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"prevaricate" poems
Why am I so frightened To say I'm me And publicly acknowledge My small mastery? Waiting for sixty years Till the people take out the horses And draw me to the theatre With triumphant voices? I know this won't happen Until it's too late And the deed done (or not done) So I prevaricate, Egging them on and keeping Roads open (just in case) Go on! Go on and do it In my place! Giving love to get it (The only way to behave). But hated and naked Could I stand up and say **** off! or, Be my slave! To be in a very unfeminine Very unloving state Is the desperate need Of anyone trying to write.
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Trying To Write
1 From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you: You are to die—Let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate, I am exact and merciless, but I love you—There is no escape for you. Softly I lay my right hand upon you—you just feel it, I do not argue—I bend my head close, and half envelope it, I sit quietly by—I remain faithful, I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbor, I absolve you from all except yourself, spiritual, bodily—that is eternal—you yourself will surely escape, The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious. 2 The sun bursts through in unlooked-for directions! Strong thoughts fill you, and confidence—you smile! You forget you are sick, as I forget you are sick, You do not see the medicines—you do not mind the weeping friends—I am with you, I exclude others from you—there is nothing to be commiserated, I do not commiserate—I congratulate you.
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To One Shortly To Die
Whenever you give me a hope, I'm telling myself to not fall for you But I failed I should have known it was always a prevaricate hope Or it was not a hope It is just me, Who always fall in tricky trap And it is just me Who always hope something That I have never deserved for
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Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
Hope
Flowery perfume, floats on the sound, Forcing its way out  From behind your teeth. The chemical that numbs our senses.   Now dead to the world, I sit alone in the dark, As your frosted window kills the sun. Let all my blood rush out my core, Don't freeze us, piece by piece, Thick and sluggish blood, Dead. With an ice cold heart. How noble, such a pretty face. That mask of porcelain and lace. Dressed high and mighty, It's no wonder why you fall So far.  Here on the ground, No grass, no soft silk to cushion the blow. We people, of dirt. Must learn to turn what's brown to clay. To cook from earth a bowl and plate. We survive, and we sing away the night. We make filthy our clothes, and lie in the sun. Lie in the sun and not to a face, Equivocate. You fill your words with grace. Justify your lie, prevaricate. Then ******** all over their face. Catch your flies with your brown honey. I'll burn away all the world's impurities, With the fire in my words. Nurse the damage, with  Cold hard truth. Build scar upon scar. Become new. Evolve.
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May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 3:48 PM UTC
To Be Open Mouthed*
You cringeworthy, evil pismire; Your father did surely miss-sire This personification of flatulence, The embodiment of self importance Overflowing with abject peccancy Devoid of any sign of respectability Replete with gross odoriferousness Horribly and infamously unscrupulous. You have reveled in misrepresentation And tried to elevate your calumniation Disinformation and deception exists As capitalistic dissembling persists. You’ve collected an evil government Built mostly of human excrement And have such a lack of veracity That you speak in constant mendacity. Sycophantic eructations of dogmatic bile Issue from your unsympathetic smile And your inauthentic glad-handed gropes As if we all of us are unbright gullible dopes That buy your fabrications completely While you pilfer and prevaricate indiscreetly. You are a Vaudevillian villain miscast as star, But most of us know exactly what you are. Deceit, deception, dishonesty; a tragedy But not for you, for us and our country. Distortion, evasion and fabrication the rules; You despair of any other kinds of tools. Falsehoods, fictions and forgery are your tricks. You demand we build with straw-less bricks Your erections that are planned to be palaces Filled with your giant golden carved phalluses. Those monuments, inanotomically correct, Established to celebrate and somehow protect A mountebank on the way to an overseas bank Claiming to eradicate the scoria he creates That decades of privation will not quite alleviate. But you, the Great Prevaricator, will always blame Other players in your sick, unconstitutional game Instead of admitting your complicity and guilt About the disgusting, putrid swamp you built.
