"prussia" poems
English with 26 letters, is generally thought to be the simplest language on earth. A language built up on 26 letters is amazing.
But within just handful of letters, how many words can be misspelled..
My childish attempt to rhyme and write...
ei or ie, we are confused when we write,
it's then the words jump to end their lives.
Homonyms, homophones, homographs
It's fun to know the very facts.
Bear tried to **** Jack with its bare hands,
Jack had to bear the brunt of the bear.
Speed is what we thrive to do
If we forget to Brake, will break a head or two.
100 cents makes a dollar
Jack sent his wife to buy a stroller
She smelled the scent of a broiler
And forget all about the stroller.
The people who lives in Desert
do they have dates as their Dessert?
The dinner was perfect
The wine complemented the feast
The hosts were perfect
And were complimented for their treat.
The King who reigned Prussia
Rode high holding his horse's reins,
But his horse started to panic
As it started to Rain.
Drew looked at his new site
The building looked a perfect sight
When asked for the legal owner
He cited the document which held his right.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
Unto Him I am glued
my King of Prussia.
oxytocin- dopamine dilated
his pupils inside his blue green
as I entered Him, eons ago,
and never came out
He left but returned to my abode
for me or his Tequila.
I wanted to fall down crying beg him to take me with him to his heaven
Saving me from the hellish existence
But pain was greater then tears to convince HIM.
~~
Into his song YESTERDAY I merged
and with one voice we often sing it
from that time on and on.
I became his song his moon and stars.
Although our fame sleeps
as beauty rested in a glass coffin;
with one leap across the gap
chaos that one butcher
with medical ignorant lies
opened up and three
of us got evaporated.
With one song each in heart
we bridged that chasm.
In his art we thrive yet for long.
To Him to his heart of gold
I slowly walk to, his ancient bride.
Into our holy temple of forever,
straight to his heart and open arms
United in one single thought.
Our own Taj Majal
to reign we did plan to build.
Into mine eye pupils, grasping
all of his substance in
his light projecting all was received
My intergalactic time traveler.
Interchangeable we are.
In me he finds more than wisdom
he finds truth a true artist.
Our true love bittersweet.
Before Him I Joyfully crumble kneeling
As he embraces my swollen
teary eyes and merging me
Into to his heart and arms
I surrender grace, charm
and complete trust.
There!
In confining solitude
In the darkest of mine nights
My brightest sunny days
it's him I hear, love and seek.
I understand, worship
and adore him forever more
He's my true love! Luna tell Him!
That I love him the most.
~~~~~~
Mr. And Mrs Andrew
And Karijinbba.
All rights reserved
Mar 17, 2022
Mar 17, 2022 at 4:10 PM UTC
Ping Pong World Champ Andrew Baggaley,
Wow that lad can really play.
Dethroned the “King” who came from Russia,
Then 1966d that kid from somewhere near Prussia.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
I saw yonder—
leaves the colour of rusted coins
flattened into the soil,
their veins crumbling at a touch.
Coffee-stained envelopes lay scattered,
their paper-thin as skin,
ink bled blue by rain,
a Paris stamp whispering 1928
from a corner eaten by time.
They kept company with a bruised brown apple,
bitten once, abandoned,
its sweetness turned to rot
in the chill of a narrow room
in the mammoth province of Brandenburg, Prussia.
The rickety Tudor house groaned—
timbers bowing like old men,
windows clouded with breath
that had not been drawn in years.
The past lingered here,
a pale thing pacing the halls,
knocking without fists,
begging to be loosed.
Cobwebs clung to my wrists,
dust rising like breath
as I pried open the forgotten mail—
letters folded and refolded,
addresses crossed out,
sentences that never found their mouths.
“Let’s ride the rails,” he said.
His voice—young, low, certain—
rang through me
like iron striking iron.
My knees softened.
The floor tilted.
“We should get going.”
Two women in white scrubs
smelled of soap and starch,
their hands firm, practiced, final.
Step by step,
I was lifted onto wheels
that hummed and rattled,
carrying me through corridors of echo
toward a place newly named,
a place I would never call home.
The economy collapsed like wet paper.
The war broke what remained.
Yet memory stayed—
warm as breath inside the chest,
refusing burial,
refusing silence.
It never died.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
My compass points to you
You are My True North
Love of my life
King of Prussia PA
Your photo and your Rose touching my lips is daily joy
keeping me company
a tiny mirror here besides my bed my love giver of life
When I feel lost, I look into it
To know where I am
and who I am
My old True lover of life
you are my orienting point
my fixed point in a spinning world that helps me stay on track as an Aries leader woman.
