting; we’re breathing
*
We lied we want about-move
From politics of Jong-Un
From government of John Bull
And parliaments filled with masters of Kungfu
*
We lied we are in love
When the only thing we feel is lust
We lied we are loved
When the only feeling we procure is hurt
*
We lied we are loyal
When we lust only after the royal one
We lied we are loyal
And when the ox is gored; we run
*
We lied we are in paradise
When in filthiness we dine
Stuck in a big mess
Living in hell; but not minding our business
*
We lied we are responsible
When at the sight of challenge; we flee
We lied we are smart
Whereas we are trickening; coz at the sight of themisticoles; we flee
*
We lied we are beautiful
When our heart is filled with greed and hate
We lied we are pretty
When the pancaked look on our face is manmade
*
We lied we are the future
Saying we are the leaders of tomorrow
We lied; saying we are injured
Whereas we’re completely trapped in hollow
*
We lied we’re from the hood
So no one else to talk to
Coz our lifestyle is not good
And that leaves us in bad mood
*
We lied we are good
When at the depth of our heart; we’re bad
We lied we are confuse
When we’re stuck and which way? We cant conclude
*
We lied to survive the tide
And from the real part of life; we hide
Tell the truth’ man; be freed inside
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
She—an unrepeated motif—waxes precocious like her ancient self.
Never mind the counterfeit eccentrics,
strange enough to be noticed but not doomed.
Their only burden is imperfection.
She’d die for these people, but they don’t realize omniscience is boring.
In preschool, she learned people are mean for no reason.
There’s no sense in spiting the inevitable,
so she gave away her quarters at bake sale.
Her mother would say, “That money is yours.”
The girl would ask, adjusting her overalls,
“If it’s mine, can’t I decide what to do with it?”
In the future, when repeating this story to a potential motif,
she’d know he’s The One when he’d say,
“What do four-year-olds need to know about capitalism?
Thanks to Walt Disney, they want to conform
and follow their hearts at the same time.”
She’d get off on his grumpy, and then notice his ring.
If he had met her first, would he still have married his wife?
It’s not worth hoping for divorce. He’s built to mate for life.
Instead of turning twenty-six, she’ll choose a chair in purgatory—
trapped between what should be and what is.
As long as she’s sitting, she may as well start smoking.
It’s a fine day for oral fixation.
At least she doesn’t smoke Parliaments like the counterfeit eccentrics.
She’d wonder if in a past life she was a dusty vacuum cleaner,
covered in what she was meant to destroy.
It’s too easy to claim hypocrisy,
too easy to cry genius for discovering what works
when for so long, failure was the only place to go.
She hasn’t been happy since she was thirteen.
The day before her first existential crisis,
her mother said, “Stop being so melodramatic.
You must want to be depressed.” Her response:
“I’m not too young for a mid-life crisis. I just won’t live to see thirty.”
She owes her life to a fear of hell,
knows we all experience hell differently. Hers is a banquet.
The proceeds will go toward ending world hunger.
At the end of the night, the keynote speaker complains
that Alfredo sauce doesn’t reheat well, so the leftovers get thrown out.
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 10:17 AM UTC
It's hard to change any cult
More so the jealous from the occult
Faculty of the melting mold of mind
Zealous of inflicting conflicts of all kind
To the just and graceful among mankind.
Brazenly different from vogue dears
conspires to inspire its rogue peers
To smear even slur on godly seers.
Constantly configures to figure out,
Anything, by any means to spy out
The faintest attribute of the virtuous
Contributes to trigger the rash jealous
To fling out and pierce the gall
to gush out to spread and stall
The arteries, nerves to blood-en
the face and the cheeks to redden
Nose and the chin to harden
Ear lobs to burn and burden.
The jealous is well known
Yet the cause is unknown
Why does it vent its ire
Dent and impair the fair
Engage in freelance
To abuse in parlance
In parliaments of vanity fair
The evil avail many a company
Of gluttons, covetous avaricious
sloth, sensuous pride and many
Engage merely to rage in ferocious
Fire, the fuel of the evil in the savage dark ages
obsessed in rampage and carnage
All celebrations become aberrations
Of the essence of celestial presence
The din dares to dampen the spiritual
Asphyx the specifics in fad rituals
It is difficult to change the cult
of the stinky melting mold
of the evil minds that find
new felony ways to inflict conflicts
To the just and graceful lives
of the peace loving among mankind.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
On Tuesdays I dream of moon-soaked swims among bay-big moons
Silver saucered jellyfish that ripple through our hands
Wednesday nights are underground-
Straight whiskey at the Cantab beneath a canopy of Marlboros and Parliaments
(I’m imagining the cigarettes-
I’ve always romanticized death)
I only think of Sunfish on Thursdays,
Just a single sheet and us and the water
And the thought that we are propelled by more
Than the wind and less than physics.
