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David Ehrgott Jan 2015
You're always telling me stories you found
To make up for telling me lies
Sometimes I feel that I've had it with you
And just want to head for the sky

I've got to hand it, the platter to you
Without you I'd be lonesome blue
If ever anyone hurt me like you
They'd probably sing these words too

Like you're singing

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
All night and day you can take me away
To your very own special nice place

Play with me

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
You made me to occupy time that you needed
When it was time to get away

And so please

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
You're better off with me playing these games
Then just sitting and wasting away

The song is so merry
And notes keep it cherry
And fingers keep bouncing on keys
And clarinets sing to the french horns that ring
In the air is a freshness it brings

We're holding our hands
And we're dancing around
And we don't even care if we're seen
We're laughing and smiling and happy again
Feeling like we're in our teens

I wink at you as you giggle with me
Suddenly life is serene
Never again can I live life
Without you or someone
I swear that it's this that I mean

And you sing to me

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
All night and day you can take me away
To your own special very nice place

Take me there

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
Take me away
Play
Take all my stress away
Take all my miserable pain

And worry

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
You make my living worth living again
And again
This is all I can say

Come on and

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
Make up a medley, a game, or just play
Play to make time go away

Play with me

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
Move all the strings with your ice cream sticks please
A jiggle just might make me sneeze

Come on, please

Play
Play
Geppetto please play
Forget your worries and just play away
Untill it's another new day

Play
I used to be a golfer once
But, now I am a hack
I swing around a waist of jello
I only play the middle tees
I used to play the back
I only use ***** that are yellow

My game is up on the shelf
I don't know why
And I only play golf by myself
It's no lie
I wish I still could play, I wish that I could play
I wish that I could play, someone else

I used to have a short game once
I used be real good
(Where do you think you might have lost it?)
I used to have no fear at all
I knew all that I should
(Is it with your sand wedge, where you tossed it?)

My game is up on the shelf
I don't know why
And I only play golf by myself
It's no lie
I wish I still could play, I wish that I could play
I wish that I could play, someone else

I used to split the fairways boys
I used to sink the putts
(What ever happened to the feeling?)
I can't hit a **** fairway now
I only hit wide cuts
(It's enough to send my mindset reeling)

My game is up on the shelf
I don't know why
And I only play golf by myself
It's no lie
I wish I still could play, I wish that I could play
I wish that I could play, someone else

Now, I am afraid most days
I can't hit it off the ground
I only hit well when I drink some
I know each tree out on our course
I know the ball hits tree bark sound
I only play good when I've got ***

My game is up on the shelf
I don't know why
And I only play golf by myself
It's no lie
I wish I still could play, I wish that I could play
I wish that I could play, someone else

I used to be a golfer once
I wish I still could play
I wish so hard for that sweet feeling
I once was good
But not today
If I could find Diablo, I'd be dealing

But, my game is up on the shelf
And it's funny
How, I play only by myself
No money
I wish that I could play
I wish that I could play
I wish that I could play like myself
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
oh sure, forgiveness of sin... or perhaps crimes... or just fetishes? like John Paul II forgiving sin, once polite society answered and John Paul staged the forgiveness session in a prison cell... forgiveness alright, acted out, with all the preliminary provisions readied - ode to Mehmet Ali Ağca, forgiveness always played out great for photography when all the Chinese laws were passed - Siberia welcomes all keen joggers; but you know one thing? raised in a canine environment as a child i learned to attach a different perspective with felines:*

like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse - you keep teasing - you keep teasing - you keep teasing - you just wait... crocodile or boa insomniac - and when the opposite party has banked enough to cry about having lost it... you spit at your enemy's mother's face while ****** her; **** me! you get to prove god along the way! how's that for a Camden Market daytrip? and if you don't? well, it was a nice thought - feels like being a woman with a foetus craving doughnuts and pickles.
Glenn Appleby Jan 2013
I find a part of me produces verse
(well, not verse, not really).
Really, I produce a play.
So, really, the part of me producing verse
produces parts.
So, really,
The part of me producing plays
is part-producing.
The work this part of me produces ,
produces parts in verse.
But really,
It's an inverse play, since really,
the work (a play, with parts in verse)
(Or, really, a play with verse in parts))
is divided into three parts. Like Gaul.
Within this work, this play,
these three parts produce
(or, really, reproduce) a play.
This play, in verse, within this work,
is, in part, an inverse play,
since, really, they produce (or really, reproduce)
a part of me.

The play plays back a part of me -
an inverse play plays back words, in verse,
ever onward.

It's a bit of a play on words, really.

It's partly words at play.
It's partly an inverse play,
producing bit parts in verse with verse parts,
in bits.
Or really, the parts produce plays, that is,
A part of me produces verse and
in part, the verse produces the play.
This inverse play produces parts
these parts, inverse, produce a play,
this play, in part, produces (reproduces) me.

The work is a play on words.
The play is a work in verse.
The work is an inverse play.
But not really.
Play around play around
While all the families are getting
On with their lives you play around
You see mate I don’t tell lies
I am happy just to play around
The families are getting on with their lives and I just play with them because I am the eldest
I do what I want and that is just to play around
I drink with the dudes and and dance with the chicks yeah mate yeah I am so cool
I like my friends they are nice to me especially one friend who played with me
He played basketball and we went to the footy and we listened to the music together
Like mainly heavy metal and chart topping greats we head banged together and when all the families went to bed we stayed up all night teasing our mate and we liked to play around play around I am a cool kid to my mates when we play around and then we went to bed and we talked there all night
And play around play around
You see we have fun teasing our mate when we play around
We eat fish and chips and dump tomato sauce on top and then we play around play around while the others are getting on with their lives you just play around and then party all night
Listening to music watching cool movies talking about school and getting totally wasted, you talk to your friend
While he is doing the washing up and the vacuuming and it was cool, as we talked about being cool all night while our nerdy friend who we teased went to bed early
Play around play around
Having fun teasing people as we play around when you try and learn anything in the future your brain is telling you, really you used to play around play around all the time being cool


Sent from my iPhone
Heather Butler Mar 2012
Well, what now, hey?
     I threw the dog overboard yesterday.
     The day before, the day?
Where will you go, hey?

I heard the orchestra-man play
The same way,
     Sanctum, requiem, asylum
All Latin in his French dog-eared play.

     Hear the monkey, playing accordion play
To the whirling whirly-whirly-ghig
     Tre dramatique, no? Today
I understand you're just as "tramatig."

I want to hear your Frenchmen play
Play ***** pipes play play
      In his dog-eared French *****-man
Play

But I cannot, cannot say
     Tears of joy, in hydrant spray
The Hyades triumphant rainbow stay
     Cough your little fears away;

Hear the Star Spangled Francis Key play
Frenchmen play, play,
Little piggies counted play
Black white keys with little piggle-plumps play

Atone-al, A-tonal---atonal tonal sounds as if to say
"Getting married here to stay"
       All alone and all today
      Settle down if for a day
And who will hear the trumpet play
When *****-man Frenchman say
"Where? Home of the free" and stay

Keep your hands away
Never want to        let you say
               "Hear me, hear ye, all you weary, weary dreamers
         But never left your confidence like Russell-rustle leaf-blown willow-white

You fill them up with seventy two pay
      Make a kite, to(k)night, allRight
      Thank god for the fleas in the right
Hairless creatures for to sway

I threw the dog overboard yesterday
The day before, the day
And if you'd wanted it to stay
You should've say, you should've say

But never let my hand betray
The vein, the line, the artery
Of arterial shells bombastically
Loquacious to a fault, this day

They say "You want another day"
They say "You never wanted say"
They say "You wasted every day"
They say "They say, they say, they say"

                   But e'er forget, ne'er forget
                   I'll despise you abandon heaven for earth to get
       And leave your money, your millions behind
       For mansions with my Lord to find

But in the ceiling never was a god to pray
I could play the background
I could play the background
Cause I know sometimes I get in the way
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
And I could play the background, background
And you could take the lead