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Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
THE GREAT PREVARICATOR
You cringeworthy, evil pismire; Your father did surely miss-sire This personification of flatulence, The embodiment of self importance Overflowing with abject peccancy Devoid of any sign of respectability Replete with gross odoriferousness Horribly and infamously unscrupulous. You have reveled in misrepresentation And tried to elevate your calumniation Disinformation and deception exists As capitalistic dissembling persists. You’ve collected an evil government Built mostly of human excrement And have such a lack of veracity That you speak in constant mendacity. Sycophantic eructations of dogmatic bile Issue from your unsympathetic smile And your inauthentic glad-handed gropes As if we all of us are unbright gullible dopes That buy your fabrications completely While you pilfer and prevaricate indiscreetly. You are a Vaudevillian villain miscast as star, But most of us know exactly what you are. Deceit, deception, dishonesty; a tragedy But not for you, for us and our country. Distortion, evasion and fabrication the rules; You despair of any other kinds of tools. Falsehoods, fictions and forgery are your tricks. You demand we build with straw-less bricks Your erections that are planned to be palaces Filled with your giant golden carved phalluses. Those monuments, inanotomically correct, Established to celebrate and somehow protect A mountebank on the way to an overseas bank Claiming to eradicate the scoria he creates That decades of privation will not quite alleviate. But you, the Great Prevaricator, will always blame Other players in your sick, unconstitutional game Instead of admitting your complicity and guilt About the disgusting, putrid swamp you built.
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Hie Yamaha Wegman ****** voyager, voted vonage valuable, unrepentant TIME Magazine subscriber. Spotify sportsman Snapchat smartly. Sleuth slenderman silences Shutterfly schvitzing. Saxby sassy Santander sais sage rues rudimentary router rotorooter. Royale Rococco rigged remarkably regular referee reefers red reddit reeder recuperating. Reconnaissance recluse really rabid. QVC quotient quoting, quo quoi quivering quite quirky. Quisling quipped. Quintuplets quintessentially quiet. Quids Quicken questions. Quartermaster qualified quaint quaffing quadrilateral Pythons. Pyrex pylons put purdy purposeful puny punsters punching. Pumpkin pumice publicized prudential protean pros properly pronouncing prolific prodigies. Proletariats professors' problematic. Pro privileges prioritized. Principle primates prevaricate. Preppy pregnant, praying prattler possibly Porgie. Poseidon pooping poodle ponders poppycock. Plum? Polite poison pods ply pitiful pinterest. Pinhead Pillsbury pillager Pi. Pigskin pierce petsmart pests permanently. Perdition percolates peppered PennState pedigreed PearlJam Patagonian. Pastor pastes passion passably. Papas' paginated orbitz okayed. Nutty node needs money. Next netzero nee naugahyde. Nattering nationwide nabob Moxie Molly McGee. Monosodium livingsocial joyus je kickstarter. Identityguard Huffington GMO. Gluten Glutamate footloose fancy free footlocker. Fingerhut fetishistic fabrication Cingular.
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Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
Just Mien Pap Smeared Vapid Yawping
Eye sore at  Cisco the weight of the World veers unwaveringly. Careless whispers prevaricate, what was strong now senses its own weightlessness, floating on, circles loosen, traces of people deep in our recesses slip through the  minds flotsam.
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Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
Nutmeg whispers
Silence is a body strong books may split stems for the breaking, now is the time to hold our thoughts carrying the folding chair of burden, upright conscience saying what's right at the time when needless pause may see us prevaricate.
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Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
Conscience
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride as he scurried up to escort me inside. "Come along, these are perilous times, there is much ugly truth we endeavor to hide." ""We recruit each years class from young children who display a disdain for the truth." "We start with a class on tall stories, progressing to fibs and untruths." "By the time they are teens they are ready to leave little white lies behind." "They engage in deceit and deception. These skills help them rob people blind." "With our Graduate course in lying They misdirect and deflect with the great." "Politicians here are made, not born, and must learn to prevaricate." "When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury I nearly went out of my mind." "If only he'd paid more attention in Class and less to some Coed's behind." We had come to a massive rotunda The Pantheon of all untruth. Holograms of Stalin and Churchill telling lies in an endless loop. There were quotes from the Koran and Bible inscribed on the sides of the wall. A Left wing devoted to Lenin. A right wing like a Munich beer hall. " The sheeple must never be told that a place like this even exists." " You can count on me not to inform them." I said, barely moving my lips.
