Powder, lip gloss and dilated pupils
Rolled up notes and cheap thrills
Somewhere near the beginning of the end
Your worst enemy is your best friend
It's alright, it's just a phase you're going through
In the urban sprawl it's what you've gotta do
because....
You're a crowd pleaser, out to please
begging for friends, on your knees
You're a crowd pleaser with the latest bent
pleasing friends that are just for rent
You're a crowd pleaser, a fresh appetite
with a heavy pocket that'll soon be light
...
Wake up, leave, while they laugh with you
Exit and pay yourself what you are due
Leave before your whole soul is sold
Start a new chapter before this one's old
As you leave the sparkle and the geezers
Enter stage right the fresh crowd pleasers.
...
They're a crowd pleasers, out to please
begging for friends, on their knees
They're a crowd pleasers with the latest bent
pleasing friends that are just for rent
Just crowd pleasers, they're up all night
Lines not solitude (their primary fright)

Powder, lip gloss and dilated pupils
Rolled up notes and cheap thrills
Somewhere near the beginning of the end
Your worst enemy is your best friend
It's alright, it's just a phase you're going through
In the urban sprawl it's what you've gotta do
because....
You're a crowd pleaser, out to please
begging for friends, on your knees
You're a crowd pleaser with the latest bent
pleasing friends that are just for rent
You're a crowd pleaser, a fresh appetite
with a heavy pocket that'll soon be light
...
Wake up, leave, while they laugh with you
Exit and pay yourself what you are due
Leave before your whole soul is sold
Start a new chapter before this one's old
As you leave the sparkle and the geezers
Enter stage right the fresh crowd pleasers.
...
They're a crowd pleasers, out to please
begging for friends, on their knees
They're a crowd pleasers with the latest bent
pleasing friends that are just for rent
Just crowd pleasers, they're up all night
Lines not solitude (their primary fright)

the only shame i feel: muslims hold a single book to be synonymous of a library.

