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"payers" poems
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny Earned for his master heaps of money, Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, And cheerful if the day was sunny. Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood He tramped, and on some common stood; There, cottage children circling gaily, He in their midmost footed daily. Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle Were quite enough his brain to puzzle: But like a philosophic bear He let alone extraneous care And danced contented anywhere. Still, year on year, and wear and tear, Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear. A day came when he scarce could prance, And when his master looked askance On dancing Bear who would not dance. To looks succeeded blows; hard blows Battered his ears and poor old nose. From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon; He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon, Capered in fury fast and faster. Ah, could he once but hug his master And perish in one joint disaster! But deafness, blindness, weakness growing, Not fury's self could keep him going. One dark day when the snow was snowing His cup was brimmed to overflowing: He tottered, toppled on one side, Growled once, and shook his head, and died. The master kicked and struck in vain, The weary drudge had distanced pain And never now would wince again. The master growled; he might have howled Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled. So gnawed by rancor and chagrin One thing remained: he sold the skin. What next the man did is not worth Your notice or my setting forth, But hearken what befell at last. His idle working days gone past, And not one friend and not one penny Stored up (if ever he had any Friends; but his coppers had been many), All doors stood shut against him but The workhouse door, which cannot shut. There he droned on,--a grim old sinner, Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner, Unpitied quite, uncared for much (The rate-payers not favoring such), Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare; Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear Danced back, a haunting memory. Indeed, I hope so, for you see If once the hard old heart relented, The hard old man may have repented.
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Brother Bruin
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny Earned for his master heaps of money, Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, And cheerful if the day was sunny. Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood He tramped, and on some common stood; There, cottage children circling gaily, He in their midmost footed daily. Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle Were quite enough his brain to puzzle: But like a philosophic bear He let alone extraneous care And danced contented anywhere. Still, year on year, and wear and tear, Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear. A day came when he scarce could prance, And when his master looked askance On dancing Bear who would not dance. To looks succeeded blows; hard blows Battered his ears and poor old nose. From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon; He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon, Capered in fury fast and faster. Ah, could he once but hug his master And perish in one joint disaster! But deafness, blindness, weakness growing, Not fury's self could keep him going. One dark day when the snow was snowing His cup was brimmed to overflowing: He tottered, toppled on one side, Growled once, and shook his head, and died. The master kicked and struck in vain, The weary drudge had distanced pain And never now would wince again. The master growled; he might have howled Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled. So gnawed by rancor and chagrin One thing remained: he sold the skin. What next the man did is not worth Your notice or my setting forth, But hearken what befell at last. His idle working days gone past, And not one friend and not one penny Stored up (if ever he had any Friends; but his coppers had been many), All doors stood shut against him but The workhouse door, which cannot shut. There he droned on,--a grim old sinner, Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner, Unpitied quite, uncared for much (The rate-payers not favoring such), Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare; Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear Danced back, a haunting memory. Indeed, I hope so, for you see If once the hard old heart relented, The hard old man may have repented.
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57
Alexander K Opicho (Eldret, Kenya;[email protected]) Do you remember one era in Kenya? During the dark days of dictatorship When Daniel arap Moi Was the tyrannical president of Kenya And darkness of leadership Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño When forty district commissioners Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins? Whose main work was to spy and terrorize As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy Yoke of state terror of tribal torment When the president claims that He was not aware of such tyranny, When we used to sing a lame poem Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! On empty stomachs with no hope of food No hope of jobs or even education Street children swelling on the street In total political nonchalance of arap Moi As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was Overfunded by the poor tax payers money, Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience As you are armed to teeth with modern education **** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya, Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser Ignore him and embrace Kenyans For common future happiness Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli His full badness is measured in absurdity Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders Of Kenya of yore and today, Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing He looks for them on daily circadian But once he nears their political pigeonhole Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga! President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect You won’t get a pretext to say that I was not aware or not informed Please dear darling of the people The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes Novate Moi with the people And your legacy will smile.
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Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
40 KALENJIN DISTRICT COMMISSIONERS OUT OF 42
Alexander K Opicho (Eldret, Kenya;[email protected]) Do you remember one era in Kenya? During the dark days of dictatorship When Daniel arap Moi Was the tyrannical president of Kenya And darkness of leadership Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño When forty district commissioners Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins? Whose main work was to spy and terrorize As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy Yoke of state terror of tribal torment When the president claims that He was not aware of such tyranny, When we used to sing a lame poem Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! On empty stomachs with no hope of food No hope of jobs or even education Street children swelling on the street In total political nonchalance of arap Moi As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was Overfunded by the poor tax payers money, Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience As you are armed to teeth with modern education **** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya, Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser Ignore him and embrace Kenyans For common future happiness Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli His full badness is measured in absurdity Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders Of Kenya of yore and today, Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing He looks for them on daily circadian But once he nears their political pigeonhole Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga! President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect You won’t get a pretext to say that I was not aware or not informed Please dear darling of the people The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes Novate Moi with the people And your legacy will smile.