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Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
School for Scandal
I can see the apple pie looking at me from the fridge I’m really trying to pass it by, not notice its sweet pastry ridge I don’t want to taste its appley bits, so fruity and delicious My inner voice is just the pits, it’s acting quite suspicious ‘cause while I’m being very strong and showing great resolve My inner voice is forcing me to watch the pie revolve I know that I should just stand fast and keep the pie a dream But all that I can picture is apple pie and ice cream Wait, what’s that you say, you’d like some apple pie? Someone has eaten up my dream; I think I’m going to cry Why did I prevaricate, my conscience didn’t budge And now I want it, it’s too late. I’ll just have chocolate fudge.
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Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:01 AM UTC
A little slice of heaven
I go to sleep again, eventually After hours of fitful tossing, Unwilling to surrender To the nightly unknowing. Some nights bring forgetting of everything; Self, days, events, time, life itself. Others fill themselves up With a sort of coin, of wavering moonlight Seen through the haze of obfuscating dewfall. Reflections broken free from the sea of self Raise unobstructed to float, Hanging in the cooling ether of dreamscapes Where in the fog nameless dogs bark And dark landscapes prevaricate. Where clocks do not follow rules, Where gravity sometimes suspends Or history rewrites itself. Judgments come down and are executed Beyond the dignity of reason. Nights pass slowly through a watery realm Where nothing is concrete, As we wade clumsily through clumps of time, Skip through a children's maze of nonsense riddles. And when the knowledge of being in a dream Pierces sporadically, through the body's paralysis We awaken, amazed to find That we are simply ourselves again, Then we stretch back out, into the other dimension, Ready to dream some more lines; Sample some more realities Till morning awakens us with hands Of impatient brightness. And abstraction slinks away To wait for the next evenings Entertainment of amnesia.
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Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
Amnesiphobia
Tergiverate. You're talking. Equivocate. I'm listening. Prevaricate. They hear too. Mask it, Cloak it, With pretense And disguise. Truth seeps out Throughout Your pattering Lies.
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Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
Truth Seeps Out
Darling pain subsides And all the scars and all the wounds They heal through the night To what lengths the hurt may go Depends on how you fight Put brave in what you have Put faith in what you might A pleasant disposition lets you But don't you hear a cry Through all the pines and all the shies Darling love subsides
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Jun 22, 2011
Jun 22, 2011 at 9:51 PM UTC
PREVARICATE
I am not going to swear Yes, your smile is a poem I am saying: je t'aime I love you with ardor With all my strength and force Yes, I'm all right and not lost Your smile is absolutely beautiful And you are unbelievably wonderful When I see you, I am energized I am extremely happy to rise To the great occasion and to be inspired By your style and your proper attire Nikkie, I don't like to prevaricate or to swear Your smile is a gorgeous poem That I wrote and edited Your smile is a precious poem That I loved and recited Yes, Chérie je t'aime I can no longer carry or bear These powerful inner feelings I discretely brought you a few rings I hope one day that I will be able to relinquish them To you, without seeing my love wrecking the dam The barrier, the boundary, the door, anything on the way Yes, where there is a will, there exists a pathway Darling, your smile is an amazing poem And I am relieved to say: je t'aime I love you dearly, ich liebe dich, ti amo, te quiero Yes, I'm inspired; I can feel the sacchariferous arrow. Copyright © May 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved. Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
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Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 12:08 PM UTC
Your Smile Is A Poem
When life is freehanded and such thinking is grand an instant of multitudes, here so love is abreast sometimes in its vastness and with every attitude-a traverse may prevaricate a rose that shall absolutely whence a savior and his abundance past his mountain of joy where a sky born adherence is her that connection now in virtual heat fore another day of Solaris, even so perfunctory that their monarch enabled gladness to outlast publicity. and pain is still only their dressage of relief while scope is still inside her heart today in an oak perchance an evil forsake her differ grace in a burgeoning community span evermore!
