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Nigel Morgan Oct 2013
She said over the ether: ‘I’m eating a perfectly ripe fig. So nice, I’m going to have another’.

We’ve been here before he thought as he read her text. In a memory’s moment he was back at her dining room table with five figs in a small bowl. The table wore a blue cloth, and she a Scandinavian skirt with pockets. It was that time of year when the midday light can be so golden, so wonderful. He remembered her delight that he had ‘brought figs to her table’. He was so full to the brim with love for her on that autumn day that those figs had seemed so very right, more than appropriate; a perfect addition to their developing intimacy. She had not been wooed by figs before. He wasn’t sure she understood their significance, their ****** stance.  She hadn’t read The White Goddess. When pressed to explain he was tempted to tell her exactly what he understood a fig might suggest between lovers, and lovers they certainly were. She had cried out under his touch, had opened her mouth, her beautiful eyes, had cried out like no woman he had even begun to know. She was so extraordinarily passionate as he touched her. She moved with him and their bodies would kiss and stroke as though unbidden, of their own volition, ungovernable even. So when he touched the closest fig in the blue bowl on the lunchtime table it was a little like being touched by her in the greatest intimacy. The skin of the fig has this rub, it feels like the ******* of his passion, that she had so generously touched, had stroked, had known, had brought between the valley of her dear ******* that now, these several years gone and past, he still wondered at, that such a curve and fall and sensation in the hand and fingers could remain so wondrous, so magically beautiful.

He had responded in a text by writing: you sensuous woman . . .  And she in reply had said:  ‘Just pecking’. Does one really peck at figs? Surely not, he thought. She wrote: I meant peckish! Stupid predictive text. And he said: Surely one doesn’t eat figs because one is peckish. That’s what digestive biscuits are for.

And so it went on a little, this conversation over the ether. But all the while he was back in that sunlit room quite alone with her, before he should have been alone with her and feeling such passion, such a passion that its imprint still remained on his consciousness. He wondered if she really understood about this passion of his. It was beyond any possible fig known to man or woman. They were never figgish, only once and she had said it was not for her, and he had understood, and loved her all the more for such frankness in the face of passion. He was still feeling his way, hardly knowing how to deal with such passionate closeness, such desire to be close. How he loved her, he thought this again and again, again and now. He seemed to hold a whole litany of love inside him that he longed to sing out to her.

He was so grateful that she had interrupted those afternoon labours at his desk with her teasing words, and wondered whether she really did eat that second fig.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.like i insinuated prior, the English are a people not competent in philosophy, they're the antithesis of what a people, inclined to philosophy represent... schematic, rigidity, like the German... or the frequent cafe bullshitters of the French, the English can't consecrate themselves on the altar of Sophia, they just can't... they're a people that succumbed to too much practicality, egalitarianism... no one attempts to write in Utopia, while not seeking to find Atlantis.

so the whole Greece, Troy,
Rome shuffle is about over?
i'm feeling slightly peckish
and i don't have the time...
i'm about to light the house
up using... light-bulbs...
don't you think that a name
akin to: Paul, Digit,
sounds great?!

don't get me wrong,
the English are a people bound
to other, gifts...
they can sing,
although... Aud Lang Syne
is a Pict song...
and the river-dance is pure Ire...

great sophists,
but philosophers?
they're too practical,
i'm trying to read
Sartre's being & nothingness
in English...
i simply, can't...
      it doesn't make sense...
if you gave me a copy
of the same book
in ******-speak...
i'd butcher it...
   but in English?

metaphor moment:
like catching the testicles of
a mosquito, wearing boxing
gloves...

fiddly ******...

sure... each country has its
career ambition...
russian and the romanians
and the bulgarians have
their gymnastics...
the brazilians and the germans
have their footie...

the English have their singing
and their poetry...
but philosophy?
      nope... not even close...
Oasis' wonderwall
will be remembered,
and even sang along to on
the continent...

                   but thomas more's
utopia,
or thomas hobbe's leviathan...
ever tried to read more than
twenty pages
    of joseph conrad's
         heart of darkness... ?
ever find eating porridge
equivalent to parachuting
   in terms of the level of excitement?

chill... the English have their virtues...
but the English are also
prone to call philosophy
impractical, verbiage, word salad...
because philosophy already
is an impracticality,
an impasse...
          it's supposed to be,
           it's not exactly an Ikea schematic
reading to assemble a *******
table...
             it's Picasso, cubism,
       see if you can see a cube in
the mesh of contortions of other geometric
signatures...

              the English do not do philosophy...
sorry... they don't...
whatever argument arises citing
the "need" for: "reason" and, "logic"
will not cut it for me...
reason? since God doesn't intervene...
well... the unfathomable depth of
human will... reason: the same freedom
as posited prior to: the unfathomable depth...

logic? 1 + 1 = 2...
      a + n + d | s + o = and so...
the English are barons over other traditions
of expression...
music being 1, poetry being 2...

hey, Polacks are decent at volleyball...
i'm not complaining,
it's not exactly a popular sport...

but no... no chance in hell will i read
a philosophy book in this language...
i can't, the language is already too shrapnel
for me... i need to clarify a focus
on an idea...
        language, the English language,
can't entertain the current "transcendental"
logistics of undermining the individual /
plural use of pronouns,
while also keeping a straight face
in other areas of thinking...

     i could have conceded to the whole
globalist liberalism of ideas...
but... looking at the other flank?
attacking grammar... ****... sorry...
dogma?!
                as if... i will bow down
to un-existing before my wedding with death.

that being said,
i think the English are in a dire need to relearn
their black sense of humor,
their islander sense of isolationist humor,
their: bizarre unpredictability...
  since they lost it...
             to a certain degree...
i'd say: relearn to laugh at what is,
otherwise unforgiven in other cultures...
more crass Americanism...
and... well...
                can you ever learn to
cry when experiencing beauty?
musically, that is, esp. in the musical
dimension...
                    i always hated this:
"you're laughing, but actually crying...
you're crying, but actually laughing"
inversion...
        i never came around to fathom this
"misnomer"...
          straight down...
    i'll laugh at a funeral...
            teasing death...
   but i'll cry over a decent piece of music, to boot.
Right now someone,somewhere in the world

is horrifically withdrawing from their poison,

in a jail for days ,

climbing the utter 4 walls of solitary confinement,

with no fresh air at all

just the stench of suffering,

haunting there broken spirits,

desperate to end it,

but that officer took their shoelaces out ,

and there's no possible way to do it.

Time is there worst nightmare here,

going nowhere ,

as they try to pretend to sleep forever,

and even attempting they know is not clever,

But it is all they've got

yearning to ignore the horror movie playing in there mind's eye,

infecting every fiber of there being rots,

diminishing the lie that it's ok

when they're certain that this must be hell!

in the belly of the beast,

being spiritually waylaid

feeling that they're cursed and the end is nigh,

absolutely terrified at the possibility

of there brutal existence

being any worse than it already is,

endlessly torchering them ,

over and over again, in detail,

reminding them of every single mistake

that they have ever made,

all the bad things they have ever done,

and how the good old days

can never come back again ,

but just as toxic painful memories;

so long,

forcing a futile desperate hope

for a time machine;

or if only they could just start again,

and this could all be

one big worst nightmare...

And yet it is so clear

that this is really real,

and this world is  unfair!



Somewhere someone is suffering with hunger

and a deep emptiness

Weakens them to there core.

Some fast for religious purposes,

but mostly it's the poor ignored,
I am grateful I'm not them right now ,

because I felt this pain before.

with a deep yearning,
Convinced I could bare no more,

Some say there peckish,
some say their famished,

most say there hungry for more

Most have forgotten there starving;

just like before

of love and spirituality,

it's not really for me to say,

who's more in need of being fed

and that ultimately

there almost ,nearly dead.


Right now someone ,suffering, somewhere

has got the worst toothache

they've ever had in there entire life!
with no painkillers to take this

deep ache away !

probing and throbbing throughout the day,

then slicing like a knife,

when there only relief

is to but rock in misery

cradling their jaw,

yearning to end their life!