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57
They say we are too young to know what true love is. They say that long distance relationships never work. They say that being "like us" is a sickness So, I guess I'll never tell them how my ribs hurt every time my heart beats too hard when my plane           lands and you love me with vaccine kisses. I'll take my medicine without insurance because, you only live once YOLO Unless you believe in reincarnation. And I have to, because how could we be so perfect, know each others faces like a married couple           knows the crows feet stories they grown into for 60 year, and I have only looked at you for 4           months? Lover, you asked me to come to church with you, I said yes. I needed to thank him, or her, or whoever for answering my payers in a difference country. To thank whoever for taking two candle burned pages and making them a book, a bible that I           pray to every night. And I may not believe in God but I believe in you and your past, which is chiseled into the banks           of my bloodstream. The burred edges being eroded away by time and heartbeats. They say we'll never make it. They say we are too young. They say Time + Space = heart break. I say bring "it" on, specially if "it" means more *** I say I have been old enough to see slow wars silenced by fast hands, see starts die, see memories          so old that only the boxes in my basement remember them. I say Their Mouths + words = shut **** up! They say a lot of things. But I say "I love you" more. They say a lot of things. But kisses are silent, and or are the breathless laughs and eye rolls you share every time I honk your           ***** like a red nosed clown at a birthday party. They say a lot of things. But I talk way more and my tongue has more use in the subject matter that is you.
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Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
They Say (Explicit Version)
They say we are too young to know what true love is. They say that long distance relationships never work. They say that being "like us" is a sickness So, I guess I'll never tell them how my ribs hurt every time my heart beats too hard when my plane           lands and you love me with vaccine kisses. I'll take my medicine without insurance because, you only live once YOLO Unless you believe in reincarnation. And I have to, because how could we be so perfect, know each others faces like a married couple           knows the crows feet stories they grown into for 60 year, and I have only looked at you for 4           months? Lover, you asked me to come to church with you, I said yes. I needed to thank him, or her, or whoever for answering my payers in a difference country. To thank whoever for taking two candle burned pages and making them a book, a bible that I           pray to every night. And I may not believe in God but I believe in you and your past, which is chiseled into the banks           of my bloodstream. The burred edges being eroded away by time and heartbeats. They say we'll never make it. They say we are too young. They say Time + Space = heart break. I say bring "it" on, specially if "it" means more *** I say I have been old enough to see slow wars silenced by fast hands, see starts die, see memories          so old that only the boxes in my basement remember them. I say Their Mouths + words = shut **** up! They say a lot of things. But I say "I love you" more. They say a lot of things. But kisses are silent, and or are the breathless laughs and eye rolls you share every time I honk your           ***** like a red nosed clown at a birthday party. They say a lot of things. But I talk way more and my tongue has more use in the subject matter that is you.
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30
(This poem was written during the first year of the war.) Lay me down to sleep Before they push the button. This ***** ain't tryin to wait for his own self destruction! People really want peace but you gotta have war, because it pays the invoices made by the White House imposed choices. We need to be United but politics and hypocrites always remind us that history repeats itself. As it turns out itself repeats history. Repeats history Repeats HIS - STORY! It ain't a mystery! You know what goes on in Capital hill! What country pays its government more then the people who's supposed to be runnin it? We do! America! **** politics! We down right greedy! We got plenty to feed the needy! But we'd rather spend tax payers money to bomb a country that at peace I would like to be. ****** if I'm wrong! Bush, please send my Mom and Dad home. Realize that judgment day is comin' and the truth untellers on the hill are the first ones hit when God's wrath comes down rumblin. I got somethin' on my mind so I speak to you. God help us when it comes time to be with you. You can only tell a lie for so long before the truth sees the light. That's when karma puts it on ya' and explains your persona so that people see through your tainted ora. Life is like a Pandora - boxed with centuries of pandemonium and disorder. Blessed are those who are weak God, to you I speak. THIS IS AMERICA CALLIN'!! Thank you for reading! Amaru www.twitter.com/therealamaru
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Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 10:00 PM UTC
"Callin'". A Prayor to God.
They say we are too young to know what true love is. They say that long distance relationships never work. They say that being "like us" is a sickness So, I guess I'll never tell them how my ribs hurt every time my heart beats too hard when my plane           lands and you love me with vaccine kisses. I'll take my medicine without insurance because, you only live once YOLO Unless you believe in reincarnation. And I have to, because how could we be so perfect, know each others faces like a married couple           knows the crows feet stories they grown into for 60 year, and I have only looked at you for 4           months? Lover, you asked me to come to church with you, I said yes. I needed to thank him, or her, or whoever for answering my payers in a difference country. To thank whoever for taking two candle burned pages and making them a book, a bible that I           pray to every night. And I may not believe in God but I believe in you and your past, which is chiseled into the banks           of my bloodstream. The burred edges being eroded away by time and heartbeats. They say we'll never make it. They say we are too young. They say Time + Space = heart break. I say bring "it" on. I say I have been old enough to see slow wars silenced by fast hands, see starts die, see memories          so old that only the boxes in my basement remember them. I say Their Mouths + words = shut up! They say a lot of things. But I say "I love you" more. They say a lot of things. But kisses are silent, and or are the breathless laughs and eye rolls you share every time I ruin a           romantic moment with "that's what she said" jokes. They say a lot of things. But I talk way more and my tongue has more use in the subject matter that is you.