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Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
Thorough Good
I am glad of who I am. I celebrate my difference From those who scam And lie, without diffidence, Meanwhile, they are godless And worship Mammon In the name of holiness; A practice that is common. Their sleepless nights And bingeing on Mylanta Belies their image of Santa; Their self-created fantasy Of being job creators When the money they create They keep, and put away Into offshore banking states. With no basis for pride. They can’t celebrate About what they are, They can only prevaricate; Hire companies to help them To look us in our eye, Smile in thousand dollar hairdos And capped teeth then lie. Not I. My armor is truth, Saying what and who I am And letting others know Their postures are flim-flam! And as long as they make money Nothing is commendable but wealth; They joyfully create a culture Where there is pride in stealth.
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Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
GILDED FEET OF CLAY
In Noah Webster’s lexicon of 1828 this word meant one who walks about in an aimless mindless state. (He did not of course mean to describe our present head of state. Still I didn’t make it up- I don’t prevaricate!) He seems irresolute to deal with Isis’ militancy. His only firm direction is towards the Eighteenth tee. In the chill of an autumn afternoon, as the light begins to fade, it appears his major goal in life is the par shot he just made. Now that his term is winding down I get the strange impression that all this golfing is prelude to a planned change of profession. He’ll join the tour, he’ll make the cut He’ll finally have it all. when the only lie concerning him Is the lie of his golf ball.
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Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:02 PM UTC
The Obambulator
AssembleD to dissemble Congregated to prevaricate Misleading all misdeeds Associates to discriminate When nobles are ignoble And hit us with a low ball That baits and switches And then laughs at us all Applauding each other And singing their own praises Then giving themselves huge Unconscionably large raises It means we have lost sight Of the hows and the whys; That we are being defeated By the Tower Of Lies. Misleading all misdeeds Associates to discriminate Assembled to dissemble Congregated to prevaricate A subterfuge centrifuge Spinning out stories for dunces; Fables and mythology For addicts to mystery Fools playing wild hunches, This is Vegas for the mad A sad Monte Carlo atmosphere Worsening every year. An oven for a coven, A sick secretive collective, Of selected dark intentions; This is no place for the wise. Never unseated or defeated Those in the Tower Of Lies Assembled to dissemble Congregated to prevaricate Misleading all misdeeds Associates to discriminate
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Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
THE TOWER OF LIES
A man of the cloth wearing silk! the milk of human kindness turned sour! now is the hour as Shakespeare once wrote whom would you vote for and why? I am ready and ready to die having lived twice before and died twice as well and why? So back off with the guns and the burn out release your sons from their guilt. If it's a play that we're in and I'm not sure that we're not who wrote the script and who's playing what? I prevaricate because I like that word the letters are awkward, like me or haven't you heard? Yachts in Yosemite that's me Yellowstone gold.
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Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 6:53 AM UTC
Yachts in Yosemite
a sound poem does not hesitate does not prevaricate does not wobble about it states its purpose smartly develops its theme without hesitation even with a sense of urgency creating images sometimes memorable often fleeting having laid a table set out a feast plumped a sofa full of feathered cushions created a false sense of security it then leaps up and exits swiftly on tiptoe perhaps trailing a whiff of violets bloodstains a wry smile a hunger pang an uneasy longing leaving its reader in the lurch wondering where did that go Tricia Lambert (On being given the prompt-A Sound Poem)
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Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
A SOUND POEM-
Twas accursed destiny since birth alack nascent emasculation abominable barrack emergent deus ex machina, viz zit ting older sibling counterattack thirteen plus chronological gap eldest sister struck like diamondback surrogate "mother" role assumed tubby exact protectorate pseudo fullback against cruel beastie boys bullying barbs comeuppance giveback pummeling spongiform gray matter (yours truly) fisticuffs she didst highjack proxy mothering kept corporeal essence intact jilting nefarious nemesis aligned (maligning) and stalking, this fee-fi-fo-fum ordinary bean sized Jack are runt (arrant) cowardly (non lion) nerdy lad owning a knack courage lack this glum older married chap doth adumbrate satisfactory accomplishments lack king, where crazy quilt aimless wandering described purposeless multitrack thus, sympathetic to hue men/women nonblack or decimated aborigines once populating Australian outback existential nihilism would, undergirding hypothetical unwritten paperback with little need to prevaricate, nor appear as quack *** one measly **** sapiens, who accrued millennial palimpsest zeitgeist where, punctured disequilibreated psyche dust rack asper protean (in utero) multitudinous setback soundlessly resonating with concussive thwack as this rickety ship of state (a haunted junk ket) unwanted emotional ballast to unpack asseveration, asper assiduously preferably welcoming dry suction no vac jar this pawn (knight wannabe in his bishop rick) torrid me psychological wrack king within (castle keep) complex edifice shackled in dungeon with repast constituting.