I'm glad I'm not them right now !

because I; yes me! felt this pain before!...

and it's the kind of pain

that hurts from the surface to your core.

so when I'm moaning

about the pain

I think I feel I'm in,

I should just  refrain,

and stop compulsive complaints,

that toxic-ally taints,

like a self fulfilled prophecy,

if you doubt you go without

or  busy earning a bad name...

if you believe you receive

is a load of ****;

because,

when a toothaches

and the pain gets a grip

a toothaches....



Someone, suffering,Somewhere ...

just now,.

has broken their ankle ,

for the first time in there lives,

and was prior unaware

of the existence and possibility

they could feel so alive

with such an incredibly excruciating pain,

and has just been plastered up

if there lucky enough,

and given crutches for mobility

and must learn to cope is the deepest liberty

with the new struggle of getting from A to B,

or just making a simple cup of tea!

and hopping up and down the stairs,

to take a wee

or in and Out of bed

and into the shower,

becomes the new major struggle of the hour,

and you see,

in fact becomes more painful than the original break itself ,

as it is slow and cumbersome,

and creeps like stealth,

I know;for this pain was cryptic and raw...

And is one of the worst things that has ever happened to me before!,

and at the same time one of the best!

though they say the wicked get no rest,

but sometimes it's just that life is a test,

hidden deep aching phantom pain!

for this was the only thing that has ever made me stop and remain!,

slowdown and see the wood from the trees,

be alive; and just breathe...

bearing in mind it could of always been worse!

and that relative suffering in silence

is a hidden human curse...



Someone suffering someplace; is cold to the bone;

and can't find no warmth or love and no home.

I would rather be homeless, than feel so alone.

The fear of the coldness is worse than the truth,

certainly hurts,

but to be frozen with fear is definitely worse ,

stuck in a place where you can't find the words

and should of ,could of, would.

I'm grateful I'm not them right now!

and hope they find some warmth soon!

Maybe light a fire!

lest it invoke the grim reaper...
I know this pain and there's nothing like it...

and yet still ;there's nothing more painful

than the road to your heart going cold and cursed

the longest journey is from our head to our heart,

warm things up

better get living and make a start...




Someone somewhere is desperately thirsty,

deeply dehydrated and hasn't had a drop of water in days ,

they would drink the water from a  police cell toilet,

if given the opportunity,

this is one of the worst pains I have ever felt...

and I'm glad it's not me right now!

because I've felt this hideous pain before,

looking back in hindsight, all of what I've presented

as one's brutal suffering ,can be just chances

for character building, for out of the darkness comes the light,

for where theres no pain theres no gain,

as one cannot exist without the other,

and one can't know  abundant Joy,

without having felt great suffering,

For as deep and as broad is our suffering. ..

so shall be our comfort...x

AMEN
captured in the psych ward, new year special




it’s new years eve and ron bought along his punch bowl and a few sushi dishes

as well as party sandwiches, to make the people in the psych ward have a good atmosphere

for the new year, and this year charlie chaplin man was going to read all of his poems as the

entertainment and the nurses did a lot of work so the patients feel calm enough to enjoy

charlie’s show, so medication time was before the show and even charlie, because he was worried

he would yell very loudly if he didn’t and then it started

ron said, ok guys we are going to have a mini new years eve concert run by this man charlie chaplin

charlie said, welcome and happy new year and my first song is   The schitzophrenic


You see I am sitting at the mall
I am having dillusions of people teasing me, and I wish this will all stop, oh please, just leave me the f..k alone
And then I hear voices that aren't really being said o hear Jon killed my best friend named Fred, the thing is I have no best friend, oh year
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
From the first diagnosis till the day you reach 45, you see if i take medication it can be controlled yeah oh yeah
I am schitzophrenic
Then I went to see my psychiatrist and he told me, to try and get a life, I told him I was blackbeard and John F Kennedy, he just threw a smart *** comment my way, I thought that comment was rude and ******, yes it is hard to be liked when you do
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Yes it's easy to do, just let me hang out
You see with my medication it can be controlled, ooooh
I am schitzophrenic
You see I get paranoid when I see people around and right wing governments want us locked up
It mighty hard to have this illness and I cab say this
1 2 3 4 do the schitzophrenic
Do it once and you get all hooked and after that you feel like a geek, cause your a schitzophrenic, and also with medication it can be controlled
Oooooh I'm a schitzophrenic
Yes, that's true

charlie said, that was a great song and it’ll get you started ya know, the next song is maybe later


maybe later, i will get what i want

maybe later, i will rediscover the beauty

of being alive in this great world

it’s just a long-awaited journey

from beginning to end

and i will try and enjoy the moment

in the psych ward spotlight

i say, please slow down, your moving too fast

please almighty one, let me live long enough to give

a poor old soul a home

they don’t want a bench and they don’t want an old burnt out hall

it’s not fun for me

to look at these big buildings

with hot shot business types, when your not one

it’s enough to drive you mad

please make me except it could be later




the next song charlie sang was standing on the inside looking out, a song that explains what we are going through


standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward trying to get better

you see i was visioning i was in glenelg bay

but instead you get doctors saying how are you enjoying your day

i wished i was well and enjoying my life

instead of being in here wasting away

then i called out to almighty god

and the best i can get is a man who claims he is jesus christ

i said, no, were you nailed to the cross

and he said yeah after i rode in on my horse

and i said wasn’t it a donkey you ran in on and i was

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward trying to get better

i was getting bored, so i asked the nurse

to give me a pass out to the cafe

because i was starting to lose my mind

and when they said no i let out a little wine

i said please please please, mate, this place is driving me mad

the inmates here, smell really really bad

so the nurse made me a banana smoothie and i said thanks

and took it away to my bed, walking past every room before mine

i even tripped over a piece of fishing line

then i sat down in my glenelg bay apartment sipping my smoothie saying

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward trying to get better

dinner time came and i had fish and chips

it was ever so discusting, ya know like hospital food

i opened my orange juice and gave it one almighty sip

and i ate my chocolate mousse, yeah it is as tasty as

when dinner was over i went to the TV room

to watch the news and home and away

then some dude came into watch it with me

and he said, did you know i was GOD, i said, no

as i sat there thinking i was

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward trying to get better

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

standing on the inside looking out

in the psych ward in the psych ward

in the psych ward trying to get bet-ter


charlie chaplin after that song was over sang his small poem titled a smile has nothing on us, here goes


whether you let out a big smile or not

you could add it to your melting ***

what you need is a great big melting ***

big enough to take the world and all it’s got

every thing that you can eat

my rundown car is really neat

the coffee urn is piping hot

boiling whether you like it or not

but your smile comes through and through

like a fresh flower, blooming every day for me and you

i try to smile all the time

cause  it’s very fun to do

i like smiling, cause it’s fun



charlie then announced his next song saying spare me, because when your poor you always say spare me. here goes


spare me some money for the bus

spare me some money for the bus

spare me some money

so i don’t look like such a dummy

spare me some money for the bus

spare me some cutlets for my tea

spare me some cutlets for my tea

spare me some cutlets

and some vegetables

thank you very muchlets

spare me some cutlets for my tea

spare me some wine to go with that

spare me some wine to go with that

spare me some wine

so i can feel so divine

spare me some wine to go with that

spare me some chocolate for after that

spare me some chocolate for after that

spare me some chocolate

so i can have what you have

spare me some chocolate for after that


charlie then said, my next song is every day is a day of disappointment because being here really *****