It's evident you run the show, so let me back down
You take the leading role, and I'll play the background
I know I miss my cues, know I forget my lines
I'm sticking to your script, and I'm reading all your signs
I don't need my name in lights, I don't need a starring role
Why gain the whole wide world, If I'm just going lose my soul
And my ways ain't pure if I don't live according to Your Word
I can't endure this life without Your wisdom being heard
So word, to every dancer for a pop star
'Cause we all play the background, but mine's a rockstar
Yeah, so if you need me I'll be stage right
Praying the whole world will start embracing stage fright
So let me fall back, stop giving my suggestions
'Cause when I follow my obsessions, I end up confessing
That I'm not that impressive, matter of fact I'm who I are,
A trail of stardust leading to the superstar

I could play the background
I could play the background
Cause I know sometimes I get in the way
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
And I could play the background, background
And you could take the* lead

I had a dream that I was captain of my *
soul
I was master of my fate, lost control, and then I sank
So I don't want to take the lead, 'cause I'm prone to make mistakes
All these folks who follow me, gon' end up in the wrong place
So let me just shadow you, let me trace your lines
Matter of fact, just take my pen, here, you create my rhymes
'Cause if I do this by myself, I'm scared that I'll succeed
And no longer trust in You, 'cause I only trust in me
And see, that's how you end up headed to destruction
Paving a road to nowhere, pour your life out for nothing
You pulled my card, I'm bluffing, You know what's in my hand
Me, I just roll and trust you, You cause the dice to land
I'm in control of nothing, follow you at any cost
Some call it sovereign will, all I know is you the boss
Man, I'm so at ease, I'm so content
I'll play the background, like it's an instrument

I could play the* background
I could play the *
background
Cause I know sometimes I get in the way
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
And I could play the background, background
And you could take the lead

I know I'm safest when I'm in Your will, and trust Your Word
I know I'm dangerous when I trust myself, my vision blurred
And I ain't got no time to play life's foolish games
Got plenty aims, but do they really glorify Your name
And it's a shame, the way I want to do these things for You, yeah
Don't even cling to you, take time to sit and glean from You
It seems You were patient in my ignorance
If ignorance is bliss, it's 'cause she never heard of this

I could play the background
I could play the background
Cause I know sometimes I get in the way
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
And I could play the background, background
And you could take the lead

I could play the background
I could play the background
Cause I know sometimes I get in the way
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
So won't You take the lead, lead, lead?
And I could play the background, background
And you could take the **lead.
I just love this song....it really means a lot to me.
emily Jan 2019
hey I want to play a game

let's play the game where you say I look good with him and I laugh, thinking it's an insult
let's play the game where I can't see him as a friend anymore after you said that
let's play the game where I contemplate my feelings towards him
let's play the game where I imagine a life with him because I fall so fast
let's play the game where being locked in the storage room for several years makes me afraid that he's a boy
let's play the game where I pick him apart to rebel against myself
let's play the game where I tear myself apart because he isn't my dream girl
let's play the game where I think about him for three months and it breaks me
let's play the game where I accidentally fall in love
let's play the game where I risk my heart and confess on a Tuesday
let's play that game where I'm crying in my best friend's hair and everyone passes by saying he wasn't worth it anyway
let's play the game where I wait for 8 days tearing my head apart
let's play the game where he finally calls and says "I want to be with you"
let's play the game where I get all I ever wanted
let's play the game where I'm happy with the love of my life and he's happy to be with me
let's play the game where he actually loves me too

Never mind, forget it
I don't want this
I don't want to play anymore
Sleepz Dec 2013
Lets play a game,
The one where we act like we know each other.
Let's play a game,
The one where I'll pretend to never hurt you.
Let's play a game,
Lets play a game.
People get used to pushing others away,
People get used to being on their own,
But it shouldnt be that way.
Let me understand you,
The way you understand me.
Let me show you a different game,
Let's call that game Life.
Let's play it together and cheat as much as we want,
Take off our masks,
And show the world what we really are.
Even if I'm ugly inside, and you are filled with happiness.
Even if I'm afraid of myself, show me that you aren't.
Show me a good future,
And I'll help you forget about the past.
Let's play this game,
Even though it wont last long,
Until the time comes where you have to come back home,
Back where youre alone trapped in your thoughts,
And you can't help but to be depressed.
You can't help but to wish you were dead.
Theres something missing here,
And you could use some fixing.
Let's play a game,
Where we could all pretend all these problems didnt even exist.
The one only me and you could understand.
Let's play a game,
Where you could escape and never come back.
Truth is I'll miss you,
Even though we pretended to know each other all along I fell in love with your disguise
But he thing is,
I know some truth about you,
I could see it in your eyes.
Let's play a game,
Where we dont need to act surprised
Where we dont try to hide,
It'd be impossible cause I'd always find you.
And when I do you'll have tears going down your eyes,
Its a side you never really let me see.
I remember you gave me the key to your heart,
But I still find myself knocking,
And you always answered the door.
Let's play a game,
Where I never saw you again.
Let's play a game,
Where all I really needed was your permission.
Let's play a game,
Before we ever have to go back to reality.
Let's play a a game.
Ottar Oct 2013
Years ago When I Was A Child, a fragrance of
summer was on the hot air and winters white,
frosty and snowy hid the toes of your boots when you slid.
I was studious and sedate, except at play
when I became a wild,
part of a dog pile,
                            of other wild kids at play.

Limbs tangled and the weight of friendship,
was worth more than the ore and gold pulled
from the mine, then purified by smelting.
  
We could run, explore and hide
on our favourite mountainside,
change alliances,
pick teams,
fun was the factor
winning was the dream,
with some rivalry,
we did not need to
worry,
or hurry, it wasn't
about
car bombs in our markets, temples and churches,
we did not need to look alone through the rubble
that was once our humble home,
we needed to watch out
for poison ivy, poison oak and rusty nails
we did not need to look out
for mines that no one mapped,
in a war which neither side
cared for those
               whose future they have changed irrevocably.
                                                   And not for the better.

At night a train might disturb my sleep,
not a poorly dropped bomb intended for
the enemy camp, not on the edge of a village,
where the hole swallowed dreams and futures and spit out death,
we played kick the can, hide and go seek
where running, not hopping on one foot,
was the deal,
where seeing, was important with both
eyes, in the dark.

We did not blow out our ankle, unless we tripped
on a curb, unlike some children, blow off a lower
limb at the knee, because they tripped a wire, which
tripped a switch, of a metal canister in the dirt
which once was a playground, before became
a forgotten battlefield.  And a playground once again,
                                       after it was for a time a cemetery.
A mass grave.

This was supposed to be about play,
Play, what if every child who could play
stopped until all children were able.

You can pray for peace,
you can play for peace,
but can you play to stop wars.
Adults play at making peace,
as long as their interests (cha-ching)
are met, again and again,
then maybe the children's children's
children can play, if they remember how,
thank God
children
are resilient
and play is a
natural consequence of fun.
So run along children and
play
stay safe
and away from where your brothers... play no more.




©DWE102013
sadly death and destruction and mutilation is a man-made consequence of war
free writing, so play can be free
The Good Pussy Apr 2015
.
                                 Playdough
                             Playdough Play
                           dough Playdough
                         Playdough  Playdou
                           Playdough     Play
                           dough Playdough
                           Playdough     Play
                           dough Playdough
                            Playdough    Play
                            Dough Playdough
                            Playdough     Play
                            Dough  Playdough
                            Playdough     Play
                            Dough  Playdough
                             Playdough     Play
                            Dough  Playdough
                            Playdough      Play
                            Dough  Playdough
                   Playdough          Playdough
            Playdough Play   dough  Playdough
           Playdough   Play   Playdough   Play
            Dough Playdough  Playdough Play
                Dough Play             Playdough
Sharina Saad May 2013
You are a girl and I'm a boy and springs not so far away
What do you think your mum will say if I ask you out to play
I will promise her that I'll be good and will never misbehave
maybe just a little naughty but I promise I will be English gentleman..
who brings you safely home again to your door step..
..... at the end of the day

If you trust me girl, let's go out do not delay
Its a sunny day today let not waste time on a precious day..
Don't think twice..dont think thrice just come out to play
come out at once.. let me make you laugh again..
laugh again.. laugh again … when we play again and again….

Heard you were scolded by your mummy today
at school your teacher made you stand outside all day..
forget all that now my sweet girl, let us play
adults don't understand that we kids need to play.. need to play..