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Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
Mine Gerund Tilling Illogical Weltanschauung
Twas accursed destiny since birth alack nascent emasculation abominable barrack emergent deus ex machina, viz zit ting older sibling counterattack thirteen plus chronological gap eldest sister struck like diamondback surrogate "mother" role assumed tubby exact protectorate pseudo fullback against cruel beastie boys bullying barbs comeuppance giveback pummeling spongiform gray matter (yours truly) fisticuffs she didst highjack proxy mothering kept corporeal essence intact jilting nefarious nemesis aligned (maligning) and stalking, this fee-fi-fo-fum ordinary bean sized Jack are runt (arrant) cowardly (non lion) nerdy lad owning a knack courage lack this glum older married chap doth adumbrate satisfactory accomplishments lack king, where crazy quilt aimless wandering described purposeless multitrack thus, sympathetic to hue men/women nonblack or decimated aborigines once populating Australian outback existential nihilism would, undergirding hypothetical unwritten paperback with little need to prevaricate, nor appear as quack *** one measly **** sapiens, who accrued millennial palimpsest zeitgeist where, punctured disequilibreated psyche dust rack asper protean (in utero) multitudinous setback soundlessly resonating with concussive thwack as this rickety ship of state (a haunted junk ket) unwanted emotional ballast to unpack asseveration, asper assiduously preferably welcoming dry suction no vac jar this pawn (knight wannabe in his bishop rick) torrid me psychological wrack king within (castle keep) complex edifice shackled in dungeon with repast constituting.
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By: Cedric McClester Jussie Smollett You’re innocent I bet If only in your own mind But you should regret Making us upset Just because you’re inclined To prevaricate About that alleged crime of hate Despite all your chatter The truth of the matter Definitely needs to be mentioned You clearly were seeking attention The story you conceived Is hard to be believed Because it defies convention And causes nothing but dissension You did a week And are out as I speak While awaiting your appeal But for a moment let’s be real You’re gonna find That your appeal will be declined Based on lack of merritt You’re lucky a judge agreed to hear it But you won’t relent And take your punishment Because you think you’re an exception You’re practicing self-deception Consider what it took In order to close the book See thirty months isn’t that bad You’re lucky that’s all you had Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2021. All rights reserved.
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Mar 17, 2022
Mar 17, 2022 at 6:48 PM UTC
JUSSIE SMOLLETT
TLACAELEL [to audience as spectators] Hear ye! Of these five games, his majesty The emperor has won the first two rounds, And Hungry Prince has crowned the third and fourth. Who takes this final set will clinch the match. HUNGRY PRINCE [aside to Motecuhzoma] Motecuhzoma, why not call it quits, While thus we tilt in equilibrium, So time may be arrested in his stride, And nothing will be proven to your loss. MOTECUHZOMA Oh yes, well, well you should prevaricate, Since you recoil, and your horoscope Is but a bunk, evasive, spurious sham. HUNGRY PRINCE We used to sport like willful brothers once. This pointless schism scathes me to the core. MOTECUHZOMA Play on! Your grace, equip him for the serve. PRIEST OF TLALOC Behold this little token of a ball- Through this ordeal, symbolic of the sun When- swallowed nightly by the earth’s dark mouth- He spars with demons of the underworld, To birth anew at dawn. So does this sphere, Across the blood-bathed flagstones of this court. Regard it so. The gods assort you both. To one: bask in divine approval’s nod, The other: dark ignominy. Engage! He throws the ball to HUNGRY PRINCE. MOTECUHZOMA and HUNGRY PRINCE leave the stage separately. TLACAELEL A solid serve. PRIEST OF TLALOC A capital return. TLACAELEL These salt-and-pepper gents belie their age. Look how they swoop, like eagles bloody-beaked. PRIEST OF TLALOC Our monarch springs, a glistening dynamo. TLACAELEL And his contender sheds years as he runs. Tell me, your eminence, What are your sentiments on Hungry Prince? PRIEST OF TLALOC Though not a brilliant statesman, he remains The most perceptive prophet of the earth, With whom the gods must share their captain’s logs, His auspices so rarely miss their mark. TLACAELEL You’d buy his soothsaying? PRIEST OF TLALOC I'd say I would. TLACAELEL That’s to the heart of this imbroglio. PRIEST OF TLALOC What is the real dispute, then, of this duel? TLACAELEL You’d know their true contention? PRIEST OF TLALOC Tell me. TLACAELEL So . . .