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Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
They Say (Clean Version)
They say we are too young to know what true love is. They say that long distance relationships never work. They say that being "like us" is a sickness So, I guess I'll never tell them how my ribs hurt every time my heart beats too hard when my plane           lands and you love me with vaccine kisses. I'll take my medicine without insurance because, you only live once YOLO Unless you believe in reincarnation. And I have to, because how could we be so perfect, know each others faces like a married couple           knows the crows feet stories they grown into for 60 year, and I have only looked at you for 4           months? Lover, you asked me to come to church with you, I said yes. I needed to thank him, or her, or whoever for answering my payers in a difference country. To thank whoever for taking two candle burned pages and making them a book, a bible that I           pray to every night. And I may not believe in God but I believe in you and your past, which is chiseled into the banks           of my bloodstream. The burred edges being eroded away by time and heartbeats. They say we'll never make it. They say we are too young. They say Time + Space = heart break. I say bring "it" on. I say I have been old enough to see slow wars silenced by fast hands, see starts die, see memories          so old that only the boxes in my basement remember them. I say Their Mouths + words = shut up! They say a lot of things. But I say "I love you" more. They say a lot of things. But kisses are silent, and or are the breathless laughs and eye rolls you share every time I ruin a           romantic moment with "that's what she said" jokes. They say a lot of things. But I talk way more and my tongue has more use in the subject matter that is you.
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30
**** Leeches I saw one of the guys who live up the road from me, sleeping on his front porch today as I drove by. He was leaned back in an old recliner, half smiling, eyes closed, sitting in the only area where there was currently shade on the old porch of the shambled house. There are four who live there. all in their forties or fifties. Three with white beards, one without. Front door always open. Windows always open. No screens. Cats lounging around in the sun. Two couches and another recliner line the porch, shoved back against the wall, waiting for the eastern sun to rise a little higher to put it all in shade. They’ll all be out there eventually. Common leeches of society. Sitting there laughing, beers in hand, telling the same stories they’ve probably each heard hundreds of times. **** leeches. Always smiling and laughing. Enjoying life and not worrying about car payments and credit cards or payments on millions of materialistic possessions they’re supposed to dream of having as society demands. **** leeches. Always waving and being friendly when I drive by. Always taking the time to say hello and ask me how I’m doing when I take my morning walk, or sometimes my afternoon walk. **** leeches. Never once have they invited me to eat steaks and shrimp I was told they eat every day, at the tax payers expense. They just sit there, eating bologna sandwiches and drinking beer, enjoying life. How dare they rub it in and mock society showing off their happiness the way they do. **** leeches. JSM 8/3/17
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Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC
**** Leeches
**** Leeches I saw one of the guys who live up the road from me, sleeping on his front porch today as I drove by. He was leaned back in an old recliner, half smiling, eyes closed, sitting in the only area where there was currently shade on the old porch of the shambled house. There are four who live there. all in their forties or fifties. Three with white beards, one without. Front door always open. Windows always open. No screens. Cats lounging around in the sun. Two couches and another recliner line the porch, shoved back against the wall, waiting for the eastern sun to rise a little higher to put it all in shade. They’ll all be out there eventually. Common leeches of society. Sitting there laughing, beers in hand, telling the same stories they’ve probably each heard hundreds of times. **** leeches. Always smiling and laughing. Enjoying life and not worrying about car payments and credit cards or payments on millions of materialistic possessions they’re supposed to dream of having as society demands. **** leeches. Always waving and being friendly when I drive by. Always taking the time to say hello and ask me how I’m doing when I take my morning walk, or sometimes my afternoon walk. **** leeches. Never once have they invited me to eat steaks and shrimp I was told they eat every day, at the tax payers expense. They just sit there, eating bologna sandwiches and drinking beer, enjoying life. How dare they rub it in and mock society showing off their happiness the way they do. **** leeches. JSM 8/3/17
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52
A pensioner's long walk today, Yes, the mailman's been, no yah! What bills did arrive this way? Postman, postman, stay away, I am putting up a sign, "BAN THE BILLS!' about frigging time! If all bill payers went on strike, Bills would go down, not upwards hike, Yes, it's that dreaded long walk again, Should I throw the bills down the drain? A gutter too far, or in the bin? Bringing us bills is the postman's great sin, Can't afford that, can't afford that, "I'll shoot you, postman, now don't come back!" Is shooting postmen a capital offence? "BAN THE BILLS!" on everyone's fence!