On a summers day and spring days.. everyday
Lets play hide and seek, do you still remember the old old days?
We used to hide in auntie Rose's huge garden to play?
hope you'd remember the roses I'd pick for you?
I saw a sweet sweet rose just perfect for your hair...
Come lets play on a Spring day today....

I used to cheat when we were playing hide and seek those days
lets play again this time I'd try to let you win all the way

There your pretty looking mum is coming…
Hope she'd noticed me, a good boy next door..
I'd pray she'd let you out to play this evening..
I wish she doesnt mind to let your beautiful gown gets *****
I hope... i pray... I wish.... we can play..
if she doesn't let you still
ohh pity me... my spring days will be such a bore….
Wrote this with Joe who lives in UK.
Sharina Saad May 2013
Went to my ancestor's home on a Spring season that year..
On a Holi day in the land of Chanchadari
A peaceful morning in Hoshiarpur, the doors to Himalaya
Happy Holli day!! The kids shout with cheer
Holi Hai! Holi Hai! Lets play Holi!!!

He woke up early morning that day..
With a bucket of colored water waiting for me
I stepped outside my grandpa's door
In a split second I was soaked in a coloured water…
From head to toes… red, orange, yellow, purple… the colors of Holi…
Ohh It's a Hoi Hai day alright…
Lets play Holi … Lets play Holi..

Hails spring with ecstasy and joy!
The trees smile with their sprout
of tender leaves and blooming flowers,
The land of beauty and greatness,
India, witnessing color of happiness and peace.
Nation come alive to enjoy the spirit
A celebration of color- Holi!
An experience of content, harmony and delight.

Holi colors of red, green, yellow and countless.
A day's canvas - a riot of colors.
Lively crowd running, dancing, playing
Rainbow of colors, Lets play Holi and splish and splash!!
Lets play with the frenzy colors .. play on Holi Hai day….

I am dreaming of playing with colors with you
It is the Holi celebration after all.
I can't play inside my home, the carpets will get tainted,
I cant' play it in the yard, the grass and outer walls will get painted.
I thought I would go to the secret garden of ours,
and play with you Holi hai day …
It's a colourful day just you and me..
In love on Holi Hai day…. Lets play Holi..
A poem about Holi festival of colors I dedicated to friends and relatives in unique India.
I've been back
To where I came from
I've been back
To where I started out
I've been back
To where I came from
I've been back
To where I started out

Nothings changed
but, all is different
It's a place
I don't belong
Nothings changed
but, all is different
I just feel
that something's wrong


Trees are bigger
as expected
I see where I carved
my name
House is old
and been repainted
but, it just doesn't
feel the same

Play  the hand that you were dealt
Bet, the river or the flop
Play the hand that you were dealt
Life will tell you when to stop
You can't go back and do it over
Play the hand that you were dealt
Win or lose, the cards are over
Play the hand that you were dealt

Seeing places
long forgotten
of where you once held court
empty fields
and empty school yards
no longer home to sport

two lane roads
now four lane highways
a river long since dry
little stores
now parking places
built up as time went by

Play  the hand that you were dealt
Bet, the river or the flop
Play the hand that you were dealt
Life will tell you when to stop
You can't go back and do it over
Play the hand that you were dealt
Win or lose, the cards are over
Play the hand that you were dealt




cloudy skies
and ***** water
and trees that once stood tall
something's wrong
it's gotten hotter
and the trees are now a mall

picnic tables
by the beach
initials carved in hearts
beach is closed
with long forgotten
the initials in our hearts

Play  the hand that you were dealt
Bet, the river or the flop
Play the hand that you were dealt
Life will tell you when to stop
You can't go back and do it over
Play the hand that you were dealt
Win or lose, the cards are over
Play the hand that you were dealt
Beth Baum Nov 2018
Play along my sweet, sweet horn
For all the hearts are torn
Carry on a note so long
In your sad forgotten song

Now play along my sweet, sweet string
And let them hear you sing
Move your bows ever so gently
And watch them listen intently

Now play along my sweet sweet flute
And watch them all salute
Your lovely voice soft as rain
Deprives them of their pain

Now play along my sweet, sweet bell
For you always play so well
Show the world your soft tone
Because you’re all alone

Now play along my sweet, sweet bass
Just to give them a taste
Of your low mellow chord
And get them all on board

Now play along my sweet, sweet sax
But be mindful of those flats
Play it jazzy and so smooth
And take away the ruth

Now play along my sweet, sweet drum
And make the crowd go numb
You careful steady beat
Will lift them off their feet

Now play along my sweet, sweet chime
And freeze us all in time
The hollowness of your sound
Always in the background

Now play along my sweet trumpet
And match up with the cornet
Now join all the rest of you
And along to this merry tune
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.you can never really write any poetry by not covering the "heartbreak" the loss of your own "printed" words: how much different is the internet, from "real" life? just asking... since: internet banking & internet shopping... to lose a poem / pre-scriptum is not exactly the same as losing a person to mind: father's day... i cooked the dinner, i took out the trash, i wrote an invoice... i guess that's much better than leaving a card of greetings... and, come to think of it? why are we the sort of people subjugated to nostalgia, with but also "without" a history? aren't we subjugated to nostalgia and a history as a "fiction"? the beginning of the 21st century, the end of the 20th century... the 19th century germans associated themselves with a nostalgia for ancient greece, we're the only people who have an inbuilt nostalgia "safety-mechanism"... the only people in time who are nostalgic about the life surrounding their own existence slot, which doesn't have a trans-temporal dynamic... i remember times when we would be teenagers... spitting on people from car-parks on imaginary tonsures, buying *****-magazines from indian cornershops, or belgian freebies of non-insinuations, white lightning cider while sleeping over at youth centers playing snooker throughout the night... even at school: attending a catholic school with the irish east enders... uniforms, sure... a chequered shirt: blue, red, white... tag? made in canada... and if only capitalism worked as it once did, made in canada? lifetime of a shirt? 20 years... now? made in china... not exactly real cotton, is it? 2 years... before ironing the shirt *****... once upon in gants hill, st. valentine's park, and the pub, recently closed, decent karaoke... in the park? golf, basketball, rowing boats in the large ponds... when the jews were there... gants hill roundabout... the hanukkah torches... jews scuttling wearing trainers come rosh hashanah: jews can't wear leather on rosh hashanah (judgement day)... shy like rats... when the jews were there (gants hill, ilford)... the park looked great... tennis courts... now, when neo-Bangladesh moved in? ****** place. what else do i remember from my original pre-scriptum that i lost? oh, that once time in gants hill... walking into a kosher bakery with ****** knuckles, having tested them on a canvas of a brick wall, buying some dough-fused-sweets? with the girl selling the sweets bewildered by fear? i like the look of fear in people when tested by uncertainty, and bleeding knuckles? later? climbing over the park fence, taking a **** while squatting in the darkened palace of the park, walking into a brothel, having my wallet stolen, not reacting in what would have been justified... high school... we wore uniforms... so no high school h'american culture trap / culture... school uniforms are the best idea, there's no chance to "shine" in telling apart the rich kids from the poor kids... there's only the standard... walking to a supermarket, past a thai surprise... sports bra, short hair... walking back... she's still there pretending to talk on her mobile to someone... you take her home with a few beers... play her some jazz... take her into the garden, the moon is a beauty... you **** her... hand in her underwear and you're still gambling... before the emergence of the nag hammadi library and the whole androgynous vogue, the thai were already readied with the lady-boys... when i reached in and found nothing but oyster... would i have stopped finding a wink-wink slouching worm? slap a trans in the face? no, not really... a thai surprise is, a thai surprise... i would have considered doing my first ****... "lucky" for me she was a she... a girl... ****** her in the garden under the moonlight... gave her my hoodie, which she drowned in... finally... the level of interaction where the female is not a mantis, i.e. a female larger than the male... she drowned into my hoodie as i walked her home... i like the familiarity with the mammalian, not resorting to insect superiority of females... these days... i find that males are strictly mammalian... while females? they are borrowing insect-esque ontologies... well, darwinism allowed the time-frame... males are mammals... females are insects, behaviour-wise... two time frame i do not appreciate the english for... darwinism is prime.... cultural-marxism my ***... what about cultural-darwinism?! no?! that doesn't exist?! cultural-darwinism is as real as cultural-marxism, and, in the former sense? it really does belong to the conservative right-wing politico spectrum! might i add? isn't psychology merely pop philosophy? i find psychology riddled with rubric cohesion, it's all oh so "self"-evident! i abhor psychologists... these gypsy philosophers... medicine-men with no pharmacological shadow of power... to prescribe drugs... arguments, persuasions, but no dialectics... psychology will forever be, for me, a philosophy primer, short-cut... pop philosophy... psychologists can treat people who have never read a philosophy book... r. d. laing... i remember this one instace... me and a fwend of mine travelled into central london, went into a bookshop shy of trafalgar sq., i spotted an edition of: the scarlet and the black by stendhal... i told him: i will trade you linkin park's debut album, if you buy me this... the transaction was made... the one book i read after seeing a film adaptation starring rachel (rakhel) weisz and ewan mcgregor... ra-kh-el: not ray-chel... we used to be humans once... at high school getting bullied back... putting pins on chairs once we got up, sitting on them... playing bulldog in primary school, slap-ball, tag, playing cards at lunchtime... 16 fatty boy... one summer in poland, comes back aged 17... the irish girls take an interest while eating a pomegranate... what was the success of your diet? don't go to the gym... excess skin, an aesthetic surgeon is not what you need... there are only two ways to lose weight... either via swimming or by cycling... cycling is the best... lose weight by also toning your body... gym is a bad idea... by going to the gym you are straining exclusive parts of your body, either the torso, your hands, etc., jogging? unless on soft ground, bad idea on concrete, arthritis... cycling or swimming... lose weight... tone at the same time, the skin is allowed the required time to adapt to shrink, and forget what propped it up in plump form with all that excess flab... ugh... i hated being attractive to the opposite ***, i never used it to my advantage! imagine... an irish lad comes up to me, on behalf of some girl while i'm donning a french braid: you look just like johnny depp in blow, impersonating george jung... 14 year old girls walk up to you asking what shampoo you're using... herbal essences... i never used my looks... *******... now i'm a heavy drinker... so much for looks... first girlfriend? a fwend had to call me telling me she called him that she felt butterflies when i dropped her at the train platform after a day's worth of dating: tate modern, edward hopper exhibitions, cinema: troy, starring rose byrne (briseis) - honestly, a man can go crazy over curly hair... and then a restaurant date... that **** just flew over my head... i wouldn't have noticed... honestly though... i missed the whole h'american cultural excavation genesis in high school... catholic... uniforms... jesuit army-esque formation... now, i'm ageing... i'm starting to find the company of cats to be: clingy... my shadow included... i once thought that dogs were needy... i'm starting to think that cats are worse, esp. the maine **** breed... "lonely" or "loneliness" doesn't really resonate with me, esp. when thinking something "feels" like a variation of claustrophobia: hence i write... without a dialectic in place, ever since plato wrote his dialogues... what is philosophy, primarily? isn't it an off-shoot of "claustrophobia"? we write because we are seeking escape from congested thinking, a variation of "claustrophobia"... now imagine a schizoid character... having to focus on an imaginary dialectic, actually... having dialectics enforced on him, with no clarifying exodus to posit a gensis with! now, a clingy dog i could understand, given the overpowering status of the leash... but a clingy cat, when there's no leash involved?! shoom! right over my head... gone, somewhere into the distance!