Every day is a day of dissapountment

One day as I was walking down a busy street, saying g'day to everyone who u walk past, then I went back through the park and I saw so many walks of life, from the beggars asking for money and the rich refusing to give it to them, and it all sounds so crazy as I walk through doing nothing like that, after that I felt a bit peckish, so I went to the take-away to buy myself an hamburger with egg and bacon and there was this weird looking fella standing at the door, greeting each customer with a smile, he didn't really work there, but he will never be told to leave, cause he ain't a threat, oh no, then after that I went to the grocery store to buy enough supplies to last me for a week, or maybe more, I could hardly know, then after that, all that shopping made me a bit thirsty, so I went to the sports club and drown my day away, with a ice cold fosters lager or a ice cold can of VB, after that I will get so drunk o could hardly stand up and my friends drove me home and they also walked me inside, just to make sure, I don't collapse on the front lawn, you see, your day seems to go from good to bad, if you make the wrong choices and that makes every day, a day of dissapointment, after that horrible night on the *****, I got up and had a hangover cure, consisting of two raw eggs and worcestershire sauce, yes that sounds so very tasty, yes I love it and live by it, it really makes me feel like I can have a party in my mouth and everyone is invited to spend about a year or so, at the local sports club doing one thing every single day, and then after that you won't seem like every day is a day of disappintment for everyone on this earth



charlie then decided to pretend he had a best mate named albert waldron and back then albert gave him lyrics to a song, here it goes



Alfred Waldron looking back, oh yeah



You see I was a great footballer, man
Yes, I was so ace, but it was a long long time ago
About close to 1 hundred years
You see I payed in South Australa
And I played footy very well, and after the match
I would go to my car, and get my BBQ an start cooking the snags
Yes, I loved that, it was really really cool
Everyone thought I was an average cook
And they all came over for some meat
Yes, I even had some nice cold beers
Yes, I think thats so very cool
As I cooked the meat, the other players were saying
Come on mate, cook us some nice beautiful Aussie snags
I also played cricket, for South Australia as well
And I even took my BBQ to the cricket for after match food
The only way you can do that now, is if you just stayed local
And some days, like at the footy and the cricket
Every player got very vocal
I was a real Australian guy, who loved to play, footy or cricket
And I loved the BBQ at the end, yes it was so esquized
Yes I had the muscles, and I have lots of those
Everyone enjoy eating a snag a sausage
And then an egg and bacon roll
Since that footy life ended i felt cool


ron said to charlie just one more song because people are yelling and we can’t control them, but charlie we will have the midnights fireworks for you, ok



charlie said he has got his fresh old legs going wild here it goes


they will dance

they will run

into the midday sun

they will race

warm embrace

be a bit lazy

head to the pub

go to the shop

to buy some clothes

angels coming down

worshipping the town

playing football

driving cars

around the good old town

having drinks with the guys

fresh flowers for sale at the shop at SHOPRITE

SHOPRITE SUPERMARKET

CUTTING ALL THE FOOD BILLS YEAH

spiders coming through the window

to destroy all mankind

makin g lamb for dinner

nicest you’ve ever seen

i said i will stay home and watch my mate, mr bean

yeah, your fresh legs go wild

when they do all these things

and before the end, charlie got the entire staff and patients to sing auld lent zine at 10.00 pm

because everyone was getting tired and cranky
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ lang syne!

Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne!

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine,
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot
Sin’ auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’t in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine,
And we’ll tak a right guid willie-waught
For auld lang syne!

And surely ye’ll be your pint’ stoup,
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne!




ron and charlie were helping each other clean up while the other patiens were being injected with ******

from yelling too much and after the cleanup was done, charlie went to the TV room to watch the fireworks

that were on at midnight on the TV, meanwhile, ron clocked off and went to the pizza hut and went home to

watch the fireworks on the TV thinking, today, ron made charlie a happy man, by letting him do his concert

it wasn’t till midnight but they can’t do that in the HDU.
glass Nov 2021
a tongue a knife a rhyme
a slitted try of silence mine
i could never keep it fought
rip the gut right from my life
ill scream the name until i rot
shreik a word so loud ill cry
i tried my luck but missed the cut

a trickled spiggot sputters with it
a soft spot for the eyes that fall out of my skull
flaming pupils burn the crop
the students of the fire
they stop drop and roll into the wretched thought
that comes each time they learn what has been wrought to build this pyre

to eviscerate the weakened soul
the empty rooms inside my home
voraciously in rapture
tearing sinews off my mind
splitting ears and feeding from the captured
nothing left behind my skin no map no muscles
missing compass knees buckled

******* leave me or ill pull the trigger
ill **** the lost and eat the hindered
incinerate your wicked splinters
and in this home
snap each of your twelve ******* fingers

its teeth are gentle on me in a way that only devils can
we're peckish for atrocities and it has given me a plan
a broken handed man within the corridor
his one eye wide
the other in the devils side
a matching type to mine if i still had my sight
the door is closed and i am blind but we can smell the horror more
breaking out we tore into that bodys core
but that devil, him, the house, unborn
as i woke up in a corpse
for i am dead upon the floor
111021
Marigold Dec 2013
I have vowed to no more eat that which harms,
And to the best of my abilities,
I do so.
I see no difference between the cat you pet
And the lamb you slaughter.
I see no difference between the dog you play with
And the calf you tear from its mother.
I see no difference between the pet birds in cages
And the male chicks thrown in the grinder at birth;
They will produce no eggs, we have no use for their lives.
I believe it is not the role of man
To deem whom should retain their lives
And whom should die for a  moments self-gratification.

Vegetarianism is wonderful,
Every little bit helps; less humans eating meat,
means reduced CO2 emmissions
and less world wide poverty,
The grain that could feed a hundred hungry mouths
Is not used to produce  single burger patty,
For a single peckish man.

But drinking the milk of a cow,
Eating cheese and eggs
All contributes directly to the meat industry.
Dairy industry is veal industry;
Dairy industry; milk, eggs, cheese all supports and prolongs the practice
Of killing and eating children.

You ask that we respect your choices;
but you do not understand that your "choices",
Your learned eating habits,
Your probing questions of "what do you eat then?!"
And your arguments of "But meat just tastes so good"
Are directly offensive to all we stand for,
And all we fight against.

To me, arguing that the taste of meat,
Makes the living conditions of these animals ok,
Is a kin to the argument that slavery is fine,
Because the work gets done quicker if you can use a whip.
It is a kin to the idea that **** isn't that bad,
Because it at least feels good for the ******.
It is a kin to the comment that women are inferior,
Because men could beat them in a fist fight.

You will instantly think I am radical in my views,
You will try to brush them off as the rantings of a crazed vegan
Or you will stop reading
Because you really do not want to see what I have to say.
But I give you only the truth as i plainly see it.

If you must eat meat,
Hunt for it and **** it yourself,
Let it live a real life first,
And respect that for you to eat,
It has died.
Dakota J Dawson Dec 2017
Thoughts trickle down
The slanted jaw
Thick and strong

Eyes dim and shallow
Seeking a remembrance
Of yesterday's rain

Lips thin as paper
Chewed in distress
Down to a soft pink inflammation

When did I forget?
Touching and feeling
Even the familiar crime of regret

The song "Mary did you know?"
Becoming a creature comfort
Invoking a religious tether of tension

His love, not mine
The passion alone
Is sacred

I choose
Loneliness
To spite his' light

For life is black
Darker and colder
Than the moon
Shane Hunt Oct 2012
A querulous cry
from my peckish feline
failed to rouse me from sleep:

thus,
teeth entangled in the meat of my palm,
this hideous beast
bucked conventional wisdom in
deciding to bite a hand
to prompt a feeding.

Concurrently
I am considering the adage
of there being more than one way
to skin a cat.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
✿⊰✲⊱✿
Me and Paul waltz upon the marble
floor with others. Each one of us gliding
swirls of many colours, becoming rainbows
that float in sync with the pianos, the flutes,
the drums, the harps. The aurelian tunes fills me
with nothing but joy, a smile never leaving my
face as my skirts swirl - my body moving
with the soul of the sound. Cleansing, emotive
yet free. When the music is done, we all
clap, cheer and bow.