It is derived from my most deeply held beliefs values and the principles I lead by.
It is my internal compass, unique to me,
representing who I am at my deepest level.
It's the best I can do while you are here with me in spirit
because I lost you in person
so you can't be here in person
To care for me you wrote
dearly beloved rddjpc
I love you so near and far
~~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
All rights reserved
Revised 10-28-19
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
ᚠ Φ
F
Θ ᚦ
no explanations
exist within a geometry outside
the circle, only architecture, sole,
yet the sole geometry of architecture
is an encircling, a lifting,
and had i wrote my poetry
in the comfort of rising beyond Marx
is socio-political schematic i would,
but i rather talk to scaffolders than to poets,
i'd rip my heart through enough thin
veil to prove it so that i shared an entombing of lips
wholly bodied with one! i rather!
care for this ******* Parisian princess
in your divorce as best you can...
i kept a cat for seven years before my neighbour
decided it was time to ***** affection
to an animal neither tilling for ably feeding
to instead choose his daughter as my wife:
i rejected feeling no compass of conversation...
the cat died, i went into the graveyard and dug
a gravestone out and buried my cat in
the moonlight: don't ever come across me and my pet!
you killed half the intelligence that was me!
**** you! humanity engaging with humanity
it plagiarises as itself an ownership to suit puppet
strings like it might tailoring,
POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POST COLONIAL NATIONS SEEK NEW *******
TO CRAFT THE LOST COTTON BUDS INTO
GRANULE CEMENT SET! POLAND ******
EUROPE! POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POLAND ****** EUROPE! POLAND ****** EUROPE!
MAMA RUSSIA! PAPA PRUSSIA! HOSANNA! HOSANNA!
LAUREL LEAFS AS I SAT ON THEM! THE CROWN
OF KING TU-154...
ROMANIA DONKEY DON QUIXOTE!
WHOOP WHOOP! WHOOP WHOOP GREK IZLAND
CORFU! then the postman comes with my jealousy
as within reach of hope to attain old age...
(snigger)... i hope i don't... i want million
dollar baby's truth to wake me.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
JPC-
My true love you threw your magnetic pebbles your magical out worldly rocks
on my lap
you called my small momma your portal to heaven star seed.
I called your small Daddy
the bridge to heaven
and we whispered to each other
the titles; Mama and Papa.
I guess we lived many lifetimes as man and wife as twin souls interchangeable twin flames before.
In almost every book ever written where love is lost or found and in every lifetime we found each other I'm never alone, we remain glued
just one thought away.
I notice your waves right here on HP they fall on my writ pond and mine fall on yours my beloved.
You might just as well call me Delene where both of us meetings in some mystic time travel space ship.
In love with your poetic waves revealing secrets;
true love always takes chances on Earth and up in some exotic E.T. mother ship.
~~~~~~~~~
Mr and Mrs Andrews
with Karijinbba.
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 7:20 PM UTC
Je t' aime kamma
I long for thine sutra,
throbbing Hilton põg.
King of Prussia PA.
O the first time thine
many face moon playing hide and seek showered us with moonlight just to hear us sigh and sigh till song and dance lended our feet shoeless Pon our crib of fragrant blooms tracing on each others back
mo grá Angel
I'm yours, be mine.
aingeal Is mise mise
Te amo.
Thermo King
Westing house
Je t'aime, Je t'aime
mera bano main
tumhaara hoon.
~
By: Karijinbba
74-95 -6-21
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 4:46 PM UTC
News, news, urgent news!
An ultraterrestrial was found
at 5:45 on the New York subway.
The ultraterrestrial has schedule.
The ultraterrestrial has salary.
The ultraterrestrial does not have a hat.
News, news, urgent news!
Contact the WORLD, spread the word:
The ultraterrestrial is pale!
Science can not clarify
If the ultraterrestrial thinks or survive
The ultraterrestrial does not talk to the press
News, news, urgent news!
Protect the USA!
The ultraterrestrial is insane.
He does not care about Russia, Prussia
Lucia, or Lucian.
The ultraterrestrial has no ***
The ultraterrestrial is a disconnect.
News, news, urgent news!
We have the first interview:
Prefer to be in formula
than informed.
The ultraterrestrial knows History
(But can not tell stories)
The ultraterrestrial is weird.
He does not crave the car of the year.
News, news, urgent news!
Close NASA, forget Al-Qaeda:
The discovery of the century is here.
The ultraterrestrial is a Messiah.