Fridays are midnight walks through Central Square-
That tree on JFK by the metal gate,
The cab I chased after. Your jacket.
I awake early on Saturdays to your blue wall
And freshly made yerba, lectures on nonlinear differentials.
On Sundays we sleep late,
Wrapped in sub-letted sheets
Waiting for your lease to end before Sunday does.
The ground is gone on Mondays, the sidewalk on Sydney street has crumbled
I feel first-trimester-morning-sick
And the sky is dinosaur-ending dark, thick with resentment.
On Tuesdays I dream of moon-soaked swims among bay-big moons
Silver saucered jellyfish that ripple through our hands
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
a scientist on the radio
says in three decades
a coastal town will
be submerged in water.
i picture seaside resorts
& promenades absorbed
& know the same fate
awaits this city, as sea
hungrily consumes
coast it looks to us,
our bones, our docks
& ports, parliaments
& courts, our isle added
to a pile of things extinct.
a future where children are
driftwood blown ashore
with foreign tongues
& dreams of sea;
reluctantly coming up
for air jealous of all the
creatures that get to
stay down there.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
Issues are to be resolved,
Problems are to be solved,
But
Parliaments are only dissolved.
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 7:27 PM UTC
all of our politicians are a pox on society
these self important people are the lowest of the low
governing for themselves is their number one priority
telling porkies is the way their empty rhetoric flows
it's our misfortune to have so many of them in our halls of power
we're paying them a fortune for mishandling government biz
and not a one of them is worth a left of right bower
they should be thrown out of our parliaments and into a tizz
we're heartily sick of the ****** lot of them
and they do so leave us with a feeling of utter contempt
not to forget our coughs spits and heaps of phlegm
we so wish that they were from our taxes exempt
if only we could do without these mongrel lot
our countries would most assuredly be less on the ill side
they have a reputation as bad as a pesky horse fly blot
and we'll be only to happy to toss them all well aside
moaning and whinging wont relieve our constant pain
we've got to take things well and truly into our owns hands
we cannot endure anymore of their burdensome strain
government benches would be better off were they to be rid of these bands
acquiring a pesticide to finish them off is one of my notions
then we can relax knowing that they'll no longer blight us
these thoughts are just me musing on a few suggestions
I'll leave you all to ruminate on this poetic piece thus
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
Sitting, dying, waiting
Casually ticking my eyes back and forth
At doctors and nurses rushing
Trying to save one more life
Just trying to make it to the end of their shift
When I saw you walk out the elevator
The look on your face told me you could use a lift
Of spirit, of body and mind
And that's when you took out that pack of Parliaments
"You can use a cigarette,"
You said through gritted teeth
I looked, smiled, obliged the notion
"How'd you know?"
As I pulled one from the pack
"This is a hospital, man, everyone here can use a smoke.""
As more doctors and nurses speedily scurried along
Scattering jitters
Bouncing them off the walls
Throughout the white washed waiting area
We looked at each other, smiled
Popped the cigarettes in our mouths
Lit up
And no one said a word
As the smoke drifted, floated and danced
Above the sick and dying
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
Walking through the regiments of
old red,cold,dead
tenements
giving compliments
to the planners who put spanners in the works
of parliaments.
The ghosts of raggy arsed kids still play football on the grass,
not caring a rats *** for the 'no ball games' sign and
lining up for 'nitty Nora' the bug explorer,
lice ain't nice even in the afterlife.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
i'm always ashamed because i'm doing live editing, and because of live editing, i can never really appreciate my work, as if it was stored in a cabinet drawer, unseen and unread by a curious passer-by, this live editing fuels a feeling of shame... but it also fuels: iftaḥ yā simsim (open sesame)!
the success of u.s.e.
(united states of europe
homogenised
into a monochromatic
use of the english tongue)
will be built upon the
failures u.s.a.
and the failure to feel
guilt for Hiroshima & Nagasaki
like the implemented
guilt the Germans are fed
with Auschwitz...
we have a cold war to stage
the actor's stage fright in
raising up a hand and a cold
hearted democratic ink blotch
of the testifying index finger
that meddled in the shuffling-chess
affairs of electors and parliaments;
it's not that relative things matter
(only einstein could have pulled that off
somehow giving us ripples
of vacuum when space and time collided
without poetic agreement about
fluctuated nostalgia of expression),
we're all abhorrent of moral relativism,
but not taking blame for
the two neutron bombs makes
me a bit sceptical about where this
train is going: it's hardly Zion,
but certainly the fenced in Israel.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
I am a soldier of fortune
but my fortune is not ruin
or even gold
it's life that I hold
in my hands
as a soldier of God
I stand before you
to reveal man's duplicity
of our so called democracy's
the elected officials
yet the only thing official
is there are so many issues
with man-made governments
so many wars
and so much poverty
another lost cause
for all to see.