✿⊰✲⊱✿
"And you said that you were not a dancer!"
Queen Sue beams and embraces me like a sister
which I return. After, I embrace both Kim
and Yidna.
"I never said I couldn't dance," I tease. "I just
said I didn't."
"Well, everyone can contest that!" Paul laughs.
"I suppose you're right."
"Just to confirm, Paul," Kim asks him. "All
the shipments were successful in delivery?"
He nods. "It was a smart move
for everyone to send the gifts to me because I
managed to keep it all down to five ships.
So we didn't overcrowd her harbours. From
what I hear, Donna was quite overwhelmed by
it all. Everyone sent more that four crates of
gifts each."
"I do hope she enjoyed the anthologies I gave her!"
Yidna beams.

✿⊰✲⊱✿
"I have no doubt she will," I chuckle. "So, is
it just me or does all that dancing have us peckish?"
"It's just you , I'm sure. I really hope you didn't starve
yourself to make room for all the food again."
"No!" I say.
"Yes, our Sweet Queen did!" Ainhara pipes up
as I playfully glare at her.
"Traitor!" I huff as my handmaids giggle and
Paul snickers.
Part 8 of 1!
Enjoy! ^-^
Lyn ***
Third Eye Candy Apr 2013
England eats Her shoes.
The Royal Be-dazzler was insane,
so these shoes were extraordinary birds.
The pair assembled their Royal Nest
in a vault. Inside a laser cocoon.
A Might peckish..
England eats
Her shoes.

In Japan, tsunami lack the dexterity to avoid densely populated areas;
but dolphins are delicious.
The cherry blossoms are giddy pink.
And Zen
Koi.

Ripples in a pond decapitate the moon.

In Japan, the Future was Yesterday;
So their robots have emotions -

They cry themselves to sleep
at night.... in the middle
of the Sea.

They cry themselves to sleep at night.... in the middle of the Sea.
Katelyn Billat Oct 2017
I've always been a bird,
Trapped in my little cage.
It's dark and cramped in here,
It feels as though I'm suffocating

I watch the free birds from
Behind my metal bars.

I dream of the day my capturers
Set me free.
The day I may spread my wings.
The day I may fly with the wild ones.

I have the power to break out,
But I'm afraid of the consequences.
All my life I've been told how to live.
To sit and be a nice bird.

I'm getting restless.
I'm getting peckish.

I want to break out,
I have the power.
But I'm so afraid that
My wings won't work anymore,
From the lack of experience.

I'm so afraid that the wild birds
Won't see me as their own.
I don't know how to fit in.
This, my capturers have not taught,
Only how to sit and be a nice bird.
Do what I'm told, what is expected of me.

Well I'm getting peckish.

I want to fly.
Jacqueline Anne Feb 2015
Feeling peckish?
Reach into me
Indulge yourself!
Don't worry about your diet!!
Gorge it all lovely food!
Eat yum! yum! yum!


©Jacqui Slade
betterdays Nov 2016
the cicada's have begun to emerge
after seventeen long years as a dormant miner

they arise, pushing through seveteen years of dust
and compounded muclch, breaking out into a brave new world

and for seventy two hours, if they are lucky
they seek to mate, to consumate  to extend their species

some become garish decorations on truck windscreens
some become exhibits in a small boys jam jar zoo
some become waylaid and sing their cacophonial opus
on barren concrete patio's
some become Sunday dinners to peckish nestlings

some succeed gloriously, then die happy
some don't...succeed...and die wondering

but apparently seventeen years ago...
a lot succeded...
if the booming base opera being performed
is a gauge of the primeval drive of the cicada

it is summer eve in the burbs
and the living is..... noisy....
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
but so askance the two eyes,
the brows so gliding into
a weaving of sorrow -
there she was, readily to be painted
for a caricature portrait at
the congregation of artists
at Trafalgar Sq.,
for something being spotted
as over-blossomed,
but then the economics kicked
in, and the dream died,
back to square one...
but that single instance of her
worried brows and the mournful
droop in her eyes
as if readied for the Monsoon...
but forgetting the inflammatory
juicing of her genitalia...
what an oddity to see and thus
describe the counteractive ingredients
of what constitutes a human body
in egg-like-wholeness... chicken's
nibble cluck and peckish pluck of the
constant agreed nod for being a factory
of eggs and a slaughter-meat.
In this heat-tricked mirror, he resembles
the crafty miles that creep up with vital intent.
They toe his wavy lines.

A pair of vultures glide by with lean routes,
marking bold exes against the golden bearded
grain of an age-stained chart.

Sudden runs to foul-scented organs blur:
A strong swoop followed by the fleshy balance on
thresholds of life's tipping.

He discovers with scaled-down calculus,
our blue-vaulted distances, still moist but listing,
travel in closed cycles.

It can't  be defeated, this curse, lifting
ungainly loads while his broad back is pushed against
walls of jaundiced fingers.

Tens of peckish tips, wait for their victuals.
They smell his thinning blood buried in the gusty
legends of cornered maps.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Megan Jun 2014
From the peckish flow of pollen perusing in the air, that irrevocably makes my reoccurring allergies flame up, permitting my nose to looking like a cherry tomato.
From the awakening of blossoms omitting the sweet smelling fervor of my senses. From the warmth of the weather making my heart feel festive and splendid enlightening my dreams, my thoughts, and my aspirations molding me in to a blooming, arcadian blossom.
From the dandy breeze making my hair go in all sorts of directions.
From the waves of all these winsome works of nature renewing as a sign of “new life.”
From the carelessness of our being, because what comes out of a cold, tepid, bleak winter is none another than the effulgent, heavenly, lush aura within us.
  From the amicable walks and chats with open – minded acquaintances and the urgency to thrive in these unpredictable months coming.
From the change from hot, crisp coffee and lattes to the soothing, teeming tones of tea.
Spring is here,
Spring is awakened.
And so am I.

- m.d.
Wrote this in the Spring, but it constantly got rejected for publication.
Saint Audrey Sep 2017
Nobody likes me now
I don't care
Everybody hates me now
They've got some nerve..
Everybody's looking down
I'm feeling cyclical
What should I do about

These *******

Pariah
Sin in over abundance
Liar
Reality could never change
Despondent
Sacrifice util it's incumbent
Pariah
You love the fair exchange

Gauge the metric
By which you judge
The proper usage

Harsher than the light on my keyboard

Often peckish
Killing skeptics
The proper usage
It all falls in the same vein

Forgiveness to a fault line
My god
All I've ever wanted was a new design
Hiding away in the suffering
Fudge the figure for the slumbering

Drab as they may come
Welcome to the whole **** phylum
Encroaching on the underlying theming
And everyone seems confused

I took the world
In my hands
Looked down
Then up again
They all were screaming
About the meaning
Under god
Claiming that they were free men

No resolve left, I stopped listening
par
Let me begin by saying
"I was a twin"
That's right was
I ate it in the womb.
Now it's not all doom and gloom
I had other siblings
But, one could say, that,
before birth I was a
murderer.
The evil twin.
Or, just peckish
Lecter had nothing on me!
Now, yes I did consume
my twin, but in my defence
(And my chagrin)
One of us had to win.
Imagine looking at a
being, your doppelgänger
from the room of the womb.
There wasn't enough elbow room
(or legroom)
for that matter
So, to my mater I apologise
that I cannibalised
myself.
© JLB
lizards have been had/
lost in a rush;
palpitative mess
with feet
drenched in leaving,
kept in binding.

dark as sirens
muffled, once or twice

washed up on the shore
with peckish reptiles,
and escape was
an escape, to scurry
was reasonable

through the blue
and green fields of
demeanor

innovation seldom left
piles, mountains off the coast.
I met Mike while standing on a peer
Plucking up food when people got near
He wandered up to where i sat
A portly belly made him seem fat

I gave him some leftover bread
Which I brought for the pigeons I had recently fed.
Mike seemed stunned, reaching over
He couldn't grasp it so I brought my hand lower