apologies, this is why i wasn't fully integrated,
i hold enough respect for the English ethnicity to keep
the reins on my Slavic origin, and its ancient history,
i want to see the Graeae cauldron
of multiple-ethnicity and culturalism:
what with former slaves learning
rap to topple the slavish shackles?
no one ever heard my story under
the Germans, Russians and Austro-Hungarians,
all those to topple Israel already toppled me
to migrate and leave my mother *******
toward an an export: until the black gold runs
out you sand-******... until the oil runs out...
until the oil runs out...
you're the one abusing it because you have it...
until the oil runs out sand-******...
you gonna take the slang out of me?
what is it now? global or feminist tactic?
Chine ain't about to give Dagenham back,
like they're not giving Ostrowiec Św.:
first division in 1997.. extra-class...
yummie piggies at the trough:
money was created to pacify and let
rich boy girls' spend...
      Lwów / Lvov was still in poker hands
of Roosevelt... so much for ******* H'america...
     biker-clan-glandular-rhaps (or plural of odes):
****! i hate belonging to come or some thing...
i always thought about comedy prone enlarged *******
for the geography between left ****** antarctic and
right ****** arctic in tune with the jiggly fatty-bergs..
no... factual-bergs...
but you'd never disintegrate into a 0a.d.
given the colonial history narrative that doesn't
involve the old testament and ***-kissers and
hefty conservative ***-pleasers like the book
of Antioch proposed... made that up...
got mixed up thinking on the necromancer of
the year that was actually 1997-8
17th *KSZO Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski, tablature
pld.     pts.        w.   d.     l.    f.      a.
         34      24    6   6 22 24 47...
piggie piggie: got the giddy giggly ***** ****-a-doodle-do...
and i know i would too...
small town Polish town, a big Russian
would-be clever-pincer attracted to ******-pinching,
and all the milky drools, down the Nile toward
Cairo, so long as you wife is an Oasis of hamburgers and
strobe-berry epileptics, i.e.: blink 182's what's my age again?
i speak the ******* sprechen and i don't even belong
here... it's like i'm apologising for something that
was coming... thankfully i'm resolved to integrate cognitively
but in the domestic realm have nothing to do with
this language...
     i don't want to speak it to my mother,
i don't want to speak it to my father,
i can't afford to rent a house and prolong a university
bachelor lifestyle, the arabs and nigerians bought
all the flats out and are renting them out...
hopefully to Somalian pirates for: essex tan orange
sake in terms of: if i figured my tongue was an
axe in the first place... i'd lace my life with
many more people applauding...
i never understood this desire to integrate without
having the right to censor what i'm about to
embrace... a contract, much of smallprint readied
on the fidgety hand...
       it's not that i suddenly chose to
ethnically suspend my origins for a need to respect,
i kept my mother tongue for times such as these,
when i can't be approached as white and as inheritor
of colonialism... if i say i'm German they'll *******
clap, i remember once they asked me as if i were
going to do an app. for the caliphate asking me:
you German? no... Polish... huh? what's that?
somewhere in between Germany and Russia...
now i can't claim the ethnicity that my's right hand
of use with tongue... and now i can't claim the
tongue that isn't the ethnicity but is otherwise my
limb-for-limb... 5p.m. tea 100 years later is
a hijab on the streets of Birmingham...
no secret... i just see why i need to be involved like
some James Dean "wannabe" schizoid spice...
there will be no news from Poland concerning
the migrant crisis, no talk of a Muslim takeover...
ironically, as Monty Python would have said:
everyone was expecting a Polish Inquisition,
or as the crowds chanted: Evangelism! not the Quran!
happily are those: seeing America involve
itself in this slogan... me? as ever, the Pontius Pilate:
i said it once, i'll say it again:
panic is worse than fascism...
   panic is worse than fascism...
you don't expect panic, hence the beasts' stampede
in urban areas... fascism? you know it's
coming, and you know it's not good...
             fascism is panic realised too late,
fascism is panic organised... you knew it was coming
and you did nothing to prevent it...
  the only thing that could have prevented Trump
winning the presidency was acknowledging an unequivocal
membership of the union... Cracow wasn't built in
one day... trigger ******* happy panic button: press!
press! oppress! that special relationship of yours?
yeah... ye'ha! rear 'em in with that quiff of yours, cowboy!
ye'ha!
please don't get me involved, i know how to
impale a turk on a rotten wooden stump, rather than
crucify a Syrian on a geometric of mahogany
amid sacred words: so descended onto a mosque's minaret
and the hippy-hair-debate, and no hair and the hajj.
i know, people are apprehensive you're not a businessman
employing 100 slave Mongolians enlisted to blowing
up 1000 helium filled balloons an hour for birthday
party contracts... and none of them are properly trained
in ventriloquist's chipmunk!
              james dean was the original schizophrenic...
who treated society as an asylum,
and the asylum as a garden of Eden...
                                       lucky him: mono-linguistic...
   i sometimes wish i had that luxury on inherent
cleansing of ethnicity, so i could be left with only
a culinary boasting akin to the Persian quote on
falafel... but then you never know who's side you're
gonna be on...
i might as well quote him akin to j. franco post-doppelganger:
you're tearing me apart!
                                   and they say people think...
nonetheless: whether thinking or not,
they are... a welcome aversion in finding pleasure in
zoos; esp. the times when they're sweating like sardines
stashed in vulvas on underground trains: ventriloquists'
suggestion? moans: foetal moans... get me out of here...
otherwise groaned? harder... mm... deeper...
make your pelvis kiss my pelvis! mmm... baby!
first your read the Marquis to get a hard-on,
then you ****-off that hard-on...
and then you do a hand-job to someone else
and pass on the Oxfam motto to some other "hungry" Afrikaan.

The backseat driver's lips began to chap
And his jaw locked
Thank you Based God

The people pleasers asked to hitch a ride
They had no mode of transportation
And the lack of communication coming from the backseat driver was concerning them even more

I thought I was about to be bamboozled when they started to clean the interior

I decided to pull over and check out an antique store on the side of the highway

They had used toothpicks used by President Eisenhower
The word "Anagram" in all upper case letters made of lacquered balsa wood

While we were there I tossed out all my unpaid speeding tickets  

Then I saw a sign the said "Continental breakfast $2.50!! 3 miles thata way!!"

I zoomed to the diner and ordered that continental breakfast for the backseat driver, the people pleasers and myself

We each received one coffee, one buttered roll and one danish

We all had the same irritated, sour look on our faces

We flipped the table in disbelief

Attacked the waiter and held the innocent patrons hostage with a fully loaded sling shot
And demanded the cook whip us up a gross of spinach horderves

As we left the back seat driver called shot gun
So we all pilled in with our horderves
And I gunned it to 95
The backseat driver held on to the "oh **** handle" for dear life as the people pleasers cheered me on with their mouths full

On to Massapequa

This ***** ******:

They say that beauty is in the eyes of the
Beholder, so does this ***** have eyes?
the power of evil and bad,

Today we see what it can do
Many a nation have gone to war,
Because of this ugly beauty,
many family units has been tread apart
Because of its evil doings,