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Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
THE LETTERBOX
There are inexplicable mercies hidden in your ingenious words, that irresistible touch and those impeccably authentic thoughts. I am humbled and infused with pleasure to be a vessel of your love. There is a containment of euphoria nestled deep within your heart that only angelic hands can breach. Because you are a Saint, a prophecy sent from whichever heavens you praise to fulfill the desires of my soul, our souls. Our souls, for your love is limitless and is found in every heart, in every vein, and in every mind as an infectious delicious and delightful disease. Rare in severity, true in antiquity, your love knows not time nor its conditional confines. Vessels of your love, we are intrigued by your astounding beauty. Sagely brown eyes, a charmingly chiseled chin, and calloused hands only a man could bear. Adonis himself envies your dangerous allure. Whichever God has sent you, their purpose was clear; to savor the souls of many and reclaim all hearts lost to love. Without you, my world would fall to internal damnation. You are a savior, a saint, a prophetic being sent as an answer to our payers for our remorseful redemption.
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Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 8:19 PM UTC
Saint
I would sing the song money money money to people who have none to make a point that the rich man’s world is different to the poor man’s world and how some rich people don’t give a toss about what poor people go through it’s sad how you ask a rich man to drop a $2 coin in the poor man’s bucket and they just say NO simply because they don’t care or the y don’’t like that certain poor person and whether that poor person coughs in their face of a show of affection saying’ please help me, and basically all the rich man wants to sing money money money to drive the poor man to drink all the tax payers money and the poor man’s world could turn out to be the rich man’s world cause money seems to likes the rich more than poor, money seems to hate people who wants to budge on it what is money really about anyway why does the rich earn more money than the average Joe nobody will ever know
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May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
money money money, **** rich
CASSIE THE AUSSIE DRUG SMUGGLER NOW WANTS TAX PAYERS CASH THIS IS INCREDIBLE AND STUPID AND A WHOLE LOT OF TRASH IF YOU SMUGGLE DRUGS IN A COUNTRY WHERE THE PENALTIES ARE SEVERE YOU WERE VERY CONSCIOUS OF YOUR ACTIONS TAKE RESPONSIBILITY MY DEAR DON'T EXPECT HONEST PEOPLE TO NOW HELP BAIL YOU OUT IF YOU SMUGGLE DRUGS AND GET CAUGHT YOUR ON YOUR OWN NO DOUBT
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May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
THE DRUG SMUGGLER
Ar ben y bryn, There sits a paint-brush-thin monument, A crooked rocky record built by many unwilling hands. This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man, A man befriended by nature Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin, Took root on stony ground, Prospered on infertile soil And sheltered under nature's canopy. Y bryn oedd ei gartref And he lived and thrived there To the annoyance of the conformists: The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers Those who could not abide his ragged clothing, Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth, Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes. Loneliness he embraced and so peace was his. Ar y bryn fu farw. A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity, Wanting to view the corpse of the man on the hill, A man who was and wasn't one of them. And so a dissonance struck the town: He was one of them but also one of wild nature. He was miserably poor but enviably free. And out of such confusion was his half-hearted monument raised.
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Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
Y Dyn Ar Y Bryn/The Man On The Hill
I guess being older. Makes us address things in a variety of ways. We make fun of the child, who seems mentally disturbed? Without realizing, it could have been us. We make jokes of the homeless. Without understanding their fight. It's like a woman selling her body. Even she knows it's not right. We seems to soak in the joy of being popular. When many times, they the most insecure folks of us all. Oh, yes. It's funny. Until their crisis comes before us. The scriptures states, treat people the right you like to be treated. If you're disrespectful. Then , what did you expect? When it's tossed back upon you. We make fun of the people that works, at fast food. When in reality, if you don't realize it. They also supporting you. As tax payers, they keep the government going forward. And many employees are smarter. Then those in university achieving a degree. We make fun of the over weight people. As, if it doesn't hurt. Then attend church and be on our best behavior. Except, you can't fool God. He know your soul. He know your heart. We make fun of the illiterate. Without realizing that no one's dumb. Even a Jack of All trades have skills to teach us. So, we should be humble to those we meet. It's just a requirement that good parents teaches us. Some people can take being the blunt of all jokes. Except, the sensitive types. Who doesn't bother anyone? So, next time , we make fun of the person that we don't know. Realize, who's judging us? Even, if it's the minister next door.