Peckish, he ate
From my palm, which had become a makeshift plate
Full, he sauntered down the path
To an adolescent boy toying with wrath

Mike, with his stomach full
Couldn't resist the young man's pull
Reached out for the food in the boy's hand
Not knowing the act had been planned

Mike flew off and quickly imploded
The food, within, had alka-seltzer loaded
This is what happens when life gets dull
Young boys blow up my new pet seagull
Sabrina Smith May 2013
peckish
for affection

parched
with an acrid aftertaste
of lost
lust

which would not soothe aches
of an empty
heart
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
Among bowing people
Some have their heads down
In the silent transience
Of tunneled sound
From the listeners, the caprice comes out
From Hakagawa bows to cognizant thinking
There's more to life than what meets the eye
There's more to life that's buried under the soil
Free from eternal toil
The ghost is a part of planetary motion
Some of our ancestors' were peckish for the universally jejune
Apparently, they went so far as to leave civilization to understand their place on earth
The human race is like a band running out of inspiration
Mark Dec 2019
Floating around the shores of a beach, whilst being all out to sea
I’ve been drifting about, the days are becoming so long
Nobody told me, it could so easily, happen to me
It’s not that it’s bad, I’ve done nothing wrong
It’s just time, as I knew it, seems to have skipped a beat
A month became a year, like time decided not to catch up and meet
Nowhere to sleep, little to eat, only new wayward floaters to greet

Can you see me or do you choose not to?
Acknowledge me, don’t look straight through me
I’m a human with a heart, if it were you, I’d ask about you
Like, how did you get here, how are you going, what’s your view
On political matters, religious stuff, world concerns, that you see
Put down ya phone, look into their eyes, talk to someone anew

Can’t find a job, most boss’s don’t like me, that’s how it seems
Can’t sing a tune or get the right pitch, just listen, that’s what it means
Living by the seashore, breeze in my face, no windows, in diss free place
Be careful who you trust, they’ll steal every dime, it’s a **** rat race
Friendly folk, pass on by, throw you a penny, ‘cause ya down on your luck
Some girls get down on their knees, handle da merchandise, then **** for a buck
Now quite peckish, haven’t eaten for days, down on one knee, oh ****

Can you see me or do you choose not to?
Acknowledge me, don’t look straight through me
I’m a human with a heart, if it were you, I’d ask about you
How did you get here, how are you going, what’s your view
On political matters, religious stuff, world concerns, that you see
Put down ya phone, look into the eyes, talk to someone anew

She’ll be right mate, but every next day, I’m still looking for a place to lay
Under a bush, upon a park bench, those **** insects, are having a field day
I’ve had enough, I got the courage, dialed the number, to get me out of here
Up pulled a Combi Van, with a smile on her face, as she wiped away a tear
Silence all the way home, just a nod or two, I'd gaze at her, the way ya do
At night, laying in bed, thoughts rushing in my head, most are true
In the morning, staring at a mirror, I finally saw the boy that my dear mom, once knew.
© Fetchitnow
21 December 2019.
(From my ‘About’ Period Collection)
Jose Rodriguez May 2016
Is a seeds first stem stopped by visions of a stump?
like a skater sent  face skidding by a bump
had I not heard of a camel and his ****
I'd think think dunes to be the doom of all
double dog dared I'm here doing the undareable
the other kids deemed it too daft
I deemed all else dull i'm apt
when they come to split paths they set up camp
I tried to walk a path and ended feeling cramped
forget about your human laws and ideologies
I never take a pause exist outside of all chronology
don't be mad at your alarm clock when you're the one that set it
time is ticking and they sleep through every second
or up all night with cold feet feeling peckish
I want the meat the antlers and fur coat
failure means to fuse in to the dirt slow
If it's good enough for seeds then it's good enough for me
Steve Page Jul 21
Blessed are you who know hungry.
Blessed are you who know thirsty.
Blessed are you who know both
hollow and empty.

I'm not talking to you peckish.
I'm talking to you who are conscious
of just how long it's been
since your last real meal.

Blessed are you when you pass up
on the offer of a fast food snack.
Blessed are you when you don't make do
with leftover scraps.

Jesus says:
Blessed are you who know your true need,
you who know where to fully feed.
Blessed are you who look to me,

- for I am the true life-giving manna,
sent down by your faithful Father-Provider.
I am the fresh-bread of eternal life.
Whoever comes to me -
be ready with a butter knife.
For you will never
go hungry.
First of a series, written for a planned sermon series at church.  
Matt 5.6 and John 6.35.
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
with no real reference to u2: i still haven't found
what i'm looking for -
which is music in a nutshell...

            hell... with all those guitar virtuosos...
to name a few... joe satriani...
                           john petrucci or steve vai...
but it wasn't what i was looking for...

   working backwards... something on the lines
of tom verlain...
      something: more laid back - guitar music:
sometimes lyrics are... bothersome -
              
           well... and the virtuoso music is simply:
a mood killer...
then the youtube algorithm starts
to glitch and fond memories of the jukebox
pop up like phosporescent moles...

            tommy guerrero...
                              no mans land...
                     a real shame to be writing anything
while this is playing in the background...
i'd settle for a wasp's nest of a head -
busy body me with both hands tied -
sipping a ms. amber in a corset and stockings
(bourbon) with some pepsi through
a straw...

                      i did think i was looking for
this something with egberto gismonti's solo...
apparently not...

   and for all its worth: the cut-off point...
i.e. what was once a calm revelation
of a lake...
becomes a frothing waterfall:

sometimes words are like bones anc concrete...
but me, being lazy...
                 teasing dyslexia or...
whatever...
                       you can say all you want
about... kevin spacey...
i'm not going to play the devil's advocate...
but...
                drift off... drifting off...
the required amount of prescriptive sleep...
no dreams...
i so too thought: i thought so too...
we wouldn't be buying sleep and dreams
over the counter...
big pharma excavations....

lester burnham...
and of course... kaiser sow'z'eh...
          sure... otherwise a kim novak /
     james stewart...

                      proper immigration:
send us your women... your ukranian... women...
and the brain-drain:
the best folk...
blah blah blah... blah blah...
what a load of...
glued to the concept of island:
easy to spot a border...
i guess...
                   it's always the carte blanches:
of a cate blanchetts and neurosurgeons
that make it...

no wonder... rewards in ***...
hmm... how about a genocide worth of *****
into a tissue... flushed...
gets the blood boiling...
Paris pre and during and "sort of"
after lockdown...
spike in female depression... no no...
this that and the other...

    so much more with... ****** and ***** banks...
i feel truly sorry for... women...
that will have to give birth to...
worker ants... construction workers...
not those pretty battersea shelter for
"stray" cats and dogs "nurses"...
i will  feel really sorry for the women
who will have to "forget"...
what's that term... hyper-... no...
  gyro- no... hyperbolic... no no nein!

hypergamy! yeah... and some women will
clearly not... up and up and more up...
if only i were a milkman's son...
a tiny little enclave... a stage...
the sea... the cliffs: i the next...
fisherman... the next trucker...

women of the world unite!
but this article... rage...
women don't need men:
of the same class - of the same dada venture...
the same dandies the same:
throws out a perfectly good electrical appliance...
because... "forgot" to check the plug fuse...
same ****... different cover...
all stereotypes... slavs are good workers...
all the plumbers and electricians
circa 2004 - 2018 were polacks...

everyone's a ******* poet over in:
englishland...
and a journalist...
and a whitney houston diva!
        well... no mistake there...
since all the n.h.s. nurses are dancing tiktok...
and...
i once thought it was: slavery...
unless: but i was... wrong...
about that well explained aspect of:
not a slave... but... rather...
being... conscientious...

          well... if you say it like that...
the ex-patriates who had tea with mussolini...
they weren't immigrants or:
high price of culture...
nor that anywhere west of the river Oder
experienced the cultural enrichment
of: that one-time-hit of mongolia and
the golden **** horde...
or that... some pakistanis still have a name:
muhammad... and a surname: khan...

it could be worse... it could be... much worse...
i could be... circumcised...

hell... have children: teach them how to ride
a bicycle: have them listen to mylo's
sunworshipper -
or stick around aging people...
walk up and down creaking wooden stairs...
and hear them snore...
while the bed lamp is still on...

with children and the fear of the dark...
with aging people and the fear
of death... and that's the middle ground
of focus...

royskopp - so easy - elevator music...
horror movie soundtrack:
nostalgia for the 1950s / 1960s
of the 20th century...
now... i can almost understand...
nostalgia for... circa:
the three muskateers...
         vikings...
                            but this sort of
nostalgia: "early on"... em...
the graveyard is the new musuem
with the added splash of al fresco artistry:
the wind, the shine, the peckish sparrows...
the rain...
the hot the cold...