The seven hundred wives of
King Solomon and his three
Hundred concubines was
a great example of what
the ugly beauty can do:

Infidelity is on the rise,
so many lies: so many shortcoming,
Lucy ****** is an embarrassing subject
why men lie and killed for it?

this remarkable commodity: with
****** is like a Van Gogh painting,
It gets lot of attention: the baseline dimensions
is still a mystery: A weapon so powerful

It can break a man down to his lowest
It has a language of its own.
silly words like sup, sup, sup.
the same sound effects of a cold beer going down
the gullets: the smoother, the  esophagus: pleasers

The ****** and a beer have so much in common
they both get their men all the time,
a smooth transportation, in addition, the lamentation,

****** you are surely blissful:
Men incredible dreams
who wouldn’t want to own the team?
No matter how destructive or fulfilling:

* Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent,
more perfect than all that a man can invent.”
― Roman Payne* Quote

Soul reaper, night creeper, dark angels and spirit teasers.
With no hearts or hearts of ice that will not accept you as a teacher.
But beware of their lust; their lies that can make you cry,
Because only the light can shine to show your path in the night.

Soul reaper, heart stealer, evil doers and demon pleasers.
Who stay up late, with no hope but faith, that lurking out your gate.
To come in at night and take a life, leaving a family in fright with hate.

Soul reaper, evil redeemer, satan the saviour of all broken dreamers.
Why now, why here, why them at this time and hour.
Yes, death is assured to every being, but why other's are earlier.

Soul reaper, night creeper, dark angels and spirit teasers.
With no hearts or hearts of ice that will not accept you as a teacher.
But beware of their lust of lies that can make you cry,
Because only the light can shine to show your path in the night.

Women are the vessels that hold life
for Nine 1/2 weeks like Kim Basinger
Call me Mickey.

Women adorned Da Vinci paintings with a half smile
martyrs in the flames of freedom
Call me Joan.

Women that nurture life
the greatest man to ever walk our path
call me Mary.

-and yet we’re reduced to calling them “*****”
because our male brains can’t reach to nothing more.

Women in revolutionary trenches
artist, poets, our strongholds, mend no fences
call me Frida.

Women our souls, our backbones
endless spinal chords that keep us up
call me Theresa.

-and yet “*****” is the word that dominates our tongues
when we refer to them.

Women the leaders, the warriors
the fighters, the valor of the coward
call me Cleopatra.

Women the lovers, the pleasers
that feed us and keep us up on our feet
call me Anne Boleyn.

-and yet “*****” infiltrated our vocabulary
like a terminal cancer, let’s get rid of it.

Is it such a shameless sin
To fall in love with who you are within?
No one ever speaks of how beautiful they can be
If they didn't put an entire focus and energy
On artificial eye pleasers
To tease the mind
To define beauty
With a worthless dime & an impossible size
If you keep depending on everyone else to tell you you're lovely
For who will you perform when crowd leaves?

You count the calories
Instead of the stars
For the world to see
Another beautiful body.
To run the long mile
So your thighs don't touch
Will who you really are ever be enough?
You've wandered down a street
Where the washed up women are all so cheap
For red lipstick you are a thief
Who will you be
When the audience retreats?

Once the whole world disappears
Into meadows of flowering fields
And numbers are but an illusion so far
All you'll have left to count on are those ******* stars.

Just a few hangups last night
Couple missteps here & there
none too noticeable, I believe
sealed stayed my lips
for the most part, of course.
I'm not one of those
polite pleasers, you know.
Gets me in trouble sometimes.

"Negativism!" she yelled
out all of a sudden.
I didn't know that was
the tail end of a line
directed toward me.
Quiet, patient, hard-working
shy, innocent, little rosebud
He'd never heard me laugh like that, though.
What a thing to hide away!
It'd never occurred to me
and it's still hard for me to find it
these days
But it's not because I'm trying to listen to the teacher anymore.
No
It's because I'm too preoccupied
with ____
I awake, anxious
Thoughts coursing through my mind
Not always the same ones but
The end result
relativizes them anyway

It's the popping up
the seizure of the pen
the enabling of the ink to flow
the willing.
Because I am my own creator
He breathes into me, but
If I don't sit up I will only melt
Maybe he knows it all already
If he didn't I guess he wouldn't be infinite.
But that's no reason
To let the sheets and bones and sinews
become one.
Let those mirrors shift.
Let the motions flow,
the actions build momentum.
What else can I do?
Death won't let me down.
It's loyaler than
that golden puppy-turned-beast
whose "wanton moan" I'll never forget

Even she knew
that this life
doesn't last forever.