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Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
The Floral War 1:5:1-38
TLACAELEL [to audience as spectators] Hear ye! Of these five games, his majesty The emperor has won the first two rounds, And Hungry Prince has crowned the third and fourth. Who takes this final set will clinch the match. HUNGRY PRINCE [aside to Motecuhzoma] Motecuhzoma, why not call it quits, While thus we tilt in equilibrium, So time may be arrested in his stride, And nothing will be proven to your loss. MOTECUHZOMA Oh yes, well, well you should prevaricate, Since you recoil, and your horoscope Is but a bunk, evasive, spurious sham. HUNGRY PRINCE We used to sport like willful brothers once. This pointless schism scathes me to the core. MOTECUHZOMA Play on! Your grace, equip him for the serve. PRIEST OF TLALOC Behold this little token of a ball- Through this ordeal, symbolic of the sun When- swallowed nightly by the earth’s dark mouth- He spars with demons of the underworld, To birth anew at dawn. So does this sphere, Across the blood-bathed flagstones of this court. Regard it so. The gods assort you both. To one: bask in divine approval’s nod, The other: dark ignominy. Engage! He throws the ball to HUNGRY PRINCE. MOTECUHZOMA and HUNGRY PRINCE leave the stage separately. TLACAELEL A solid serve. PRIEST OF TLALOC A capital return. TLACAELEL These salt-and-pepper gents belie their age. Look how they swoop, like eagles bloody-beaked. PRIEST OF TLALOC Our monarch springs, a glistening dynamo. TLACAELEL And his contender sheds years as he runs. Tell me, your eminence, What are your sentiments on Hungry Prince? PRIEST OF TLALOC Though not a brilliant statesman, he remains The most perceptive prophet of the earth, With whom the gods must share their captain’s logs, His auspices so rarely miss their mark. TLACAELEL You’d buy his soothsaying? PRIEST OF TLALOC I'd say I would. TLACAELEL That’s to the heart of this imbroglio. PRIEST OF TLALOC What is the real dispute, then, of this duel? TLACAELEL You’d know their true contention? PRIEST OF TLALOC Tell me. TLACAELEL So . . .
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Aurora, it needs a break. After years of sailing, it could no longer fake. Ardour could only go so far, antithetical to talent and holding ace. All encouraged in good grace, Almost there. They prevaricate, clearly did not anticipate. A few had a slice of the honest cake, un- aware of how they caused an ache. 'Aye! What absurd thoughts, mate.' Annoyed by the voice inside create, as the pirate couldn't tell. A message from garden or well, are solid facts or silly doubts? Aquivering, he supined on deck. Anxious, desperately he seeks for his answer. Impatiently he awaits for his anchor.
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Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
Awry
The supposed inner aspect of me was at once revealed by a rapid tongue. Though she did prevaricate in far off wildernesses by the sea, she went yet further, failing to sink it to a murmur before witnesses witless, senseless, and dumb. Reprehending and upending, then withdrawing into an extraordinary depth behind the sun, burning the candle now at both ends, but with less intensity I suspect, going on and on; and by slinky tactics wept as she elaborately embellished upon the dark matter of treacherous in-depth memories grown out of each one, but inept was the effect upon thee, the clueless dunce -but I too was once upon a time twice a pawn in her stunts!
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Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Does Not Matter Much Anymore