what, this is the part...
were i cite...
   the weimar ******
critical condition...
       a daft punk troop
of a song,
  end of line....
blow-up a hot air balloon...
worth of blaire whire...
play the tambourine
like a ******* video...
there are,
quiet, simply,
no nazis coming...
fashionista faux pas
examples...
i'm alive,
but i'm dead,
i just forget to don
a strap-on...
  "oops"?
   that **** go down well
with
the "in"-crowd...
usual... metropolitan...
verbiage surge of answers....
   many a fetish after...
we arrive at the sensible
aspect,
"toxic masculinity"...
when guns n roses wasn't,
and nirvana was just plain
gay...
              and then...
whatever that happened,
happened..
                 and people were like:
come to the "new" tomorrow,
there's always a yesterday,
in a dream,
in some phil collins
wannabe
studio...
or... some other random ****
that
excluded peter gabriel.

                 i died:
and just about right:
my harvest had come.

great book reviews...
"toxic masculinity"...
so all masculinity is
about a clockwork orange?
   if it is?
can i be pro abortion
anti mongolian horde?
yes? no?
  which is it?!
neither...
   **** me... that's just bad
luck...

                               sundbeds,
sunflowers,
tulips,
sunglasses,
    plenty of staged
eager nights...
boring political affairs...
and...
         when gaming was
more about the narrative...
and never,
ever, about the microtransactions...

point being...
it's a game within a game...
time, is the prime concern...
you play a game,
by waiting...
you wait: by playing a game...

  microtransactions
are...
you ever move a sim3 avatar
to a computer,
and make it play a computer game?
what's on the macrocosmos spectrum?
you....

               "back in the day"...
you'd spend a saturday morning
engrossed in a gaming narrative...
metal gear solid,
tenchu, final fantasy solid...
20 quid...
and you played the narrative...
and a game became equivalent
to the worth of a book,
resident evil,

            you paid for a month's worth
of gaming,
you exchanged tips,
you sometimes bought a cheat book
because of the homework,
and that was your saturday morning
before hitting the shopping mall
or, whatever...

the current dynamic of
microtransactions in gaming?
i never, ever, do...
i'm an old gamer type...
i see the potential of extending
the life-expectancy
of a game...

   as long as you don't buy into
the microtransactions gambling habit?
as long as you play the "game"
within the game?
the game is an assured classic,
akin to chess...

              you have to play
the waiting "game"...
             time...
                           that's all it is...
whether war robots,
    or dawn of titans...
        comparison...
  you know that the best fruit,
is fruit, allocated
to the geography of it being sourced
seasonally...
you can't actually get better
strawberries,
than english strawberries...
from england, come june / july...
no ******* point sourcing them
from spain in late march / april....

    same thing with gaming...
the modern games haven't made any
elaboration...
apart from dislodging the player
from the concept of narrative...
**** me... that's almost an improvement...
given that now: time is the counter
measure, and the gamer...
   is having to invest,
in a narrative, outside of the confines
of the game,
once upon a time,
games had time-narrative
constraints...
     now: there's time,
and there are gamer narratives,
excluding them from time-narratives,
of a game...
         it's almost a faux pas...
more like a wet-*****...
****** pinky lodged into an ear,
an april fools' day scant...

        if you hacked passed
the microtransactions hype...
and didn't?
and instead took to patience?
it's free...
   where once,
a game would cost you 20 quid,
and a month's worth
of narrative,
back then, when games
resembled books,
when the gaming industry
was heavily influenced
by literature...
and now?
   the game's free...
sure...
it's "unfair", it's biased...
when you don't engage
in imported gambling
of succumbing to what, this is the part...
were i cite...
   the weimar ******
critical condition...
       a daft punk troop
of a song,
  end of line....
blow-up a hot air balloon...
worth of blaire whire...
play the tambourine
like a ******* video...
there are,
quiet, simply,
no nazis coming...
fashionista faux pas
examples...
i'm alive,
but i'm dead,
i just forget to don
a strap-on...
  "oops"?
   that **** go down well
with
the "in"-crowd...
usual... metropolitan...
verbiage surge of answers....
   many a fetish after...
we arrive at the sensible
aspect,
"toxic masculinity"...
when guns n roses wasn't,
and nirvana was just plain
gay...
              and then...
whatever that happened,
happened..
                 and people were like:
come to the "new" tomorrow,
there's always a yesterday,
in a dream,
in some phil collins
wannabe
studio...
or... some other random ****
that
excluded peter gabriel.

                 i died:
and just about right:
my harvest had come.

great book reviews...
"toxic masculinity"...
so all masculinity is
about a clockwork orange?
   if it is?
can i be pro abortion
anti mongolian horde?
yes? no?
  which is it?!
neither...
   **** me... that's just bad
luck...