These people...they're obsessive. Hoarders of memorabilia associating success with handshakes, photographs and play-dates. I'm surrounded by squiggly lines vandalizing art and silhouettes of super-heated sand granules encasing a substance so vile that it permanently damages the frontal lobe of the collective consciousness. Inspirations float helplessly about the sea of underachievers and people-pleasers. What is success? Is it simply to impress the people around you? To instill envy upon your enemy? I won't even begin to dissect the differences. I can't even begin to protect the witnesses. The costumes are insignificant. The same tired, scared, eyes stare blankly at themselves from behind every mask. The ladder needs some broken rungs. The bladder bleeds; soaked in ***.  People milling about, spilling their sins. Reaching out sure looks a lot like clawing, and what is the difference between pleading and begging? May it be the same difference between dancing and squirming? No matter what we do, we all feel unworthy.  So, I guess all that's left is: Learning.  Teaching, not preaching. Boy, this place sure is unnerving.  A shuffling mass of introverts sent into a downward spiraling life of discomfort, soon to be snuffed out with possessions.  The empathy for the undead is utterly apparent, and arguably, inherent. Looking for answers in dusty pages and plastic heroes.  Punks, Drunks, Nerds, *****.  Women with bright hair and crooked teeth. Men replacing the hair they've lost on their heads with that which sprouts from their chins.  I need a drink, I think.  But in actuality what I need is a warm bed and a couple centuries of sleep.

He was constant.
She was unpredictable.
He was rational.
She was emotional.

He was a dreamer.
She was a believer.
He was a talker.
She was a listener.

He was a critical thinker.
She was an avid reader.
He spoke in a bottomline manner.
She wrote in a metaphorical way.

He was a mechanic.
She was an artist.
He assembled guns.
She crafted poems.

He was a bike rider.
She was a composer.
He was skillful with his engines.
She was passionate with her songs.

He was an entertainer.
She was a public speaker.
He had tenacity.
She had authority.

He was firm.
She was flexible.
He was honest.
She was open.

He was a risk-taker.
She was adventurous.
He was a planner.
She was a goer.

He was happy-go-lucky.
She was often uneasy.
He was drink-and-be-merry.
She was live-life-and-be-happy.

Both responsible in their chosen field.
Both loud, but would sometimes prefer the solitary.
Both travellers, jokers, and crowd-pleasers.

Parallel, but not entirely the same.
Opposites, but not completely contradicting.
Complementary, but not dependent to each other.
Most importantly, loving, but not demanding.

He and She.
You and Me.

it's abut 9pm and I decide I don't want to be alone



there was a car crash earlier that day up west towards Salida--
some Kansas man who was killed by a driver trying to pass
in the right lane, declared deceased on scene, another man
from Monument who was air-lifted to St. Thomas Moore,
no critical injuries.

I tend to ask God for these big signs, signs that I'll recognize. I tell him
that they need to be something I'll notice because you know me, sometimes I can't hear you. Anyway, signs, crashes. A Kansas man died.  It's 9pm and I pull on some jeans and leave the house.

I'm supposed to be at a rodeo dancing, but maybe I wasn't supposed to be there after all. I have this white dress in my closet that you can't even see, tucked between everything else because it's so thin, lays flat beneath the aztec smocks and cream cardigans. I take it out and brush it off, thread my fingers through the open lace--

10pm. When I breathe soft enough the stars look like they're hanging on strings, like I could reach up and snap them off,
they'd be no bigger than dew drops on a spider web
so light they'd drift up in the night breeze and
set up in my own natural atmosphere.

What good would it have done me to be there? I only ask
myself to assuage the warm fear i've been feeling since Friday
night, a lingering umbrage I did not think would stay--
I can see the white stitches in my jeans that look
like they're glowing,
smells like rain out here.
I wish I was out at Chaffey
for a quick moment, enveloping
someone else in this chanel perfume
makin' someone else envious of the
way another man got to spin me out--

I'm trying to be all these people at once, an  
audience of crowd pleasers piled into one body
It's so quiet, I'm so quiet up on the sideways knoll in
Florence, tired of letting people down easy off the sidewalk
curb and being tossed off the bridge over the state highway myself,
I can't help it, I want to say aloud.