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Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
We Make Fun
I guess being older. Makes us address things in a variety of ways. We make fun of the child, who seems mentally disturbed? Without realizing, it could have been us. We make jokes of the homeless. Without understanding their fight. It's like a woman selling her body. Even she knows it's not right. We seems to soak in the joy of being popular. When many times, they the most insecure folks of us all. Oh, yes. It's funny. Until their crisis comes before us. The scriptures states, treat people the right you like to be treated. If you're disrespectful. Then , what did you expect? When it's tossed back upon you. We make fun of the people that works, at fast food. When in reality, if you don't realize it. They also supporting you. As tax payers, they keep the government going forward. And many employees are smarter. Then those in university achieving a degree. We make fun of the over weight people. As, if it doesn't hurt. Then attend church and be on our best behavior. Except, you can't fool God. He know your soul. He know your heart. We make fun of the illiterate. Without realizing that no one's dumb. Even a Jack of All trades have skills to teach us. So, we should be humble to those we meet. It's just a requirement that good parents teaches us. Some people can take being the blunt of all jokes. Except, the sensitive types. Who doesn't bother anyone? So, next time , we make fun of the person that we don't know. Realize, who's judging us? Even, if it's the minister next door.
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40
Just because I said so do as I say, The law is the law tax payers so pay, Don't try and make a dollar of your own, Because without paying the man, How can you know what you know. In the land of the free,   Nothing is legitimate if you don't pay a fee. Just because you've learned Alot in life, You better think twice, Before you speak advice, unless you've paid the agreed upon price, Do you really believe someone is eating today because you logged hours in on the site freerice? The powers that be, Will never cure cancer or *** Not following policies, Put in place by the pharmaceutical company, Protected by money and greed, Corrupt police run free, Get a slap on the wrist, Influenced by Green. Just because we live in the land of the free, Nothing will change, If we don't grow a voice, And take the time to fight back the powers who say,  do as I say you don't have a choice.   Let's bring on the destruction of corruption, I'm tired of our justice being obstructed.
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Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 9:14 PM UTC
Just because
the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded and goes rotten, and skeletons of industry rust. the cities are littered with bodies with suits and ties stepping over them. dangerous speculation leaves behind another gutted home. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded and goes rotten, and skeletons of industry rust. in all of history, never has the world been richer, never have individuals been richer, and communities never so barren. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded and goes rotten. children cry up from the depth of debt for bread and help and shelter met either with the ideologue's injunction "AUSTERITY." or deaf ears and tax-payers money invested in guns and bombs sent abroad, and rhetoric behind the barbed fences of our shores, and the tools for plundering all the people and every corner and resource of the earth and the as yet still fluid future: the tools to cement our early doom. all that is wretched is integral to the structure: it is what the system stands on, everything it crushes, squeezing out the life and stealing it; we must come to understand this, and step back. we'll have to face—or be forced to—collapse. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded and people are forsaken, starved, blown up, drowned, deprived of voice and value; profits are made. life comes at a price, too much for most. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth travelled north - taken - into open arms, those brave, desperate souls in flight who followed were handed - abandoned - to the waves or absolute destitution. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded— "SAVE THE BANKS, SAVE THE COMPANIES, THEY'RE TOO BIG TO SINK"—they're titanic—"THERE'S NO TIME TO BE DEMOCRATIC—IT'S A STATE OF EMERGENCY—THEY CANNOT FAIL." the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded, hundreds of thousands of houses are empty and skeletons of industry rust. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded, and so the world goes rotten. justice will take more than just good deeds: open the borders and break down the walls! set no destinations at which to arrive, but towards horizons strive; we need not firewood, but the seed: make union and defiance your call! open the borders and break down the walls! produce and allocate according to need and there shall be enough—for us all! (and i might add: please, forgive me my youth and naivety... but i am no believer in the Fall.)
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Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
dimensions of the global north (revisited, expanded and refined)
the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded and goes rotten, and skeletons of industry rust. the cities are littered with bodies with suits and ties stepping over them. dangerous speculation leaves behind another gutted home. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded and goes rotten, and skeletons of industry rust. in all of history, never has the world been richer, never have individuals been richer, and communities never so barren. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded and goes rotten. children cry up from the depth of debt for bread and help and shelter met either with the ideologue's injunction "AUSTERITY." or deaf ears and tax-payers money invested in guns and bombs sent abroad, and rhetoric behind the barbed fences of our shores, and the tools for plundering all the people and every corner and resource of the earth and the as yet still fluid future: the tools to cement our early doom. all that is wretched is integral to the structure: it is what the system stands on, everything it crushes, squeezing out the life and stealing it; we must come to understand this, and step back. we'll have to face—or be forced to—collapse. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded and people are forsaken, starved, blown up, drowned, deprived of voice and value; profits are made. life comes at a price, too much for most. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth travelled north - taken - into open arms, those brave, desperate souls in flight who followed were handed - abandoned - to the waves or absolute destitution. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded— "SAVE THE BANKS, SAVE THE COMPANIES, THEY'RE TOO BIG TO SINK"—they're titanic—"THERE'S NO TIME TO BE DEMOCRATIC—IT'S A STATE OF EMERGENCY—THEY CANNOT FAIL." the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded, hundreds of thousands of houses are empty and skeletons of industry rust. the country isn't poor at all: the wealth is just hoarded, and so the world goes rotten. justice will take more than just good deeds: open the borders and break down the walls! set no destinations at which to arrive, but towards horizons strive; we need not firewood, but the seed: make union and defiance your call! open the borders and break down the walls! produce and allocate according to need and there shall be enough—for us all! (and i might add: please, forgive me my youth and naivety... but i am no believer in the Fall.)