                               sundbeds,
sunflowers,
tulips,
sunglasses,
    plenty of staged
eager nights...
boring political affairs...
and...
         when gaming was
more about the narrative...
and never,
ever, about the microtransactions...

point being...
it's a game within a game...
time, is the prime concern...
you play a game,
by waiting...
you wait: by playing a game...

  microtransactions
are...
you ever move a sim3 avatar
to a computer,
and make it play a computer game?
what's on the macrocosmos spectrum?
you....

               "back in the day"...
you'd spend a saturday morning
engrossed in a gaming narrative...
metal gear solid,
tenchu, final fantasy solid...
20 quid...
and you played the narrative...
and a game became equivalent
to the worth of a book,
resident evil,

            you paid for a month's worth
of gaming,
you exchanged tips,
you sometimes bought a cheat book
because of the homework,
and that was your saturday morning
before hitting the shopping mall
or, whatever...

the current dynamic of
microtransactions in gaming?
i never, ever, do...
i'm an old gamer type...
i see the potential of extending
the life-expectancy
of a game...

   as long as you don't buy into
the microtransactions gambling habit?
as long as you play the "game"
within the game?
the game is an assured classic,
akin to chess...

              you have to play
the waiting "game"...
             time...
                           that's all it is...
whether war robots,
    or dawn of titans...
        comparison...
  you know that the best fruit,
is fruit, allocated
to the geography of it being sourced
seasonally...
you can't actually get better
strawberries,
than english strawberries...
from england, come june / july...
no ******* point sourcing them
from spain in late march / april....

    same thing with gaming...
the modern games haven't made any
elaboration...
apart from dislodging the player
from the concept of narrative...
**** me... that's almost an improvement...
given that now: time is the counter
measure, and the gamer...
   is having to invest,
in a narrative, outside of the confines
of the game,
once upon a time,
games had time-narrative
constraints...
     now: there's time,
and there are gamer narratives,
excluding them from time-narratives,
of a game...
         it's almost a faux pas...
more like a wet-*****...
****** pinky lodged into an ear,
an april fools' day scant...

        if you hacked passed
the microtransactions...
       and didn't have the chance...
microtransactions are like
the old school cheat hacks...
but not quiet, but somehow quasi-,
       a modern microtransactions,
would be a cheat magazine
thorough-through
a game like final fantasy VII...
you have homework,
but you still want to complete the game...
modern games...
modern games...
there's an "end gole"?
  what modern game is worth
"completing"?
    
   again: tron, ready player one,
back to the future...
star wars just became dead
to me...
   sick people will plague hard-working
people, with a quasi-gambling
addiction,
needing to make microtransactions...
and they will,
my father was plagued by
an impostor, claiming to be a
tax office official:
and what if, that person had
an authentic position at the tax office?!

when gaming was for gamers,
the games were bought...
there was a narrative...
but now... now games don't have a narrative...
why would they?!
   who the hell plays games for
the narrative these days?
i know that on the crapper,
i need a game that allows me
to experience live-stream
interaction with non-bots...

       and these old gamers,
who still invest their money
in literature-esque-games?
so i was the sad one,
investing in vinyl?
   aren't the classic ******* gamers
just as bad,
investing in prepackaged
narrative gaming
experiences?
             a game with a narrative...
yeah... me buying vinyl
is: b'ah b'ah bad...
       what sort of game is alive and well...
when there isn't a crowd pushback
for the currency of microtransaction?

the narrative is time,
   the longer you endure the inadequacy...
the more you realise:
you're basically playing
the same game,
but in your scenario:
it's free...
   in some other ******'s scenario:
it cost him 70 hundred quid...

personally?
   i love this microtransaction dynamic...
concerning the people who
do not engage with it...
it's the perfect antithesis
   of what ruined the music industry
with genesis: napster...

you really are, playing the ultimate
game,
time...
         the one sort of commodity
that games,
without a clear narrative construct,
"forgot" to mention in terms
of them being exploited...
to their full capacity
of the one "commodity"
they "forgot", or rather,
couldn't "sell"...

              a tenchu PS1 game could
have lasted me a month...
now? a free game,
like war robots...
with absolutely no NPC?
hell... i'll be 90 and still be playing it;

what else? applause!
Raj Arumugam Nov 2011
Scene One



...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...
*



Urgo: I am attendant 1. Often known as Urgo.



Burgo: I am attendant 2. Always known as Burgo.



Urgo:  You see this creature seated here
            in the wheelchair? 
Can you believe it?

            This creature once wrote poems
            
and its poems still inhabit cyberspace.


Burgo: Oh, this creature did that?


Urgo: Yes, this.


Burgo: I think I’ve read some.

             Not that I can remember any.
             
Not a word, not a title.
 But must have been pretty good, ha?
             
To write all those words, in verse...


Urgo: I don’t know about that.
           
It’s the girls who write. And sissies.
           
And for all that, you know
           
there’s just one word this creature can say.


Burgo: Really? Just one word?


Urgo: Yes.
All right, watch this.
           Come on, Raj-i.

           Hey baby...Burgo here wants to hear you.
           
Just one poem in your one word.
           
Come on, baby - or no soup for you tonight.



Raj: Baa, baa, baa

        Baa, baa, baa

        Baa, baa, baa

       Baa, baa, baa



(Burgo and Urgo clap)



Urgo: Baan-derful, Raj...
Now Burgo,
           let’s wheel the creature back in

           and dump him in
           his corner.



(Urgo and Burgo go out, Urgo pushing wheelchair with Raj in it)





Scene Two



...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...






Urgo: Today, Burgo, is Exercise Your Vocal Chords Day.



Burgo: No problem - Ahhhhhhhhrrrrgggggooooaaaaa.....



Urgo: Not your vocal cords, Burgo.
           
It is Exercise Your vocal Cords Day
            
for our distinguished guest currently
            
on this wheelchair.



Burgo: Ahhh...I see...



Urgo: All right, Raj-i baby...
Exercise your vocal chords 

            and entertain us with your delightful voice...



Raj: Baa, baa, baa
        
Baa, baa, baa

        Baa, baa, baa
        
Baa, baa, baa



(Burgo claps)*



Urgo: OK - that’s enough exercise for the day!
           Let’s go






(Urgo and Burgo go out, Urgo pushing wheelchair with Raj in it)






Scene Three

...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...


Urgo: Burgo!

Burgo: Sire!

Urgo: Sire? Where in the world
           did you get such a word?

Burgo: Sorry - I thought I was in a *****
             Shakespeare play.

Urgo: Have your head examined, Burgo.
            We’ll never make it there.
            All we have is this 3rd-rate one-act play.

Burgo: I understand. I’m just a little ambitious.

Urgo: Be realistic. Don’t be ambitious.

Burgo: That’s wise, Sire - I mean, Urgo.

Urgo: Well, this creature in the wheelchair,
            for example...It was ambitious...
            and it had a great fall...
            it never knew how to be realistic...
            But more of that, later - first, what Day is it today?

Burgo: It is We Tickle Your Foot Day, today.

Urgo: You learn fast, Burgo.

Burgo: Thank you, Urgo.

(Silence)

Urgo: Well?

Burgo: I’m very well, thank you.

Urgo: You idiot! I mean if you know it is
           We Tickle Your Foot Day, today -
           then what should you do next, you knave!?

Burgo: Oh. Ok.

(Burgo kneels before Raj, takes off Raj’s shoes and with a feather tickles Raj’s feet.)

Raj (laughing): Baa, baa, baa
                              Baa, baa, baa
                              Baa, baa, baa
                             Baa, baa, baa


(Burgo puts Raj’s shoes on again, and his feather back in his pocket and stands up.)



Burgo: You mentioned ambition
              and this creature that sits on the wheelchair.

Urgo: Yes, it is time to exercise my vocal chords.
           This creature forgot, like all creatures,
           we come alone, and we go alone.

Burgo: Ah, at last! - hints of a Shakespearean play
             albeit we’ll never make it into one.
            With ambition, loneliness and all the Lear madness.
            Will we have the lewd parts too
            and rich imagery of body parts?

Urgo: Perhaps...perhaps...but let us stick to the ordinary ...
           This creature was born in 1derLand
           but was washed ashore to foreign shores.


Burgo: Good, good...like Paris, son of Priam and Hecuba?
             O Paris, washed ashore to Sparta
             O so well-loved and nursed by Helen.