I can't help that I am this way, collected.
calm in hearty hysterics, anxious to tell
you about how I've been fixed,
that warm fear growin' hotter
a coal for every man who suggested
I be less than who I am by pourin' more
into my cup,

I'm trying. I'm trying.

an under 30 year old should be partying right now,
gimmicks of chums  and the laid leases on the daisies -
well -  not this one,  he's finishing off a second beer
of his feline promenade  that's english suburbia twirls
rather than a grand archway  of paris -
sitting underneath the sea of black and the moon
marked clearly  hardly scythe or fully chubby -
somewhere half-way between both -
well, the beer was blossom, the cigarette
a morbier cheese - and the traffic,
this traffic night traffic - watching it on
collier row road  by the aquarium store
on the brick up-stand, sometimes the moon,
sometimes the traffic - busy bees and dressed and
attired - ready crowd pleasers - i was there once,
hardly a success story, from pedigree pampering
self-conscious bewilderment, to a near-homeless
mutt ragged with 3 weeks of unwashed hair
prolonged by wetting it -
hardly a stink, but still the grease from the pollution;
and lie the children of dentists are told,
pea sized amount of toothpaste, brush quickly
under 30 seconds... go over it, and as nicotine staining
proved prior to this tactic, indeed teeth became
nicotine stained, now using less toothpaste and
shortening the brushing to under 30 if not under
10 seconds... my teeth have no nicotine stains...
after all, we need dentists and what not, we need
to feed them, we need the middle-men to tell us
it takes 3 minutes and a thumb's length of toothpaste
to get the job done, twice a day...
indeed, my mouth was converted into a toilet -
it's mint in my mouth, it's charcoaled roses on my neck
and cheeks, it's quasi-mint under my armpits
of anti-perspiration unshaken can snow muck,
i'm well oiled like Cleopatra - i have babe powder
on my *** - all the pleasant toiletries you know -
but what i don't have and you won't ever give me
is the smell, the smell like Jack Daniels from the
brothel and the sweet taste of the girls -
see, a pea sized dollop of toothpaste and under 10 second
brushing, and still the nicotine staining doesn't
coat the inner side of your chop chopper chops;
ah but still getting drunk watching saturday night traffic,
everyone's so busy i figured the best job around
was to get a profession in laziness.

You can't please everyone.
Hell, you can't please anyone, can you?
That's who we are, as humans.
We try to please everyone, but all we want is to be pleased ourselves.
We're people-pleasers, we are.
Well, we try to be.
You can give all you want; take what people want to give you.
But you can't be pleased.
You can't please those who hate you,
But why care?
You can't even please those who matter the most.
But maybe pleasing them doesn't even matter at all.
And sometimes it seems that you'll never please yourself.
But it's trying that pushes you forward.

People pleasers
I am one
Always have been
It's a selfless
Yet selfish
Mind set
I only want others
To be happy
I want people
To be happy
But when will I
Realize..
I AM people
I deserve happiness

Not tonight I suppose..

Some has adjusted to this role.
While some relinquish being in this role.
A part time pleaser to lovers seeking a moment of thrills.

Scandals, doesn't affect them.
Many secretly protect them.
Money is always involved.
Just the satisfaction of sharing a small amount of affection.
As a part time pleaser.

Many secret lovers be before your face.
With yours truly and you not suspect a thing.
Great actors of pretense not giving clues to anything.

We can preach, how bad it is?
We can say, how bad it appears?
But many part time pleasers simply fulfilling a need.

That many refuses to see.
If they are yours.
Then what you doing to keep them pleased?

Poem by Mpontsi Blaquetouch Blaquetouch


u are too high for my tracks
so better find another clique
coz i'm not backing down on my flex

when I first saw u
I knew we weren't gonna be friends
coz thing is; I dnt bow
only God deserves my bow

much as I love and respect
one thing I wont do
is loose myself
while trying to find you

your approval has no weight for me
I can do without it
I don't blame you thou
I blame all of them who gave you glory beyond measure

had they told you the truth
i'm sure your head wud still be intact
now look at how big it has grown
no pillow can house it all
even a one size fit all hat, fails to cover it

I dnt blame you thou
I blame all of them, man pleasers
my prayer for you is;
remember who u are
bring out the person you are behind closed doors,
introduce that person to everyone

who knows they might even love you
love you exactly for who you are

but for now...just find another clique
coz I wont bow nor loose myself while trying to catch you
come to the people's level
then maybe we can talk
as I continue praying.