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52
There he sits on his throne ordering people around I hear him shouting at me I see him crying to see the person within I know I am not the same just like him he thinks I am but I am not I'm not the person he thinks I am thinks I am this treasure as queen the one who believes in love again this beautiful queen this beautiful land he thinks I am one of them but he's wrong oh yes he's wrong again. again. again I see the land lord counting their money I see the land lord giving them interest I see the land lord lying to their rate payers oh yeas. what an unfair world this is The king is happy That he's got everything he needs He doesn't need no more wives No more children No family He is a king With money, houses He has everything he could all for Coz he is a king A one in a million So he thinks it to himself He thinks it to himself He thinks it to himself And then, and then, and then, again, again, again I hear him calling for me He's telling me It is my duty To lead this country To happiness And then there's that chance for me He keeps shouting for me He expects a lot from me Oh yes What unfair world this is...
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Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
An Unfair World
I have been in search of the self of self’s to end the war being waged inside, for years now between the masks I hide I’m a son to the trees and seas. I’m a brother to those that bother, and those who are blind to color I’m a student to whomever wants to teach. I’m a lover of words, and hope that bloom in a rose I’m a believer in the shadows that move between spaces. And the sweetness heard in the soul and seen in the sky. I am a lover of who yells “keep the peace.” I am he, who sometimes does not practice what he preach, he who sometimes could not tame the devil at bay, and so he comes out to play. I am he who stalks life with blindfolded anger and say “why have you forsaken me?” I am he, a true believer of God and the hereafter. A sinner who can’t shake off the temptations of life, he who knowingly dances at the edge of his knife, and he who must answer for his crimes, his crimes, his crimes for his waste of time, The lies! The lies! The lies! I am he, who sits alone in a dark room, A dark house, A dark world, thinking about death, being exhaustingly terrified of death, sometimes wanting to die but knowing his hereafter isn’t as……… I am the student that sits on his hands, who doesn’t do **** and probably won’t amount to **** I get scared not because it’s a scary world, which it is, but because of the people in it. Not people with big guns, sharp knives, hulkish anger issues, or people in power doing bad things. Because of my dad, my moms, my brothers, my sisters, my teachers, my lovers, my friends, tax payers, I get scared because this tower of dreams I’ve been put in It will crumble, these shoulders of mine will brake badly I have been anticipating and fearing the pain. While I was it came and came not with fear. It came and all became clear Simplicity is a hunger that cannot be satisfied. No one knows my secrets except the shadows I lay with.
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Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
I
I have been in search of the self of self’s to end the war being waged inside, for years now between the masks I hide I’m a son to the trees and seas. I’m a brother to those that bother, and those who are blind to color I’m a student to whomever wants to teach. I’m a lover of words, and hope that bloom in a rose I’m a believer in the shadows that move between spaces. And the sweetness heard in the soul and seen in the sky. I am a lover of who yells “keep the peace.” I am he, who sometimes does not practice what he preach, he who sometimes could not tame the devil at bay, and so he comes out to play. I am he who stalks life with blindfolded anger and say “why have you forsaken me?” I am he, a true believer of God and the hereafter. A sinner who can’t shake off the temptations of life, he who knowingly dances at the edge of his knife, and he who must answer for his crimes, his crimes, his crimes for his waste of time, The lies! The lies! The lies! I am he, who sits alone in a dark room, A dark house, A dark world, thinking about death, being exhaustingly terrified of death, sometimes wanting to die but knowing his hereafter isn’t as……… I am the student that sits on his hands, who doesn’t do **** and probably won’t amount to **** I get scared not because it’s a scary world, which it is, but because of the people in it. Not people with big guns, sharp knives, hulkish anger issues, or people in power doing bad things. Because of my dad, my moms, my brothers, my sisters, my teachers, my lovers, my friends, tax payers, I get scared because this tower of dreams I’ve been put in It will crumble, these shoulders of mine will brake badly I have been anticipating and fearing the pain. While I was it came and came not with fear. It came and all became clear Simplicity is a hunger that cannot be satisfied. No one knows my secrets except the shadows I lay with.
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43
They are officials of the state religion They don’t have Muhammad or Jesus in the piety, But the tentacles of their filthy sink deep Into the placental matrix of the revolving state The crudeness and repugnance of their faith Obviously and deeply funded by the state coffer From the jeopardized tax payers, Managed by their blameless adherent son Nourishing all with absolute power To put poor sons of the soil on the coffle In nemesis for their contrasted sanctimony Down to the common grave of seven men.