'french single women were supposed
to be miserable on their own...
      thrilled from the pressure to hook
up' - adam sage...
          sage my st. augustine's sololoqui
burnt and smothered in sand-paper...
***...
            
   the world of *** toys and ***** banks...
and... casual joe says:
tables and chairs... brick walls...
buildings... magically popping up...
thin again! thinning air...

oh... i'm not *******... the french ladies
the english ladies don't really care much
for: women of the world unite...
press the war button...
otherwise an invasion is riddled
without bullets of rifles...
written on a postcard: wish?!
i'm coming over...

                     who's paying for the viewcount
of / and credibility?
heidegger and blue boy: remember me:
i'm asking... me standing before
the mirror - in half of adam's attire...
whithered: en vogue...

                  musik for the jilted generation...
heated debated looking for alternatives...

*** toys and ***** banks...
       white knights and... placebo hearts...
how i sometimes wish...
this was an abortion of a beethoven
and this was the medium of the grave...

i would much have better not been sold:
the child, the boy...
whatever that was circa up to the age of 21...
dress me up... in stilletos...
and horse reins and claps...
and tell me: plough this 'ere field...
better that... than the myth of the child of man...
that man is ever a child...
beside the lie in waiting...
tugged and pulled along...
    constipated / claustrophobic language:
that much i can understand...

i wish for having pristine:
leather like skin...
but since my skin: isn't doing my bidding:
that i am doing its (bidding)...
fur... living fur... cats for cuddles...
there's one sleeping in my bed...
right now: and i know that if i pick her
up... one of those bath floating ducks
playthings of a box of music of meows...

sensations: regarded as bone thinning...
and via tooth-loss inspired:
fwench kissing...

- junk-box of suprises - as random as a kandinsky
canvas or a burrough's paragraph...
better this kid achieved maturity
within the confines of an abortion...
than... this... one sure short: missing ******:
insert - ***** and ditto...
the constipated and less so:
islamic harem of the martyrs...
when three holes are given the liberal
shakedown...

to be shamed by *******:
when one isn't conscripted into
               circumcision: that flake
of living skin: the new niqab...
is like: the old, the new, the old...
moral compass of mommy kiss your cherubs
goodnight... **** daddy's **** prior...

wunderbar!
                    learn from spewing stewart...
learn a ditto: at least...
learn:
|
|
|
|  this is how you get a marker and decide
on how a paragraph begins...
cooking a slice of tender beef: aside...
into the beauty of a mid-western...
half baked cookies...
cookie dough jam: the ice-cream...
the crucifixions of no new tomorrow -
the same old... replica of constipation...
and... orthodox jews learning the violin...
like it's a slaughterhosue for horses -
and by miracle of the ching-chang-wall'ah...
prunes! prunes of the squirm!
lemon meets Paris...
meets... lemon meets...
a wine connoisseur... mr. lemon has
a busy schedule... all of asia... "practically"...
mr. lemon arrives in beijing...
                  suddenly the concept of batman
spawns... a centipede torso of...
availability of movement...

cul de sac protests! of course...
bag a cockerely and interrogate him in...
finnish!
it's as if... "they" almost forgot... to...
circumcise and castrate...
and have a 1UP on us... for that...,
much desired... quack!
choir of castrated oink voltaires:
no... those we call...

                    Sardinian...
                                 and tenors...
and: purple ******* sacks of a culmination
of a beard / stubble...
all bishop: all kosher... the voice!
the crescendo: better: unlike rain on
copper roof plating... tulips in goth...
goth: some would call...
strawberries: looking plump...
as juicy... and edible...
             come the cushions of a december
plough...
                  
            i much agree for the concerns
of the: seasonal dietitians...
root veg through winter...
the rest will follow: choir imperatives...
            
             tap tap... drum-roll: more chaotic...
and all the right: lost precisions...
akin to the enigma of:
the ballett of soft teasing snow...
come night and the toll of moon...
                  
            striding to find accents of heaven...
with worded: brush strokes of
the easily irritated fathomability:
bulk prize - it's still... a ******* square...
leaning tower of Pisa or cubism...
Picasso or no... Picasso...

all are waiting, the encore,
the alphabet... the encyclopedic entries...
suggesting: no banter for a worth if a wriggling
seance worth of shrapnel...
or that... arachnophobia:
and the scuttling spiders...
or the ones you touch... coin-flip...
limps stressed: tense... folded...
preteding to... play dead is all they ever do...

tommy the satire gun: ownership contra
worship... like... something from
a ***** universe...
before the sober judge...
before the sobering jury...
the drinking... "aristocrat" of accusations...
i drink... i drink...
because that's when i tend to scubadive...
skydive... i tend to spew: stew...
tell the truth... that drinking and listening
to music is one of those hazard free
"side-projects"...

        i find my heart among the sparrows...
such is their love for life...
i find my tongue among the crows
and magpies:
such is their critique of life: per se...
i find my feet in that magic carpet ride
of the widow swan:
a fate near impossible... nay...
completely: not near: impossible!
petting a dog for its worth of thick
cranium...
   circles galore! circles and circles...
this is not me stroking a leash...
or.. being fidget genius
over a muzzle...

        thumbs up: the ****...
                   more sparkle?
more colour? more dehydrated shrimp
paste? shrimp *****
and mr. lemon serves up:
an experience of tourism from beijing,..
mongolian squint eye:
squiggly noon ugh... sun...

warsaw the parade of ghosts and echoes...
esp. the underground
when the trains roll in from Kiev
and further east...
karma-alcoholic & cinderella "ulterior"
opt outs...
            by best decipher for ads...
i.e. counter... oculus per oculus:
eye for an eye...  shylock and i agree...
a violin for a violin...
a horse's mane for a bow...

                             better than: the end...
             ditto...
                            lady justice gave both her
eyes up... to pressure
a box into abiding by rules
of the guillotine...
  like hell: will this supposed soul...
this branch of learning:
psychology and the logic of non-existence...
ever...
because of how asthma and irregular
breathing... mr. itsy-witsy
and mr. boogie rain-man..

                             **** up and **** with
the readily available...
i'll watch...        a best canape of voyeurism...
is akin to: faking a pose of
atlas... when... performing the banality
of the metaphor of sisyphus.
Hoped that he would find the time
to turn this glass of water into wine,
but no, I'm drinking H20
never mind
there's always another day
isn't that what they say?