Funerals for him is killing loneliness
He sets the alarm clocks in time for the announcements:
If familiarize with the names of the dearly departed:
he lights up like the light on Broadway:

The dearly departed is at rest: his struggles with reality,
of how the world runs: is unsettling:

the funerals arrangements is always the same:
The tone of the announcers : slow and gloomy,

Black and white would always be the traditional attires,
and the hymn ash to ashes will echo in ones ears,
so long as the tears flow slowly throughout the services:

As they lower the leveler into the ground,
they are gone but not forgotten:  R.I.P

Poet and death titles,
Death shall have no hold on me,
Death shall not make me sad,
I refused to mourn death: and that's the truth about me

Drinking and eating after the services: Is it a good gesture?
From soak tissues to soggy appetizers: the crowd pleasers
From the wet cemetery: to the living rooms floors

Poets feel and see the irony:
As they sat in their black and white attire, eating and drinking
Mount Gay or cold Banks beers:

The colorful graveyard welcomes another tenant:
Funeral for him is killing loneliness
He set the alarm in time for the announcements.
Fear man, not the dead: we two are so incompatible

**Regardless of whom you are or where you’ve been
You can be what you want to be. W. cement

I give credit to the pleasers of this world.
They know the trick of manipulation.
Whether it be with words or with touch,
they always form to the molds of the others desires.
They know how to make everyone happy.
I don't even know how to make myself happy.
In fact,
I don't even know how to finish this poe-

To Become English Citizens It's Been ... " Alleged " ...
Some Women Are Willing To ... S P R E A D Their Legs ... !!!    
      
I Guess You Really Can't Blame Them ... !?!      
      
" Lunar House " ... Down There In Croydon ...    
  
A Centre Used For Immigration ...    
Has Got Some Staff Pulling A Scam ... !!!    
UGLY Folk DON'T Have A Chance ...    
Their Passport Photos Get NO STAMP ... !!!!    
      
They're STUCK On Walls ... !!!    
So Staff Can JOKE About Their Hopes .....    
of ..... " Coming In " .....    
      
While ...  
PRETTY Faces Get Their Places ...    
Visas YES ... For ****** Favours ... !!!!!    
  
Europeans and Brazilians ...  
Are Dealt With ... BEFORE Indians ...    
So ... Heaven Help Poor Africans ... !!!!!      
      
Unless They're WHITE Then They're ALRIGHT ... !!!!    
Once They're Prepared To ... S P R E A D Their Thighs ...    
      
DON'T Be Surprised If Some Are Guys ... !!!    
Gay People ... Are Now NOT SHY ...    
      
Security Checks ...  
Come ... SECOND To *** ... !!!!!    
      
It's NOT Just Men In TERRORIST Sects ... !!!!!    
      
BNP Man Like Those Within The Ku Klux **** ...    
Are NOT ALL Gay ... Some Like Woman ... !!!    
      
That's Bound To Get Racists ... UPSET ... !!!!!    
      
But ... " American History X  "...    
Showed ... Who They *** ...      
When Those Within Start To DEFECT ... !!!!!    
      
So Mister McNulty ...    
Something SMELLS ... FUNNY ... !!!!!    
      
He's ... " Home Office Minister " ...    
      
Your Staff Are ... " Allegedly " ...    
................. SINISTER .............. !!?!!    
      
WHO Told Them To Administer ... ?    
Their Duties ... Based On Double D's ... !?!    
Or Basically ... For ****** Deeds ... ?    
      
I'm Saying What's Your Policy ... ?  
To Simply Spread ****** Disease ...    
If Girls Like These Will Spread Their Knees ... ?!?    
What Will They Do To Make Money ... !?!    
      
Lapdance In Clubs And ... " Such and Such " ...    
Girls Like These You CANNOT TRUST ... !!!!!    
      
****** PLEASERS For A VISA ... !!!    
PROSTITUTION ... Is Their KEEPER ... !!!    
      
Or .... Is IT ... !?!    
      
Once They're In ...  
Will They RESIST ... Using Their Bits ... ?!?    
      
"Not likely mate !" ...    
      
They've Found Their Trade ... !!!    
Getting Paid For Getting Laid ...      
      
So ... "WHERE THEY AT ... !?!?!"    
      
I Hear You Say ...    
      
Where QUICK CASH Is ... !!!  
    
Turning TRICKS For Mister **** ...    
And Licking ***** For Mrs. RICH ... !!!!    
      
Just For CASH So They Can Live ... !!!    
How Could Your Workers Be SO SICK ... !?!?!    
Have Things Now REALLY Come To THIS ... ?!?!?    
      
Or Is This How It's ALWAYS BEEN ... ?!!!?    
      