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May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
SEVEN MEN ON THE COFFLE FOR THE GRAVE
I don't pity poverty. Low lives disgust me. Undependable if you can't count on yourself. Who can you count on? Sell you're *ss for some quick cash Dance naked for money to find yourself a rich honey. Get a minimum wage job. So you're not a broke-*ss slob. Work the night shift and get robbed. Don't out of fear ever sob. Bad karma is their flaw. Their sin is what you saw. They'all be snatched my Hell's claw. Your sinning soul peeled raw. Try to challenge me and I'll sock your jaw. You broke the law. Don't even try to deny it by saying "nah". Your fingerprints are left by your ***** paws. Guilty as Sin. The devil wants you in. He always knew your life was ******* Don't act so surprised to see your demise. Nobody will hear your cries. Hell's door is open for souls to be floating. You ruined your own self. From the cards you're dealt. When the Devil seee you sin he smiles for every d*mn child. Greedy and selfish you're two of a kind. Soulless without a good friend You will pay for all your crimes time that never ends. A will that bends. A messages that never sends. Hope & pathetic with no logic. Out of touch & out of focus. No Hocus Pocus. You stand in a line up. A finger points you out. Without any doubt. Go ahead and pout. No one will care that you're sad. You're getting so mad. The system is glad. No parole. Thanks to the tax payers bank roll. Pay karma's toll. You gargoyle troll.
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May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Page 21
Follow along ... the porcelain doll fell from the wall And when she cracked... It all came back! escaped in vapors Seeping into the wooden floorboards Like oozing wounds And **** from sores... Putrid the smell Straight from hell Now loose from its porcelain confines The binding inscriptions Are Your worst fears Your deepest convictions Your frightened tears Dollie’s secrets and admissions She heard your payers and your childish wishes Also your sins you whispered into Her tiny white ear Yes she could hear And you had forgotten She know your true black heart was rotten
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Oct 9, 2019
Oct 9, 2019 at 3:30 AM UTC
The Porcelain Doll
Land of love, our moon half your face in darkness the other a bright pale visage, and so constant with the sun You make romance a preterite changeable is your face sometimes red sometimes blue yet your pale sweet face is what I love about you you have been guide's to marinas the payers of many saints the rhythm, of all life here All that are heaven bound will always look at you even wolves in timber lands cold in perma frost howl thier praise to Luna you as the hunt in the name of you By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
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Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
Luna, Land Of Love
Another day, another dollar Going to school to be a scholar Sitting here in physics class I could really use a homework pass Mrs. Harvey is teaching and being loud Everyone's so calm, but i don't know how Learning Thermodynamics and specific heat As i sit unaware while my mind retreats Thinking about a single person's lies Which caused my constantly twitching eye Only thinking one thing, asking myself why I keep telling myself that the end is nigh Giving the tax payers a tight, stiff collar Just so i can write this poem... Another day, another dollar
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Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Another Day (Collection from years ago)
They put deep roots in my veins Just so I can write one line on this paper I ride my trust to the government, the tax payers and the liers Who stood still for liberation Enlighten me with your creativity "Ya ***** nergo! " And That same ***** headed afro centric nergo who picked cotton Who marched for the same textbook like you and I Got lyched because he wrote with his right, he hid away at night to write my struggle in his blood. Cut that dark flesh for righteous teaching Let that wound sink in 246 years And we still ain't gain no type of freedom Our culture has poetry in pages & pages To weep the sad tears of slaves And it's sad because people still ain't humble about their education. Erasing the pain of our own ancestors Does the color' of your skin Define your education? Society, nowadays sing the same ol song " A change gon' come " As they take away our freedom But one thing they CAN'T take is our education One thing they will NOT take is our education.
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Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 7:19 PM UTC
My book is red
Have some confidence, smile a while and think of cuttin' back, think of how hard this winter is most places where it is winter now, and all the houses are rubble, we see we almost… in some ways… on some levels… true, we can feel we breathe the same winds, we hold truths self evident, by faith we found, sheer mind fog hedge hog white horse chase minding, hedged bets, we'll laugh every day, in joy, for strength, l'chaim peace of mind is what we stalk. We think we pray silently. We think we all do, hope and wish and pray all call fix it make it better for all, eh liberty, completely agreed to by most… we must imagine the old trick, freedom isn't free, inside the fence/ ---------------- How come we to be the first generation ever to breathe dust from Alamogordo and beyond co incident… in the scope of what we can imagine, Earth, as seen from Saturn via global science access. Any where such truths are not denied by law. How come is not the same query as why, because words mean things, ghost of Limbaugh. Being causal points, peak mind share, Superbowl .64% All eyes worth, all the value rushed to all the advertisers and stakeholders on the line, oh, you know, it could be money, on the line… 99.36% of all attention payers, paid none. But… stop think 127000000 or so, simultaneously hoping that's a lot, to high heaven they don't choke, oh, the thing e-feared holy hell we say some stupid blessing sneeze gnosisnot too fine to finally think gesundheit, so fine.