I have no allegiance to parliaments
and presidents
or the flags they fly
***** rags soaked in the blood of those who've died
and the tears of families left behind who cry
my only loyalty is to God and his theocracy
to expose mankind's hypocrisy
how nation rise up against nation
and man against man
for God is our only salvation
how do you not understand?
I do not need a sword and a shield
as Gods word is more powerful then anything you could wield
It has the ability to change minds
and to save lives
the ability to expose true intentions
and dispose of Satan's inventions.
Satan's sinister ploy
to cause havoc and destroy
the lives of many
that follow his worldly governments
enticed by riches of plenty
for his entertainment
like puppets on a string
they do no thinking
just further sinking
into depravity
lets pray its over soon
that God ends their blasphemy
and brings them to ruin
so I no longer have to be
a Soldier of Fortune.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
Remember when you were a kid
And you would spend the summers at Mama and Papa's?
When ---- was pushing you onto the bed
And you farted in her face?
Remember even further back to Christmas at Uncle ----'s old house
When you headbutted *----
Remember when what was *----'s was yours
And what was yours was *----'s, sometimes?
And *---- always had the cooler toys,
So you'd come out on top anyway
Remember when you visited the Philippines
And all you wanted was to spend time with Lolo
So you did?
You had the farmhands catch a chicken and **** it so that you could cook it.
Then you'd hang out with them and play pool to look cool.
You took a cigarette from a pack of what you now know were Parliaments.
Remember walking down Cochin
And telling Lolo to stop smoking?
He's tell you that it was okay because he was old.
Well now he's still old
And with cancer.
And now you smoke and refuse to stop.
Remember when you promised to stop hurting ----?
But no matter what, you'd end up in her room at night.
You'd call yourself a monster
Make yourself sick
But nothing changed, not until you got caught.
Remember the first time you hit someone?
You got him in the stomach, like the ******* coward you are.
Look even further back , you pounced on that same kid, pinning him to the ground
Remember, in high school, you got into your fist real fight?
Some ******* was throwing ***** in the locker room,
Hit a **** *********
And blamed you.
The **** took the ball and hit you.
Remember seeing red and losing control?
Do you remember? I do.
I remember because I am you.
I am the selfish, violent, sex-crazed machine of a man you have become.
I am the monster that glares back when you look into a mirror.
I am every vice embedded in ever fiber of your being.
I am you, remember?
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
we did not ask for change but still it came
with waving banner and in angry shout
for then our people showed not calm nor tame
but like a flood after long years of drought
that was the moment when the word was rage
that marked the turning of the ancient page
when cities smouldered and when fields were burned
governors fled and parliaments adjourned
in such a time the truth must come in play
the sacred hour of those who once were spurned
who come from darkness into proper day
no one expects the world will stay the same
nor that the light will once again go out
now that all eyes have seen its cheery flame
and minds have been resolved from fear and doubt
by understanding of the proper wage
now to be gained and nothing will assuage
the incensed feelings of the hearts that turned
truly to freedom as the wild waves churned
on the bright shore and we saw the array
of those once vanished who had now returned
who come from darkness into proper day
the story now is not a silly game
nor is it simply nonsense that we spout
about the ending of all hate and shame
now that the old injustice is thrown out
and a new order walks upon the stage
when ordinary folk may shape the age
a better land may some day be discerned
where each achieves the honest pay they earned
and plain respect when their dark hair turns grey
both simple things as far as we're concerned
who come from darkness into proper day
prince we apologise you were interned
your titles stripped and your petitions spurned
your words ignored and servants gone away
but we are with some other things concerned
who come from darkness into proper day
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 8:08 AM UTC
This is an era when men should think more than thrice,
of who should be president, who should be vice.
No candidate seems to be the right kind of nice,
and none seem to speak of any other than lies.
Should someone be righteous, it's them who don't run.
We just wish their rightness does see the sun.
However, some votes are rather triggered by guns
without thinking posterity, of daughters and sons.
It's quite dense to seek the usage of standard,
not all people out there are graduates of Harvard;
but using common sense isn't at all that hard,
and yet it's all nonsense on dire voting cards.
We might all have minds, but not all are used.
Eventually, all voting just ends up confused.
The persuasion of currency is always abused,
the one with most pocket is sadly most choosed.