Urgo: Yes, except this creature is more akin to the Wanderer
            like Oedipus, or just the indistinct Mendicant,
            the Samurai with no master, a ronin,
             all cursed to wander the face of the earth...

Burgo: Oh - are we in Shakespeare yet?

Urgo: We are in deep ****! That’s where we are!
           We all are.
           Burgo - let us stick to the banal like hamburgers.
          This creature forgot that
          and dreamt of things like poetry, ideals -
          and therein is the moral of the story for you:
          we come alone
          and alone we go
          one at a time we come
          and each we own, and each faculty
          one at a time they go.

Burgo: So let us stick with the banal
             eat our burgers
             and pick our teeth after.
             Do they supply toothpicks at takeaways
             in your country, Urgo?

Urgo: No, we recycle them, Burgo.
           We just pick up discarded ones from the ground.
           Like some nations pick up cigarette butts
           from the bins.
           Waste not; want not.


Burgo: Oh, if this scene goes on any longer
             it might become Shakespearean, Urgo.

Urgo: Ergo - we must go.
          But let us allow Raj to have the last word,
           since this play is entitled
          “ Raj Arumugam, (a one-act tragicomedy)”.
          Idiot of a son! What kind of fool-writer will have a play
          with his own name as the title of his play?!

Burgo: So, Raj-i, you egocentric ******:
             You have the last word in this scene...
             You really put words into my mouth, you ****!

Raj: Baa, baa, ba
        Baa, baa, baa
       Baa, baa, baa
       Baa, baa, baa


Urgo: All right, Let’s go, Burgo.
           Bring him in -
           Let’s drop him in bed
           and may he drop dead!



(Urgo and Burgo go out, Urgo pushing wheelchair with Raj in it)




Scene Four



...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...



*


Urgo: Burgo!


Burgo: Urgo!


Urgo: How long has it been since
           you started work here?


Burgo: 3 months, Urgo. Why?


Urgo: Well, show me a game...I’m bored...a new game...


Burgo: Well, have you played wheelie bin?


Urgo: No.
But Oh I love to delve into world culture.

           Show me.


Burgo: Well, let me show you.

             A wheelie bin is a bin with wheels
             and you put ******* in it
             
and you leave it outside on the kerb
             
and the garbage guy in his truck collects your *******.
             
So this is the game.



(Burgo pushes wheelchair round the stage and sings.)



          This is the way we 
wheel out our wheelie bins
           
this is the way we 
wheel out our bins
           
early every Thursday morning


           This is the way we 
leave our bins,
            our wheelie bins

            this is the way we leave our bins
            
out on the sunny kerb

            every Thursday morning



(leaves wheelchair on kerb)



           This is the way we empty our bins

           this is the way we empty our bins
           this is the way empty our bins
           every Thursday morning



(empties the wheelchair; Raj Arumugam  drops onstage)




Urgo
(joining in):
 This is the way we 
pick up our *******

                                  pick up our *******
                                  
this is the way we do it

                                  this is the way 
always we do it

                                  early Thursday morning!



(Urgo picks up Raj Arumugam and drops him in the wheelchair)



(Urgo and Burgo clap, applauding each other.)



Burgo:
And now, Urgo - for the ritual
             of 
Raj Arumugam’s final words in the scene...
Is that right?



(Urgo nods...)



Burgo:
  Sing, you Sir in the Wheelchair.



Raj: Baa, baa, baa
       
Baa, baa, baa

       Baa, baa, baa

       Baa, baa, baa




Burgo: Oh, you spoil the fun! Let’s go.






(Urgo and Burgo go out, Urgo pushing wheelchair with Raj in it)




Scene Five

...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...


Urgo:
          Let's leave him here tonight;
         some fresh air might do him good

(Urgo and Burgo leave, leaving Raj on his wheelchair.)

(Long silence.)


Raj: Baa, baa, baa
       Baa, baa, baa
       Baa, baa, baa
      Baa, baa, baa



(Raj has a thought. His thought is broadcast as a message on the rectangular neon light display: “Hey guys, come back...Another word is coming back to me.”)

(Long silence)


Raj:
**** **** ****
**** **** ****
**** **** ****

(Raj has another thought. His thought is broadcast as a message on the rectangular neon light display: “Another one’s coming back...maybe my mind is coming back.”)


Raj:
**** **** ****
**** **** ****
**** **** ****

(Long silence. Lights fade. Darkness. Curtain...)
Katherine Fuguet Jul 2011
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Barum, Barum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Barum, Barum.

Little boy, Says the mother,
Play on your drum.
For your father follows its sound,
Wherever it goes.
Play on your drum.
Lead him to victory,
And lead your father home.

Barum, Pum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Barum, Barum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Barum, Barum.

Son, Says the father,
Play on your drum.
For I once followed its sound,
Wherever it went.
Play on your drum.
Play on to victory,
And always come home.

Barum, Pum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Barum, Barum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Barum, Barum.

Man, Says the Soldier,
Don’t play on your drum.
For I once followed its sound,
Wherever it went.
Well, play on your drum.
Play on to victory,
But you might not come home.

Barum, Pum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Barum, Barum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Pum.
Barum, Barum, Barum.

Soldier, Says the colonel,
Play on your drum!
And we will follow its sound,
Wherever you go.
Play on your drum!
Lead on to victory,
And Lead us all home.

Barum, Pum!
Barum, Pum!
BaRUM, BaRUM, BaRUM!
Barum, Pum!
Barum, Pum!
BaRUM, BaRUM, BaRUM!

Friend, says the boy,
Don’t play on my drum.
Don’t follow its sound,
Where I have to go.
Don’t Play on this Drum.
Fall back from victory,
But at least you’ll go home.
I am a boy who doesn't know the worth of a dollar

I play my part.

I am a friend who is there for his even if they don't know

I play my part.

I am a lover who knows how to lift your spirt even when the love is only shared by me

I play my part.

I am a console to those who think they are alone

I play my part.

I am an ingrate who doesn't appreciate the sacrifices you have made

I play my part.

I am a smile that hides the sadness on the other side

I play my part.

I am the one who listens even when no words are spoken

I play my part.

I am a hypocrite who preaches but rarely practices

I play my part.

I know what I want and never what I need

I play my part.

I am who I am so no one can say I am worthless because,
I play my part.
Ember Evanescent Nov 2014
Okay.
Sure.
Play victim.
Play with drugs, cigarettes and alcohol before you can even legally drive.
Play with knives and fire.
Play with all those things you swore you never would.
Play with the bad kids.
Play unloved.
Play overdramatic.
Play this game you love so well.

...because no matter how good you are at it sooner or later you are going to lose.

I can't wait, I hope I'm there when you do.
Because you wrecked me.
And I am STILL healing.
The scars on my wrists
are all your fault
the reason I sometimes can't eat more
than a yogurt and half an orange for lunch
is because of YOU
the reason I hate myself
the reason my mother can't trust me around blades anymore
the reason my mother cried for so many nights
because you broke her
you broke me
you SHATTERED my friends
and loved ones
you triggered her
you led to her eating problems
you contributed to the slits on her arms
the scars are STILL THERE
you made us genuinely want to **** ourselves
and HER
the one who was so strong she never drew blood
you even drove her to trying to with a pushpin
a f!cking pushpin
thanks to you!
we used car keys when we got desperate
scissor blades
safety pins
needles
construction paper edges
nailclippers
the ends of wires
circle makers
the backings of earrings
so many more things
sitting alone
you turned everyone against us
everyone
all of our friends
the whole school
our families
EVERYONE
you wrecked EVERYTHING
you killed us.
made us want to **** ourselves
now I just want to **** YOU

so go ahead
PLAY.
I hate her. dunno if you gathered that. she is an eating disorder triggerer, depression triggerer, self-harm causer. F!cking *****.
Dorotea Dec 2014
Play me.
Play me like piano keys.
Play me piano, pianissimo.
Play me forte, fortissimo.
Play me like a song, gently.
Play me with feeling.
Play.
Down on the South side a
tube ride away,
out in the Borough
where some people stay and
some people say,
it's a nice place, a
well-lit place, a somewhere
to sit and deep think place.

but

there's another side, a ride back in time
when the streets were caked in
horse **** and grime and the urchins
searching for somewhere to stay,
some nicer place
on a much nicer day.