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Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 7:41 PM UTC
Feeling drained, and small... virtually
Have some confidence, smile a while and think of cuttin' back, think of how hard this winter is most places where it is winter now, and all the houses are rubble, we see we almost… in some ways… on some levels… true, we can feel we breathe the same winds, we hold truths self evident, by faith we found, sheer mind fog hedge hog white horse chase minding, hedged bets, we'll laugh every day, in joy, for strength, l'chaim peace of mind is what we stalk. We think we pray silently. We think we all do, hope and wish and pray all call fix it make it better for all, eh liberty, completely agreed to by most… we must imagine the old trick, freedom isn't free, inside the fence/ ---------------- How come we to be the first generation ever to breathe dust from Alamogordo and beyond co incident… in the scope of what we can imagine, Earth, as seen from Saturn via global science access. Any where such truths are not denied by law. How come is not the same query as why, because words mean things, ghost of Limbaugh. Being causal points, peak mind share, Superbowl .64% All eyes worth, all the value rushed to all the advertisers and stakeholders on the line, oh, you know, it could be money, on the line… 99.36% of all attention payers, paid none. But… stop think 127000000 or so, simultaneously hoping that's a lot, to high heaven they don't choke, oh, the thing e-feared holy hell we say some stupid blessing sneeze gnosisnot too fine to finally think gesundheit, so fine.
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48
It’s a different world underneath this steeple Church doors swinging open To a congregation of cruel people Black ink on a page tells me I’m evil Condemning sermons broke my soul You preach “God is love” yet remain hateful Without end, my soul screamed from inside While everything you command of me forced me to lie You demanded so I tried But lost the fire in my eyes With every day that I pretended Another piece of me died Your reputation and position no longer matter here I was never enough for you in those miserable years Secret journal pages wrinkled by tears Scribbled confessions in cursive, words you’d never hear Paranoid that I’d injure your career My parents and Hell were my two greatest fears You use smoke and mirrors to hide your pretension Force feed your religion through cold condescension Wearing a mask You put on an act Then exit stage left Ignoring your own lesson Behind closed doors You wage your secret war In your church congregation You’re trusted and adored But come home with your pride Lay your costume to the side Take a break from the lies Abuse safely hidden from tithe-payers eyes Your narcissism and contempt The reigns you pull from making amends Years of servitude ill-spent I’ve forgiven but you still resent Dust covered Bibles and empty prescriptions Remnants of misery-fueled bad decisions You study verses on love and acceptance Never practiced but quoted in sermons No book or religion is worth the price of a life My own strength was all that kept me alive By walking away and breaking all ties I reignited the fire behind these green eyes
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Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
A Different World
It’s a different world underneath this steeple Church doors swinging open To a congregation of cruel people Black ink on a page tells me I’m evil Condemning sermons broke my soul You preach “God is love” yet remain hateful Without end, my soul screamed from inside While everything you command of me forced me to lie You demanded so I tried But lost the fire in my eyes With every day that I pretended Another piece of me died Your reputation and position no longer matter here I was never enough for you in those miserable years Secret journal pages wrinkled by tears Scribbled confessions in cursive, words you’d never hear Paranoid that I’d injure your career My parents and Hell were my two greatest fears You use smoke and mirrors to hide your pretension Force feed your religion through cold condescension Wearing a mask You put on an act Then exit stage left Ignoring your own lesson Behind closed doors You wage your secret war In your church congregation You’re trusted and adored But come home with your pride Lay your costume to the side Take a break from the lies Abuse safely hidden from tithe-payers eyes Your narcissism and contempt The reigns you pull from making amends Years of servitude ill-spent I’ve forgiven but you still resent Dust covered Bibles and empty prescriptions Remnants of misery-fueled bad decisions You study verses on love and acceptance Never practiced but quoted in sermons No book or religion is worth the price of a life My own strength was all that kept me alive By walking away and breaking all ties I reignited the fire behind these green eyes
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44
Optimo, they say in Pahree, of course, you knew, fine is just fine for the unworldly. For such as inhabit my spirit realm, nothing but the best of days remain. Madness, as a pastime, suffices as artificial, made artwise, too beautiful for any common sense… ah, yet, on such a day, we may agree we find time expands, at a glance from those makers of perfect sense from pastence, old lines yes, optimo, fine lines the best, in fact oh, some time ago, when all were mad as I. --------------- While watching Hepburn as the Mad Woman of Chaillot, because, voila, I sought a forgotten line, from when, as a boy of seventeen, I played Yul Brenner's role, while then, my best friend, some while dead, now, had the role Danny Kaye plays in the movie, I never watched until today. But, why, of course, your curiosity is piqued, perhaps the perfect point, what we reexperience is richer than just fine, it must be truly optimo to meet criteria of old age mere satisfaction, whereby we call all our ghosts to laugh once more, exactly as before. Of course with somewhat greater effect. Assuming you know what I mean, those Jungian types are quite alive… the greedy, the payers of tribute to Trump and his ilk selling Israel fine American genocide tech.
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Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 3:09 PM UTC
On so fine a day