In the end there is no one who will take the blame,
especially when country's all burrowed in shame.
The dilemma is cyclic, it's always the same.
Come to think of it, it's terribly lame.
It's not just the country, but the world that's gone lazy
of monarchies, parliaments, and democrazy.
At this rate, all futures are too **** hazy,
'specially thanks to human hypocrisy.
Power has been there, some killed for, some ****
Presently, it's the most useless of thrills.
*Let me say this, heed me if you will,
Triumphs not who is good, but the less of two evils.*
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
Yellow and brown.
Stained from years of over consumption.
Coffee or Chai? And periods of chain smoking.
I'm not a smoker. Can't remember the last time I purchased stoges
Last week?
Those weren't for me. Those were Parliaments. And Marlboro Lights.
I smoke Menthols.
*Can I *** one?*
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
wasn’t those mommies who read story books in laps
and crooks of her ***** She shook those needle painted hooks
until said bled a velvet red and ran off alone to hide inside
the white ruffled canopy bed. She was cumbersome as the long mink
coat; she’d tote on a five-foot one frame of the mentally
insane. Little Dolly she’d call the tiny tot. Now sit and look pretty, don’t spoil your dress or I’ll beat you silly! Daddy had friends inside
his head that kept him entertained. But when he got angry with them
there was hell to pay. And he took it out on the two with garish
words and hyperbole that could fill the vortex of dolly’s soul. Between the cries and begs mommy got exasperated and wiped the floor up
with dolly’s head like a mop. She must have got brain damaged when
she pitched her skull like a baseball through the glass window. It shattered into a hundred pieces. Boy, did she beat the bejesus out of Dolly! She had welts the size of thick cigars and her behind was
on fire as a wood-burning stove and hung off her side like a overcooked
marshmallow. Mommy dearest smoked those Parliaments one after the other. And between each puff of swirling grit she’d cuss out loudly and hurl her spit. Gawd, if only she’d choke on it! The orange bee-hive hair she wore looked like a hornet’s nest. Stung a thousand times young, and a thousand more since they rolled her corpse out the door.
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 6:14 AM UTC
Poets pray at the altar of their bed
for a chance to have one of their verses go viral.
If I snore during my prayers,
I've been spending my free time
trying to write you a letter.
You may read it like a voicemail,
and that's fine because I'm still a millennial.
For ex: I bought you this carton of Parliaments,
with the money I earned from changing diapers
at a daycare. We don't have to talk about the future,
because all that does is make me beg for a beer.
I caught feelings for you and you knew that.
because this rain pours from clouds high
in a white sky. It looks like a half-cut marble.
Jay told me to listen to his audio cassette tape,
and now I'm going to wait for you on this balcony.
Don't worry it's a story-high,
and I'm scared of blood.
Worse, I fear being mortal
in a world without you.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC
Human beings.....
In a race to change
The very definition of humanity,
Only to get baptized in insanity.
Politicians.....
Rhapsody of the Parliaments and Government,
To bring a system of popularity,
Full of hate and inequality.
Bureaucrats....
Mobilize the art of duality,
Impress the subordinates with cruelty,
Pave a way to ambiguity,
Media.....
Refines the art of deception
Brainwashing the public view,
Discourages insightful review.
Intellectuals....
Racing the horses of wishes
Full of illogical ideals,
Manipulates as treasure steals.
Teachers...
Busy projecting arcane results,
Doubtful about own native cultures,
Relishing the limelight like vultures.
Administrators.....
Passionate to be remembered, Names on streets and buildings,
Boards and Committee starlings.
Social works....
Administer the theoretical concepts,
Bridge the recognised social rifts,
Actuality is subjugation and wanton theft.
©Perveiz Ali
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
All of our politicians are a blight on our society
These self important people do possess a lack luster glow
Governing for themselves is their number one priority
Telling porkies is the way that their rhetoric doth flow
It is our misfortune to have so many of them in our halls of power
We're paying them a fortune for mismanaging government biz
Not a one of these pollies are worth a left or right bower
They should be thrown out of our parliaments and into a tizz
We're heartily sick of the whole lot of them
As they do so leave us with a feeling of contempt
Not to forget our coughs indigestion or phlegm
We so wish they were from our taxes exempt
If only we could do without this undesirable lot
Our countries would most assuredly be less on the ill side
They have a reputation as bad as a staining ink spot
And we'd be only too happy to toss them all well aside
Moaning and whinging will not relieve the constant bane
We've got to take things into our own hands
We cannot endure anymore of their burdensome strain
Government benches would be better off being rid of these bands
Acquiring a repellent to spray on them is one of my notions
Then we can relax knowing that they'll no more blight us
These thoughts are just me musing on a few suggestions
I'll leave you all to ruminate on this poetic piece thus
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 7:36 AM UTC
You smoke parliaments to warm up
The way you inhale and exhale
The smoke curls around your lips like music
Somehow you can make even the worst things look beautiful
You hold the cigarette between your fingertips
And talk to the hipsters around you
All so much alike, but all so different
You try to exhale your problems
Along with the smoke
I look at you and wish it was me you crave
My breath going in and out of your lungs
My fingers that you hold so carefully between yours
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
from Beautiful Losers.