And the Stew houses
but no stew inside,
known to children and
no place to hide,
Goose, oh goose
let my children go loose,
cries far away from
the Borough today.
js

The following text is taken from 'Goodreads' reviews of John Constable's 'The Southwark Mysteries'.


'For tonight in Hell, they are tolling the bell
For the ***** that lay at The Tabard
And well we know how the carrion crow
Doth feast in our Cross Bones Graveyard.'


In 1107, the Bishop of Winchester was granted a stretch of land on Southwark Bankside, which lay outside the law of the City of London. The Bishop controlled the numerous brothels, or 'stews'in the area, but the prostitutes, known as 'Winchester Geese', who paid the Bishop licence fees, were nevertheless condemned to be buried in unhallowed ground. For some 500 years, the Bishop of Winchester exercised sole authority within Bankside's 'Liberty of The Clink', including the right to licence prostitutes under a Royal Ordinance until Cromwell and the Puritans shut down the bear-pits, theatres and stews of Bankside's pleasure quarter.

In 1996, those working on an extension to the Jubilee line of London's underground, unwittingly began to dig up the bones of the outcast dead of Southwark, extimated to number 15,000, and John Constable began writing the Southwark Mysteries and later became part of a campaign to preserve part of the cemetery as a memorial garden.

I can't resist pasting in an article from the Daily Telegraph that appeared after the performance of the Southwark Mysteries at Shakespeare's Globe and Southwark Cathedral on Easter Sunday and Shakespeare's birthday, 23rd April 2000:

The Sunday Telegraph, May 14th 2000

"DEAN REJECTS CRITICS OF 'SWEARING JESUS' MYSTERY PLAY

A religious play staged in an Anglican cathedral has provoked fury after it featured a swearing Jesus and Satan wearing a phallus.

The Southwark Mysteries was produced by Southwark Cathedral and Shakespeare’s Globe in south London as part of the capital’s 'String of Pearls' Millennium celebrations. It mixed ***** medieval scenes with modern imagery and referred to bishops engaging in homosexual *** with altar boys and priests visiting prostitutes. The character of Jesus, who rode onto stage on a bicycle, was shown apparently condoning a range of ****** activities, while Satan told scatological jokes and ordered Jesus to 'kiss my a*'. At one point Jesus was admonished by St Peter for his swearing and responded: 'In the house of the harlot, man must master the language.' At another, Satan, played by a female actor, strapped on 'a huge red phallus' before using it to beat his sidekick, Beelzebub.

The play was written by John Constable, who said that he had deliberately wanted to challenge Christians. 'Profanity is a theme of the play', he said. 'The point of it was to explore the sacred through the profane. ' Mr Constable said he had worked closely with Mark Rylance, the Globe’s artistic director, and the Dean of Southwark, the Very Rev Colin Slee, who conceived the idea of a joint production to mark William Shakespeare’s birthday falling on Easter Day. He said the clergy had made a number of suggestions about the content, but he had not acted on all of them. 'They did ask me to make sure that Satan did not wear the phallus in the presence of Jesus, which I did', he said.

The first section of the play, which contained much of the ***** material, was staged at the Globe, and the final part, 'The Harrowing of Hell' in the cathedral. 'Colin Slee was very robust in keeping me on the straight and narrow', Constable said. 'The play is a new version of the traditional medieval Mystery plays, which were religious in nature but accepted human imperfections and took place in a carnival atmosphere. It seemed to be well received by most people who saw it.'

But one member of the audience, Simon Fairnington, has condemned the play as 'disgustingly offensive', saying that it 'revelled in the glorification of vice'. In a letter to the Dean he complained: 'Had the play been a purely secular production, one might not have been surprised at its treatment of Christian belief. What was dismaying was that it was sponsored and performed in part within a Christian cathedral. The cynical part of me wonders whether this is simply a sign of the times, and the way the Church of England cares about its Gospel and its God.' Anthony Kilmister, chairman of the Prayer Book Society, said: 'This is not the sort of play that should be performed in God’s house. It is quite disgraceful.'

But the Dean, who was the centre of controversy a few years ago when he allowed the cathedral to be used for a Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement celebration, defended the play. The performance was in keeping with traditional Mystery plays and 'portrayed graphically the life and history of the area' which was 'where the seamier side of life was to be found', he said. 'The message was that even the worst sins are not beyond redemption', he added.

Most of the audience responded positively to the underlying message of mutual forgiveness. Like the Dean, many accepted Satan’s *****, blasphemous words and deeds as part of the Mystery Tradition. The theologian Jeffrey John was of the opinion that, despite some obvious heretical tendencies, Constable was presenting 'remarkably orthodox Christian teachings going back to the first century AD'. Constable’s Harrowing of Hell is closely modelled on a play from the medieval York Cycle. His version shows Jesus’ spirit of forgiveness triumphing over the letter of The Law. Jesus’ ultimate 'Judgement' is a verse paraphrase of Matthew 26: 35-45.

  JESUS
  My blessed children, I shall say
When your good deed was to me done.
When man or woman, night or day,
Asked for your help, your heart not stone,
Did not pass by or turn away,
You saw that, in me, they too are One.
But you that cursed them, said them nay,
Your curse did cut me to the bone.

When I had need of meat and drink,
You offered me an empty plate.
When I was clasped and chained in Clink,
You frowned, and left me to my fate.
Where I was teetering on the brink,
Did bolt and bar your iron gate.
When I was drowning, you let me sink.
When I cried for help, you came too late.

  RESPONSE
  When had you, Lord, who all things has
Hunger or thirst, or helplessness?
Had we but known God a prisoner was
We would surely have sought to ease His distress.
How could God be sick or dying? Alas!
When was He hungry, thirsty, or homeless?
How could such things come to pass?
When did we to thee such wickedness?

  JESUS
  Dead souls! When any bid
You pity them, you did but blame.
You heard them not, your heart you hid.
Your guilt told you they should be shamed.
Your thought was but the earth to rid
Of them I am now come to claim.
To the poorest wretch, whate’er you did,
To me you did the self and same.
Another night, another song, another legion showcase

Some friendly folk just out for fun, an acoustic disgrace.

It's little cash, but lots of fun spinning discs on weekends

I play a few and sit and watch the wanna be's and girlfriends

In between I play some songs on the old piano

It's fun to hear them sing along, and see what songs they do know

I've been doing this for twenty years, to take away the boredom

I used to tour, I was big time, in rock and rolls great whoredom

I had a hit, but only one way back in the gloaming

We never had another one, and since then I've been roaming

The song we had, it hit the charts and stayed there for a while

I hear it every now and then, and still it makes me smile

The guys and I had formed a band, way back in high school

We played a bunch of cover songs, we thought that we were so cool

We wrote a few, some pretty bad but one got attention

It wasn't great, the title was one I can't mention

Apparently another group had sung a song just like it

We had to change the words around in order to make it fit

We cut the disc, it found a niche on a country station

We were not a country band , but our song had hit the nation

"My Pretty Little City Girl" was now out on the airwaves

We'd wait and see if she survived and how the country behave

Nashville grabbed it first and ran, the song went up to twenty

In only two weeks on the air, the **** thing got played plenty

Another week, up twelve more spots..things were going great

We'd shot on up from twentieth, now we're were in eighth

Two more weeks, this was such fun...the song just kept on climbing

So we tried to write another one, and off we started rhyming

We made it up to number three, and there we sat for two weeks

We'd have a fantastic run, but there was where we would peak

We tried for years to make a go and tried to write another

But, we were done, we'd had our shot, we're back to singing covers

So, here I sit spinning discs at Legions and at fall fairs

They send us out to do our song, but, there's no one who cares

We're just a band of has beens now, of wanna be's from history

Even when you google us, there's nothing there...a mystery

You see it happened so **** fast, we only had the one song

We made the chart for two whole months, not for very **** long

Of all us five, two are gone, the rest we get together

We jam a bit, and play fall fairs, although we hate the weather

The song you know, it's in your head, and when we get to sing it

It's funny how most everyone, knows all the words and bring it

We used to play to thousands when they tried to get us started

But now we play to hundreds who weren't born when we all parted

So here I am, just spining discs and playing songs in legions

I travel all around the states, I've played in every region

But, when I play that song for them, and sing on the piano

"My pretty little city girl" is one I find that they know

I never say  I wrote it, just it's one I like to do

But, every time I play it, it sounds as if it's new

And after I go back and play requests left by my side

Like "Penny Lane", 'The Gambler" and "Magic Carpet Ride"

I play what people ask for and sometimes I give a twirl

I play an old scratched version Of "My Pretty..do dah girl"

I sit back and I smile as I watch them dance along

Not knowing that I'm sitting here, the writer of the song

I'm a one hit wonder superman, riding off into the mist

Thinking of the songs I could have wrote and all the girls I kissed

My past,it still surrounds me ....I can't imagine what I'd do

Just think about it people....what if we reached number two?

so, another night, another song, an empty legion hall

My life is full of music and yes....my life has been a ball !!!
Kara Rose Trojan Apr 2011
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.