Well His -  Story ...  
Proves ... " Colour Screens " ...    
Have Clouded ... Immigration Dreams ...      
But Now Because You're Deemed ... UGLY ... !!!!!    
      
WHO Makes THAT CALL ... ?!?  
    
She's Beautiful And Usable ...    
And Then Decides To Spread Her Thighs ... ?!?      
WHO On Earth ... Recruits THESE GUYS ... ?!?    
      
"GIVE US A JOB, I'LL GIVE IT A TRY !"      
  
That's A JOKE ... !!!    
I'm NOT A Bloke Who Would COERCE ...    
Just For *** With ... " Pretty Girls " ... !!!?!!!    
      
Girls Like These Have S.T.D's ...    
And Nowadays Are Spreading A.I.DS ... !!!!!    
      
So Minister What Do You Say ... ?    
      
"An inquiry of course, yes, RIGHT AWAY !"  
      
"Okay, that's great !"    
      
Isn't It A BIT LATE ...    
To Ask HOW MANY Have Been Laid ...      
And ... WHO In Your Crew ... DISCRIMINATES ... ?!?!?    
      
You'll Do The USUAL ... " Cover Up " ...    
      
UNLIKE These Women ...    
With NICE CUPS And **** Bums ... !!!!!    
      
And Those Who've Made ...    
Your Workers ... " Ummmmm " ... !!!!!!!    
      
Comply To Try Guidelines Designed ...    
To KEEP The ... UGLY Ones In Line ...    
And KEEP Your Country's Race ... STREAMLINED ... !!!      
      
By KEEPING Whites ...    
At The ... TOP of The PILE ...    
      
That's NOTHING NEW We Know Your Style ... !!!    
As These Girls KNOW How LOW You'll Go ... !!!!!!!!    
      
CAN'T They Just CHARM A Pretty Girl ... ?!?    
WITHOUT The Need To ... TWIST Their Arm ... !?!      
      
Well ... As I've Said It's CASH They Want ...    
Immigration Staff CAN'T Be On Much ...    
To FORCE Women To Give Them FUN ... !!!    
      
But As I've Said ...    
What In Turn Happens To MEN ... !?!?!    
      
Do They End Up In Bed With Them ... ?      
Those EMPLOYED By Government ... ?!?!?    
      
That's A ... DANGEROUS Question ... !?!    
      
So Let's Leave THAT To Your Newsmen ...      
And See What's SHOWN On .... News At Ten .... !!!    
      
This Poem's DONE  ... !!!    
Writing This ... Has Been Quite FUN ... !!!    
      
But NOT As Much As Welcoming ...      
****, Pretty Young Women ...    
Into Your Bed Cos They're IMMIGRANTS ... !!!!!    
      
Who Having Kissed And Slowly Licked ...    
DESPERATE Workers ... For SICK KICKS ... !!!!    
      
Do This To Hear ...    
      
" COME IN, COME IN ... "

Reality show
Notoriety hoes
Follow what glows
Behind a fame nose
In a shame pose
As the game goes
They keep staying low
While nasty stains grow
From thinking vapidly
And acting rapidly
Not speaking factually
We don’t see them actually

Seeming tame
And plain
Seeking fame
Their aim
All the same
They play a game
Of hoops of flame

Becoming circus acts
By removing tact
On a negative track
Of shooting flak
And shooting back
Negativity attracts
Harmful impacts
At an old impasse
Of cold syntax
Warranting a gin tax
Drinking from a tin flask
So the emptiness is masked

The reverb
Resurge
Rewords
The birds
Caught in the Internet
Like a flying intercept
Stealing their intellect
With a mundane misdirect
Of inane interests

A new method for dollar dreamers
Now the cynical screamers
Are digital streamers
Pivotal pleasers
Concerned with clicks
By scratch and kick
They hatch a trick
To match a *****
Dispatched to fix
Their lack of hits

The loud and obnoxious
Are proud of the noxious
And opening boxes
They stream video games
Other people made
They just played
For a good grade
In the leisure lane
No pleasure or pain
To treasure my brain

Their reality shows
In modality woes
Personality froze
Under their nose
In a monitor glow
Development slows
As far as irrelevant goes
They’re part of the flow
That doesn’t grow