The ultraterrestrial is a trend.
The ultraterrestrial is the greatest.
News, news, urgent news!
Beware!
If the ultraterrestrial is now a contagion
so the universe has become wasteful.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 5:24 PM UTC
At Austerlitz I two nations vanquished;
making me historically distinguished.
At Marengo I had Austria subdued;
then I was to honour undoubtedly glued.
At the Pyramids, Mamluks kissed the sands;
then like a French Pharaoh I annexed their lands.
At Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to her knees fell,
to avoid carnage, and possibly hell.
At Borodino, Kutuzov my boots licked,
as his Russian forces had their arses kicked.
At Ligny, Blucher like a coward fled,
as his smitten forces profusely bled.
At Toulon I first distinguished myself
for a career that would exalt oneself.
Rolica, Leipzig, Waterloo like curses came,
but history will forever my triumphs reclaim.
Dec 4, 2022
Dec 4, 2022 at 7:16 AM UTC
english is called a salad in irish / hardly Gaelic, but worded for a toast, and the poor treat the poor as might be a drowning traveller on the titanic without pearl or a four-leaved clover.
and might not be the tears
of haka forbears
be the light
worth sharing when the europeans
that looked stupid
in bleached worth a colouring
in foreign culture
they thought it was worth being televised;
salad / sushi wording...
you immigrant? you irish? no?
oh well... you dodo? the end!
idiot pole didn’t outsmart the irish muscle
or potato! gave way to mash and tartan
of lamb mince... and still the irish
"communicated" leaving the poles
and engaging with *******
to be cheap in terms of worthy slavery:
two patron saints an Irish... one **** marley
one irish double with rye bread...
then there's Ulster, half of Dublin might mind,
and a percentage of Poland under russia prussia or austria...
you ******* leprechaun!
hey! mediocre me with a ceilidh:
make that ireland on the rocks...
the queen of the e.u. where the rainbow
where u2 where the *** of gold?
in iraq... or so i'm told.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
want to become an artist? get ready for poverty, and get ready to feel uncomfortable writing personae, where no form of narration will give you a good night's sleep, esp. "first person" narration; get ready for many contradictory revelations, and the rudest form of mockery: ridicule. get ready for the lynch mobs of the digital age of frustrated writers who, frustrated, antagonise; get ready to realise that poetry, compared to other mediums of writing is only the bare minimum, the sheer nakedness of it, the bare minimum.
i find it most peculiar that a once
mighty and budding colonial nation,
nay, nation expanded into
a colonial empire, should suddenly
implode and craft a mini-commonwealth
inside its boarders, and become
so blind with self-righteousness
as a means to erase the past, and see
itself as a champion of all kinds of freedoms,
of all kinds of necessary obligations
to provide the epitomes of human dignity,
as to not offend / provoke, all stiff-upper-lip
hush hush, to see the monochromatic
audiences at large stadium concerts no
later than mid-nineties: but what the hell
do i know, i'm just a plumber, a plumber
to the mammoth economic class of england
like in the olden days of marx and engels.
i'd change the anthem though:
poland a cinder after the raging flames of
prussia austria and russia - dictated our
extinction - a cinderella of europe -
and for its once proud ally - now a game
of blame when unified for the mini-commonwealth;
or as the irish say so well established in this
land, and esp. after the good friday treaty:
integrate little cinderella boy, integrate,
learn the language, and customs too, but afterwards
return to your people, and live in our
great multi-cultural society, under our
former masters' brow, in a segregated multi-cultural
society of the many death circle pockets,
live by all means, but do not be relevant with
us or our masters on a friendship base.
come the days when neighbour is no longer a neighbour,
should a neighbour be the least of a borrowed
cup of sugar, or anything of such -
the tinniest categorisation of aid.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
In seventeen sixty nine a child was born
in Corsica, Genoa's former vassal state.
Prior to his birth, his land had been war-torn,
Paoli's resistance did his birth predate.
At school, his geometrical talent was inborn,
and he was tutored by none other than Laplace.
For his accent, his peers at school laughed him to scorn,
but fortune would elevate him from grass to grace.
With his much older heartthrob he tied the knot;
much to the chagrin of his own dear family.
For the heart of Josephine he relentlessly fought,
and at Chateau de Malmaison they lived happily.
Later he would choose a military career
that would take him beyond the Corsican frontier.
France's revolution saw to his glorious rise,
when at Toulon, he took royalists by surprise.
To Egypt he led a dual expedition
of a military and scientific mission.