A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.  

Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.

How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for slap-sticked power.

By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Doltish vulgarity among the begrimed-glitch and old-grown-boring Jive.
anon Oct 2018
i play my cards
by ear
no strategy
no plan
i just
play the cards
because of what
i hear

he says

i love you

so i play the
i love you
card right back

he says

i need you

but i don't have that card
so i play another
i love you
and hope he doesn't
notice

he says

i care about you

and i want to play
doubt
but my cards
still say i
love
you

he says

you never listen

and i hear him
but my cards are blurry
through my tears
so i play
i love you
instead of sorry

he says

i don't believe you when you say you love me

but i've run out of cards to say i love you
so i finally play
i'm sorry

and he says i've wasted his time
and that he can't tell if i ever even cared
or loved

and i play an uno
+4 card
hoping he'll draw the
i love yous
i've discarded
and already played

but he draws
i hate you
i can't trust you
i've fallen out of love with you
and
i still want to care but i can't

and i'm crying again
and can't see my cards
so i play
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
and
forgive me

and he looks at his hand and sighs
drawing a card
not knowing what to play
not knowing what to say
not even knowing who i am

and i draw too
pulling
i love you
from the deck
a cruel irony

he looks at me
waiting on my move
as i archive the card
and fold

he smiles weakly
and plays
i forgive you

but with my cards on the table
i'm forced to pay up
so i offer him
a final
i love you
as i walk away from the game
Alan Dickson Apr 2013
(Theme, Variations, and Coda)

Theme – Andante sognante*  
I dreamed last night...
It was a dream
Like one I've had before
Variations on a theme
My colleagues standing at my door

Guitarists all, I bid them in
And soon it's time to play
My teacher first, each one in turn
They play the night away

Var. 1- Agitato
But as they play I look around
For my guitar is gone
I look and look but cannot find
Then comes my time...   “I can't go on!”

This is absurd.  How can I play?
(What?  Did I hide it by design?
Is this my “out” as light breaks day,
An ironclad alibi?)
“I can't perform, no, not today.
I'll have to play another time.”

Var. 2 – Appassionato
My time has come, and there I sit
With my guitar in hand
And wonder what the hell to play
My mind a porous shifting sand

Completely unprepared I sit
And pray for intervention
I make up some simplistic ****
And play it with “emotion”

Var. 3 – Allegro con brio e subito calamitoso
This time round, it's different
I really want to play.
I'm ready, I'm inspired!
I'll play till break of day

I'll show them what I'm made of
They'll marvel and they'll cry
But my guitar just falls apart
“What?  Why now?  Why? WHY?”

The neck breaks off, the body splits,
the strings are hanging limply
I'm foiled again, I cannot play
I'm ******* (to put it simply)

Coda - Andantino Contemplativo
What does it mean, this silly dream
This wild subconscious spectre?
What nourishment for soul to glean
From such netherworldly nectar?

Hmmm...

I think that I should spend more time
With hands on wood and string
To reconnect with touch and sound
To let my veiled heart sing

To feel, and set those feelings free
Catharsis, true release
My sheepish nature put to bed
My denigration now to cease

For I have something bold to say
Now my true voice is ready
I'll sing again through wood and string
Rich and full and steady

Alive with truths that transcend words
Ego now at bay
Connecting with the universe
It's time for me to play

*Fine
I teach guitar at the University of Prince Edward Island... in my dreams I'm a student again, usually unprepared, reluctant to play.
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.

A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.

Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.

How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for high-brow, White-men polemics

By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Based-vulgarity amongst the begrimed-teeth-******* and homegrown-Jive.
Jim Carl Feb 2016
Now I can go on much further than this
I know you saw me how I felt the bliss
Watch me fly by with the birds in the sky
Look as I dive into the deepest sea
This is how life that I wanted to be

Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free
Free

We're strong like a lion on the peak of Zion
Pray that we can escape this oblivion
'Cause when they cast a spell upon this mundane
Both of us will never feel any pain
Be careful my brother when you lit a smoke
Don't take too much or you can get choke

Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free

Come now my brother and see the beauty
Of this horizon full of mystery
Both of us know that it's just fantasy
'Cause we don't feel like this in reality

Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free
Play along with me and you will be free
And you will be free
And you will be free
And you will be free
And you will be free
Free
I'll sing a song every once in a while,

about a face that once did smile.

I'll play in tune but out of style,

play a song once in a while,

a song about the way we did kiss.


Look at the moon in the sky up above.

So far from us, how could it know any love?

Beneath the stars of which we're struck,

there are two eyes I won't give up.

And, for her, I'll play a song once in a while.


Across the sea, have no fear, I won't retreat.

That burning bridge is gone enough for me.

On the shore of which we meet,

so happy there, I will be.

And for her, I'll play a song once in a while.


With all my hope and some clothes, I hit the road

to try and find some place I can go.

But then I feel so alone,

I must return home.

And for her, I'll play a song once in a while.


I'll play a song to cherish you.

I'll play a song to remember you without having to say your name.

I'll play a song to hold onto you like you're my last breath, because I know you are.

I'll play a song because it's all I can do.

I'll play a song until I forget about you.

I'll play a song until I know I can't.
Terra May 2017
I travel trough the heavy rain
I sit lonesome on a lonely train
I play blues
These days are grey,  these nights  are blue
my mind keeps coming back to you
I play the blues

I travel with desire
Past houses lit on fire
I play jazz
Windows lit by sundown
My train-seat old and rundown
I play jazz

Rainbow roads in colored blurr
Pretty little towns I'm sure
I play swing
Past mirror waves and open sky
My stomach tingles, wonder why I
Play swing

***** feet on ***** train
Skin so white I see my veins
I play punk
Impatient taps and flickering lights
Soon the day will turn to night
I play punk

Head in the clouds, mind at ease
Longing for the morning breeze
I play Pink Floyd
Memories hanging from branches
Passengers sharing brief glances
I play Pink Floyd

I'm coming home, I'm on my way, but I travel still...
I travel not by force... yet not by will
Music of choise as soundtrack to the silent film
beyond the windowsill
I wrote this as a little homage to my lonesome travels. I fittingly wrote it on a train during sundown, but it's about my memories as a homeless teenager with no idea what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go, just that I wanted to go somewhere and do something. It's also about that longing for someone I hadn't yet met, that empty space reserved for someone you know you'll eventuelly meet. Luckily, this time I was on my way home to that someone.
I imagine this poem as lyrics to a jazzy tune. Maybe I'll get to try it out one day. I'm no great singer, but I'm reserving space for a trumpet solo in there somewhere.
jeffrey conyers Feb 2011
Listening to his song made me fall in love.
And, I will admit it's so wonderful.
To be in love.
Ooh, to be in love.

No longer am I sad since he sung that tune.
That made me fall deeper in love with you.

So play on Smokey Robinson.
Play on, Smokey Robinson singing that sweet, sweet song.

There I was so depressed.
Which now I can confess.
Now that I'm loving you more than before.

His words had me craving more of you each night and day.
That I was lost for words to say.

So play on Smokey Robinson.
Play on, just play on, just play on.

Because the more you sing about love.
The more I like the theme.

And, if the sun didn't shine in  the sky today.
I just know the lyrics you wrote will lead the way.
And with the positivity in all the words.
I gladly do anything for her on this earth.

So , play on Smokey Robinson.
Play on, Smokey Robinson.

Your song that so sweet.
It made this certain girl fall in love with me.
All rights belong to Jeffrey Conyers

— The End —