God is alive. Magic is afoot.
God is alive. Magic is afoot.
God is afoot. Magic is alive. Alive is afoot.
Magic never died.
God never sickened.
Many poor men lied. Many sick men lied.
Magic never weakened. Magic never hid. Magic always ruled.
God is afoot. God never died.
God was ruler though his funeral lengthened.
Though his mourners thickened Magic never fled.
Though his shrouds were hoisted the naked God did live.
Though his words were twisted the naked Magic thrived.
Though his death was published round and round the world the heart did not believe.
Many hurt men wondered. Many struck men bled.
Magic never faltered. Magic always led.
Many stones were rolled but God would not lie down.
Many wild men lied. Many fat men listened.
Though they offered stones Magic still was fed.
Though they locked their coffers God was always served.
Magic is afoot. God rules.
Alive is afoot. Alive is in command.
Many weak men hungered. Many strong men thrived.
Though they boasted solitude God was at their side.
Nor the dreamer in his cell, nor the captain on the hill.
Magic is alive.
Though his death was pardoned round and round the world the heart would not believe.
Though laws were carved in marble they could not shelter men.
Though altars built in parliaments they could not order men.
Police arrested Magic and Magic went with them for Magic loves the hungry.
But Magic would not tarry.
It moves from arm to arm.
It would not stay with them.
Magic is afoot. It cannot come to harm.
It rests in an empty palm.
It spawns in an empty mind.
But Magic is no instrument.
Magic is the end.
Many men drove Magic but Magic stayed behind.
Many strong men lied.
They only passed through Magic and out the other side.
Many weak men lied.
They came to God in secret and though they left him nourished they would not tell who healed.
Though mountains danced before them they said that God was dead.
Though his shrouds were hoisted the naked God did live.
This I mean to whisper to my mind.
This I mean to laugh with in my mind.
This I mean my mind to serve till service is but Magic moving through the world, and mind itself is Magic coursing through the flesh, and flesh itself is Magic dancing on a clock, and time itself the Magic Length of God.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Our Ghost tonight,
Sits with me,
******* down Parliaments,
And bearing the words of Crosby, Stills, and Nash,
Singing of a ghost all their own.
Hovering in the periphery,
A constant watcher,
Constant companion,
Constant 2nd,
Constantly hoping to be 1st.
Cuckolded in emotions,
Unknowingly,
Which makes it worst I suppose,
Being torn apart by unrequited feelings,
Unknown indifference.
A gossamer-thin whisp of a thing,
That ghost at the edge of the vision,
Ever present but unseen,
Speak to me,
You have only but to speak,
To be seen!
The track ends,
I'm brought back,
Our spectral friend is gone,
Sneaking out as CS&N cries,
Making me wonder where they went
Jun 30, 2024
Jun 30, 2024 at 12:08 AM UTC
Release for peace, you
have to let go and melt
like the snow melts, have
you ever felt so free?
In the space of a minute where
every second's a mile,
it's getting harder and harder to
smile at the antics when politics
are the tricks that Parliaments
play on you, but
you have to release to
find peace,
you have to let go.
When the day stretches out
like a big rubber band and
is ready to snap back and bite
at the hand that feeds it,
do you need it?
release for the peace that
will free you.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
The wind is whistling,
out of tune I might add,
mistaking it for the kettle
I got out of
bad
or should that be bed?
shaking my head to dislodge the sleep
my eyes start revolving
the sugar turns blue and
it's me in the cup
wondering why I'm
dissolving.
Ridiculous is four steps to the right
I've been there
was there
sharing a night with the lamp
tightening up with the cramp
and have you noticed
anything odd?
if the door when ajar is not a door
where did it go?
how will you know where to exit or
enter?
When the day breaks
who covers up the cracks?
He
who cements commandments
to medicaments
and buries parliaments
in liniments
knows about the life in tenements
how to
fight from the battlements
He who
gives the final sacraments
on Sunday in the first aid tents
who is He anyway that separates the night
and makes the day pay ransom?
A handsome man I'll wager.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 12:06 AM UTC