Monday's now a done day
I might write away
or go out to play,
better yet
I could make an omelette
because I am feeling rather
peckish
and a thought arises,
did Gregory Peck ever feel peckish?

there's
no room for maneuvering in my brain
it's like a tube train in the crush hour
full up to the brim with things that are
in there.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
when a cashier breaks ranks,
and she exposes all the customer is always right
*******,
when you bid her goodnight and
she turns, all fear and loathing in las vegas
face of forced politeness -
a face that looks more like a hallucination
than expressing the calm of repeating
the endless android-like no-problems boss:
the customer is always right...
     it's like on this Ford-style conveyor belt,
being assembled for nothing other than
a death...
   bought the Bacardi *** and the Japanese
beer.. stumbled...
some kinds of ciders make you peckish,
but this wasn't the 8.2% cider...
              went back and looked for a tube of
Pringles (salt & vinegar)...
walk home eating about 3/4 of the tube...
  just thinking about the face i just saw...
10 minutes from closing time...
     and what happens when you undermine
the impersonal relation between a supermarket
cashier and the shopper...
and groove into the personal relation between
a supermarket cashier and the shopper...
elsewhere it's the obvious polarization,
the: high-ground, the middle-ground...
and then the trenches of arguments...
plus... i haven't eaten crisps in a long time...
that's what a seasonal-based diet does to you...
strawberries? in December?!
                             what?!
                 apples in the middle of summer?!
what?!
           well... i almost forgot how decent
pitchshifter's album deviant was...
back in the day... rumors of being banned
and what not... well... whatever happened
with that band... sure as **** happened...
maybe the whole Queenie Liz the II
   and Johnnie Papa Paul the II cover did it back
then...
               culturally speaking...
back in the *** Pistols decade?
                               you could get away with
anything, things were stagnant or at least plateau
on the Norman side of events.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2023
am ende meines lebens angekommen, möchte (meschte) ich armer sünder auf diesem pergament zeugnis abgeben / having arrived at the end of my life, i want this poor sinner to surrender to the parchment-transcripts, handed over...

i haven't really listened to pop music in a long... while...
o.k.: i'm lying, there's a rubric of pop songs
i revisit habitually
like the religiosity implosion of church
from church-state (which, given the Vatican,
still exists) toward the church (one end)
state (the other end)... as with the disillusionment
of the concept of state... or is that nation, ethnicity
etc           etc            etc             ?      ?
                                                   ?      ? woo! a question sq.

i'm feeling very much **** clerical...
i'm a cleric of the Third *****...
times are great, given that someone had the *****
to put the unfair Treaty of Versailles
to some well-earned rest...
         rest assured: i will not be grieving the death
of letters, names, locations of birth
with some Auschwitz'ian sudoku...

nāmé (vornàmé)
  sur... name: nachnāmé... surname...

Grzegorz... Brzęczyszczykiewicz...

      (jak rozpętałem drugą wojnę światową -
how i unleashed world war II)
borrow from the film

verschließen! verschließen!
    
what is a V to a ******? Y has a name: igrek...
and V has a name: fał...

den mund halten? sort of confusing...
ver-shly-ss-en...
      my y oh why not not an i
when sometimes also an e...
ply-i
            Plymouth... Y done there right and proper...
say Plymouth one more time...
do you say: Plemouth or Plimouth...
you don't even utter mouth in the name
of an English city: plYmΩΘ

      the Y is a "hollowed out" iota or

ị: given that English, language, not the people
do not use diacritical markers
expect for i and j: aye, yes, affirmative and
jay... which is squeezing in jade... too...

Plymouth: my mouth is bleeding and i'm plucking out
teeth with my tongue...
i count 32 teeth... but only 26 letters in English...
i was getting assessed for an SIA license
today in Barking... the first Q that popped up
was: how many letters are there in the alphabet?

i should have written
a e i o u b c d f g h j k m n p q r s t

instead i wrote down:

a b c d e f g h i j k m n o p q r s t u v q w x y z...
yeah... with a Bachelor's degree in chemistry
you'd think i'd get that right....
apparently i have a blindspot for L...
jeez... i only had 25 letters...
had to check my phone...
twice... once for a missing letter Lil and El
and another time about what % and
the ugly baron of fraction (synonymous)
implied...

Barking Surrealism... i'm in England and yet
i'm being checked for language proficiency...
but i'm bilingual... don't talk to me about
schizophrenia and "losing touch with reality":
England has lost touch with reality:
outright...
my math wasn't so bad although...
i did get one question wong like wok desperado
because i answered the Q with
the better deal... not the worst deal
for a mobile phone contract...

now if i was an INDIGENOUS English fellow:
yeah... that would be intimidating...
but since i'm an immigrant myself...
well... (insert snigger): this is a bit of a topsy-turvy
tickle... isn't it?
i'm not ambitious enough for a middle-class
sitting at an office table gherkin festering...
but can you imagine...
being asked by an Asian or an African
if you speak the adequate English... in England?
which makes me think about the genius of
Russian hackers... do they speak proficient
Nigerian in Russia?! really?!

i was thinking about becoming a soap model
for adverts in Ghana half a year ago...
the pale complexion might give me a booster...
this is... absolutely, utterly:
Barking Surreal:
East End Surrealism...
i'm being assessed about my comprehension
of the English language... in England...
the **** do "people" speak in Antarctica?
penguin?! or do they speak chicken cluck cluck?!
and strut like geese? goose is the singular:
geese is the.... ha ha ha: mein *****!

this invention of a para-neo-**** cult of ideas
was bound to happen...
this is: a para-neo-**** cult of ideas:
it's a sort of bewildering scenario of: huh?!
it did happen, it has happened: it's happening, now?

personally i'm rather thankful that Europe has been
"invaded" by hordes from Asia and Africa:
i have a fetish for Indian and Latino girls...
i tried a black girl once...
she aimed at giving me a plum bruise on my
pelvis... she rammed down rammed down so hard
i almost forgot i ****** her in the dark...
it was pretty clear then that i was: no... she was...
aiming at circumcising me with her *******...
but i'm not a Heb' so no circumcision: thank you:
i have that excess skin for when i don't have
a ****** partner so there's no room for me to
make ******* a fetish...

but this was weird: i get the mathematical conundrum
but the language conundrum?
there are 32 teeth in the mouth of man...
as there are 32 letters in the Polish alphabet...
see! the wrong "aryans" lost the war...
Polacks from the 16th century onward
felt inclined to cite the migration of an Aryan
tribe toward the Vistula... the Sarmatians...
fake Aryans conquering truer Aryans...
drop the Q because that's like a faking C and K...
and drop the V...
and you get ą, ę, ć, ś... ó... ł, ż... ź...
technically you could also have š and č...
but then then Czech educator... theologian...
Yan (not Jane) Huß comes into play with Czech
and ž... and š and č...

to hide the Z in ****** or the H in English:
but then... no point hiding the H in English for too long
since: memories of Viking raids and the Norman invasion
you have enough free time to conjure up games
akin to football, cricket, rugby: goal oval ball H...
imitation of water-man and earth-man...
pass ball backwards but move forwards...

so much for meta-relationships:
i'm stuck in London, it's raining, therefore dreary therefore
i'm on reflective mode and melancholically adrift on
a memory-cinema of staying a month on
Kauai... funny how she says: Lay-che-ster...
Leicester... that's... Lester...
why not Lay-K'eh'ster? why does and who
advocates the C to become a K
and when did someone make his penny
on turning the C into a Σ?

   since that is the case, no?
ς = ç (transliteration-plagiarism):
there is no W or V sound in Greek...
R from P and P in Π - Greek to Latin transliteration
wasn't a complete plagiarism
that turned Zeus into Jupiter...
to this say Greek is reminiscent of Spanish whenever
employed in speech, or: zu sprechen...
sometimes even zu spreschen...

another quill... for my ugly peacock: -sch- / ś

grössenwahn - feindflug

a great motivational song to do bureaucratic
wordings of: filter the men who speak das zunge
from men who don't speak: dass / das das zunge...