Taking the shameful road to attention
For a dishonorable mention
Avoiding knowledge retention
For a superficial invention
Of social extension
They have a fatal mentality
That perception is reality
But the exception is vitality
That isn’t just an eventuality
For one must be capable and willing
To try to produce something fulfilling
Instead of just simple time killing
While hourglass sand keeps spilling

i'm trying to remember all the times
i was "subject"
to... being... assiociate
with a mis-application of ethnicity...
i'd walk down edgware rd.
with a half-Indian half-scouser
girlfriend, and i'd be approached
by muslim street preachy-vendors
being asked:
are you German?
   and i was like: internal dialogue:
iz ziß ver v vype ut
zee Ju?
i always replied: guess...
counter to German,
i woz eh Schveed...
             i gave up...
        but after a few more instances...
i voz alvayz: die deutsche...
oh... you think that the English
are no suspect?
   the innocence of being asked:
where are you from?
will always be countered
with... Leibzig...
or... Kiel...
               i almost felt like
an actor... all that was missing
was the schutzstaffel uniform
and a smirk of a catholic schoolboy
from: Witten, Bavaria...
oh... not unlike the reaction
from the movie falling down,
where some poor schmuck
gets lectured on the distinction
between a Japean and Korean
(does anyone really need
the correct -ese, "person"?) -
we all know that the ****
think they are the master race of
the asians...
so... why bother?
but i was kindly reminded,
the Muslims were all wet *****
asking me: are you zee gerrrrrrman?
you know how painful
it sometimes is...
        to play out the expected
question to the questioner's
leveling of surprise?
for me?
that's like asking me whether
i'm a ******* rushkie...
             no... i am not part
of any... "ummah"...
                      wasn't the dajjal supposed
to arrive from Babylon,
as the head of the Iranian army?
so i nod,
yes, i'm German,
and in England that's like:
visa...
     or... something that
the post-colonial former powers
do not fathom...
Germany might have given
birth to the Nazis...
but it didn't give birth
to the colonial bureaucrat...
feeble... a reader of Kant...
like me...
          whatever cocktail
of ****-wits and party-pleasers
is to come out of all this...
20 years into the 21st, grand opera,
of a century to end all centuries...
most of the time...
it's better that these
people understand that i am German
than figure out:
exotica postcard from
the nowhere that's Poland...
like: kommensie um! kommensie um!
like some hanzel und gretyl
witch...
          i play the German...
back where:
i'm just the "failed" generic
                                         similar...
but no...
i could tell apart a Thai from a ***...
and a *** from a Ching...
maybe...
but then a Maroccan from
a Libyan from an Iraqi
from a Saudi from a Yemenese?
well...
   am i alone?
looks like most of these, people,
can't tell the difference between
a German and a ******...
so...
                 what?
and more notably...
                               what?
           oh right... there's also a "now"?
pull me a sly Bogart
will you...
                 i need to forget
that James Bond didn't really exist...
*******... carry on Casablanca!
that's all that James Bond
ever was...
        carry on! Casablanca.

Patterns pleasers and pomp
Got my rockets in a romp
Going down the street
With beautiful feet
Never stopping for a comp

Givers grumblers and glib
Doing nothing for a fib
Trample down
A growing crown
Until faith becomes your bib

Tokens takers and taunts
Throwing insults for a jaunt
Always around
But not a sound
When the results return to daunt

Buyers builders and bums
Sometimes are best chums
Though when in doubt
They throw ‘em out
So all become too numb

Flexers fixers and friends
Give advice to make amends
But they can forget
And sometimes jet
Until the time of some pretends

We mothers are often
Guilty
Guilty of not cutting
Our apron strings
Soon enough.

Guilty
Of denying our children
Freedom of
Self expression
Soon enough.

Instead
We betray
The mother/child bond
By
Smother Love.

We don't
Let go!

We are Custodians
Custodians
Of our children's
Future
Custodians
Of their right to
Self expression.
Protectors
Of their
Right to be.

Instead
Smother Love
Rules!

Our children
"Die"
Deep within
Becoming
People pleasers
"Yes"
Men and women.

Then
As old age creeps in
We wonder why
We are lonely
We wonder why
They stay away
We wonder why
They don't call

But most of all
We wonder why
When they do come
Once a year
At Xmas
You quarrel
For no apparent
Reason.

I love this you that I see
How you talk out your opinions
Without a care about society
That they expect you to be subtle
And sit in the fence
But you confidently take a stand
And tell them they are idiots
For being people pleasers
For pretending to be nice
So others can pretend to be nice to them
Maybe it's because you have aged
And seen how imprisoning it can be
To let the society cage you
And mould you into this person you're not happy being
Or maybe it's because you are retired
Probably it is because you slowly gained courage
Enough to peel away the layers
Of societal pressures
And had enough of their straining expectations
Or maybe you are just being the you
That you waited so long to be