30 minutes... from Havering Road to Barking Market...
compliments of owning a bicycle:
and using the Elizabeth line...
even by car alone the travel given
Bangladeshi traffic mantras would take me
close to 2h...
**** that...
every time i cycle in these "no go zones"
filled with Asians but no Ching Chong Wa's...
i'm worried about traffic accidents...
reminiscent of: niqabs are tunnel vision and goggles
and sometimes like crow-eyed
you see the first dinosaurs proper in chickens
before flight took off and chickens became
pigeons and it's scary to not find it funny
seeing how: i can't see! i can't see!
in the corner of my eyes those women
donning niqabs...

but i can get away with it
when i also see the "other Asians":
Sikhs... who... some even become proselytes when
it comes to the turban... shave their hair
and don western clothing because it's classy...
obviously the Muslims are an ****** hostile group
that need to feel comforted by
suicide bombings and shalwars and pajamas...
and those Palestinian headscarves:
but please... give me those guys
and not my ethnicity-shared-zombie-plot-holders
who came out of the Harry Potter transgender
apocalypse into the fore of political antagonism
a cause of causes...

basically ginger-bred foot ugly foo jimmy carr
typos... like typo is best defence for spelling
******* correctly?

i did listen to Edie though... every time i go
cycling, what do i eat should i feel peckish?
i eat 160g of chicken breast...
sometimes hot and spicy, sometimes bbq...
sometimes chinese chá-wah...
   but no carbohydrates... just the meat...
and oddly enough: i'm full for most of the day...
apparently i have a problem
because i sleep-eat... i also sleep-talk...
i truly miss being intimate with a bulb...
a woman... i don't understand *******...
to me... there's nothing better than an older...
voluptuous woman...
like my grandfather, Joseph, used to say:

a woman of full trim...
*******... ***... thighs...
and she is just that...
thanks to her i've forgotten what ******* is...

so we started talking about technology
how i use chatGPT to be able to write so freely here
for a canvas and an audience of 2
while also having to do the dreary prosaic...
and she sends me these filtered pictures
from tictoc and... given my access to AI...
seeing these "improvements":
but no no... she has the tenacity and the intelligence
to also send me the grotesque shots of herself...
in one...
she's the spitting image of: Schlitzie...
the pinhead circus freak!
and that's what's so fascinating!

the reality is: she's somewhere in the middle...
she's not some model
but she's also not some pinhead circus frrrrrr...
frrrr... (her daughter can't trill the R...
do the rattlesnake, ha ha)...

Edie: i beg to differ... there is no V in Greek...
ergo? Matthew...
last time i heard TH = Θ = F...
TH = PH:
phonetically... obviously these two letters
exist... identical phonetically
but when written down to exfoliate
in a change of meaning...

but now we have to be borrowing from Norse...
i.e. þought...
       and ðe: the thought...
how many times: it's not M'ah-view:
it's Math: mathematics...
how is mathematics different from Matthew...
the added T?
ma-th-ematics
ma-th-ew...
                  how on earth is that even phonetically
conceivable, that, i'm getting in "wong wonky"?

alðough ≠ alþough... clearly... all-foe?!
because given whatever Nordic letter:
although is said:
ål-v'oh... there is no T no H no G no H...
but that's how English is:
sort of French: two languages in one...
the phonetic said... and the counter-phonetic
written: of meaning off what is said...

å: owl - aul... even... or... that's plenty...
owl: ah! áwl! á = !
but punctuation dictate... surprise?

Maþew or Maðew? my view or my few?
thank god i don't like the sound of my own voice...
but this is good... this is good:
being brought down back to basics,
asked by Asians in England whether
i speak English in England...
this is good...
but like i choke-joked with her:
would a second language help?
people in these clerical positions are not exactly ready
for outliers like me who find this whole
schizophrenic-society funny...

i was once allocated the stigma of a unit
of schizophrenia i plagiarised and let go onto my environment
with stunning results:
well with bilingualism: am i not schizoid by
default?
oh right right... the intelligence typo:
must be... i somewhat wish i was born in a time
when people like Ezra Pound were committed to
institutions where no crimes were committed beside
wonk-fink...

          like the fetish for fascism is a...
in vivo depth-charge energy drive while
democracy is a cuckoldry in vitro sloppy seconds
of off "something"...

oh poor Amber... at the last Fulham shift...
she got a lesson in stoicism...
poor thing... maybe 17... came to the shift
without eating breakfast...
i sided with her: neither have i...
give it 30 minutes... she'll crack...
and she did... at first she was drawing doodles
in her notepad... then she approached me
about feeling ill and vomiting in the toilet:
wait there... i'll get someone...
found some safeguarding stewards:
apparently a grandma of sorts
who came round with a chocolate bar and an apple...
poor thing felt better... immediately...
girl: you don't go to work fasting
if you don't tease at the joys of
Stoic-Ramadan...
i like to feel the pain from hunger the the light-headedness
of not enough calorie intake...

obviously she went home: in tears...
but at least i found the help to pull her through:
this difficult task of mismanaging ****** fluids...
only recently i discovered i have bouts
of IBS: irritable bowel syndrome...

it's kind of funny: irritably so:
being of this branch of immigration that molded itself
into English society just at the right time
of seeing English Conservatism deplete itself
of any conservative credibility...
likewise seeing English liberalism turn into
a freakish illiberalism...
i too can become hyper-focused on grammar
and prune-those-nouns to "shape"!
i too: can become a grammar-****...
and with glee... not that i might mind to correct:

who doesn't like the odd schadenfreude of someone
buckling on a spelling of onomatopoeia?
because riddle me this: C U DER...
there is no seeing no you nor there, n'est ce pas?

nicht verloren: ein rückkehr:
schtill friedhöfe von Flandern:
             were once old foes of Europe fought for
bread and silk and the best societal ideal
to amass these billions of souls...
to be later scolded for... von ihre: fehler besitzen:
noch! würde nicht besitzen zu!

then again: the Hindu conceptualisation via reincarnation
is what? a pseudo-Vatican of the chosen / elected souls
migration through a zombie-land of flesh...
if it isn't then i don't know what 1 + 1 indicates
with = 2... reincarnation is a cognitive-caste symbiosis
for stereotyping the internal prejudices of the Indians:
lighter toned in the north:
oh don't you mind those Bangladeshi munchkin monkeys...

to think that only white people can be racist
is absurd... how did it come that i'm finishing this poo'em
on racism: page politics...
write two encouraging comments to get your poem
posted: another zombie sob story
white white white supremacy
patriarchy... kind of handy that feminism managed
to create a feminist platonism without actually
providing a female plato...
or a feminist german idealism without providing
a female kant...
because, you know: **** digs deeper than ****:
cognitively: some "bias"... must be the purple hair dye...

i blame white girls who haven't had a proper
**** but have only been exposed to ******* for this...
and "they" blame men and exposure to *******
as if: pedophiles are exclusively male...
and never, ever... female...
like it's all hush hush about female exposure to
******* that they spew these tangled *****
diatribes about white-fetish and father-double-fetish?!
missing... probably with some action: necro?
you'd hope...

can't get the decent **** so turns to political activism!
turns to narcissistic delusional licking of wounds...
can't use an AI chat bot because too busy
throwing on AI filters to save up on make-up when
catfishing...
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
feeling peckish, i'm storming around the thought of a perfect poached egg on toast, with houses of parliament sauce to boot.*

you know that you can only become
mad once, right?
problem is: you can become
sane twice... the second time you
become sane you realise
the unfathomable:
   all these people in my life: are ******* mad!
funny that i was supposed to be
the "madman"; i guess not being
honest, and not being blunt does to you:
the idea of english two-faced politeness
creates an national ethos for the russian
observation of said: "eccentricity" -
and with the situation with islam -
i find myself wishing for a cold war II...
this war on terror has too many
cliffhanger moments...
    at least with the soviet union we knew
that dropping more than the 3rd nuke
meant it wasn't profitable to make war...
dropping nukes never makes for
profiteering war barons / dogs...
a nuke warhead is ransom money,
but a million ammunition rounds?
that's business.
you're looking for windowlickers?
find 'em elsewhere;
everyone ought to have known that
the cold war nuke fear was a scam...
nukes don't make wars into profit...
nukes do not make war dogs...
                wars are not fought on
ultimatums -
                 they end on ultimatums -
wars do not begin with terrorist ultimatums!
there are investors to mind!
you will get more money on
ammunition in the 100K+ numbers
than a single nuke...
                                  pity the fool!
hey, if the ***** mohawk said it:
  he's not saying it for anything other than
an A+ grade in highschool.

— The End —