To France he returned and sacked the directory,
taking charge of the affairs of state and treasury.
Europe did contend with him in seven coalitions;
at Austerlitz he subjugated two nations,
at Marengo, Austria on her bended knees fell,
at Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to victory bade farewell.
At Borodino, Russia met her nemesis,
as her vanquished forces saw their paralysis.
At Ligny, Blucher like a beaten canine fled
with the terribly smitten forces he once led.
Portugal's sovereign lord to distant Brazil ran,
when like an invincible lord he came to his realm.
The emperor he feared, and made no military plan;
thus he paved the way for him to ascend his helm.
But despite his triumphs, his weakness was exposed.
At Rolica, his troops a major set back saw.
From Leipzig he did to Elba's island withdraw,
from whence in 1815 he returned unopposed.
Russia's wintry plains did his grand armee deplete,
making his troops vulnerable to a future defeat.
After the famous battles in which he gloried,
his great ambition at Waterloo was buried.
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 7:54 PM UTC
let us,
sets the scene, be willing as one,
let us, parlay
vou and us, a we of two, me'n'sie, du,
oui, yes us a we of Bully good,
no, not bully ******
but good you know
the adjective, no, no, never, we are sheep.
- the code of the mission positioned
We come among you who live among lions,
to promise, we shall **** all your lions,
and your unicorns, and any other trophy,
we wish,
and impress upon our soldiers, to wish for,
wish to me becoming a mighty hunter,
take pride good boy being,
in serving sons
of kings wives
daughters,
in Prussia, two centuries back.
Slave or serf, or local peasant, miner son,
after the mines killed all the grandfathers.
- we went to Texas
Faith of those fathers who learned to read,
decidedly different,
- then to Arizona, back to Arkansas
then back
then back and forth, to California,
2023… core levant in our mindshare,
place of peace and clean sweet water
a code, acquired from a conversation,
with my second granddaughter,
as she played at playing the old piano,
demonstrator of deep
infinity, from the left most key and pedal
held,
til I hurt myself
t'day…
I grinned until it hurt, at coknowing
snowflakes are never the same,
in any given snowstorm,
she has seen, close up,
she has watched a snowflake form,
and she agrees when I say, something must know.
That no two use the exact same pattern,
right,
regulation snow rules must apply to each flake.
Real time.
Mar 5, 2023
Mar 5, 2023 at 4:17 PM UTC
You say you’re in search of America …
go to the food court at the mall
If you can still eat after looking around
—you ignore the Ravens call
(The Court At King Of Prussia: April, 2023)
Apr 9, 2023
Apr 9, 2023 at 1:45 AM UTC
i imagine death with a book in reading: half tucked into my head and
thus half of me exposed, perhaps i too half tucked in it
standing as a miniature on a bookshelf - a talking bookmark.
but all pomp on napoleon’s grand theme for the toilet flush of power -
‘ha ha! prussia down the loo! prussia traced back to lunacy!’
that’s what the little colonel said - although he probably... ah never mind.
so when this grenoble girl told me i should get out a guilt spanker
and do 1 2 3 with it on my forehead, i said: polonaise! polonaise!
duchy of warsaw! d’uh! (which made the map of europe
look just like it was when the bubonic plague roamed the continent.)
well i forgive her, she was, after all, a psychology mermaid who’d
drag every man down for a kiss in the depths that would
be a kiss of the men’s lips being bitten off,
perhaps one man would then joke with her in comic book narrative
(bubbles of course) - how’s my todkopf lächeln?
she would then sit on the couch and allow me to psychoanalyse
her wish for feet -
and i’d end with the diagnosis - ‘too many men in your unconscious,
you ate too many and they’re speaking from your belly
as cancan dancers stomping a morse code of pitfalls into thoughts
wishing you grazed with lamb and men who ******* their heads
into “nothing” with lambdas.’
or that’s what comes to mind, in the least, from a passage
of canto ** read slowly, on the throne of thrones -
concerning the rewards of the rowers - not for oxford or for
cambridge - but for odysseus.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
The canons thunder,
the rifles rage,
and the horses
like swarms of bees
storm the plains
of feudal Europe.
Her princes tremble
and willingly
capitulate.
Prussia's undoubtedly mine
from Bavaria to the Rhine.
Russia's dreary wintry plains
will be where my scepter reigns.
Italy is my inheritance
as Portugal dreads resistance.
Without the sword i'll woo Poland
whilst to her knees i'll bring England
and kingdoms of the British isles.
French civilization and styles
will dethrone Europe's old order
as our ideals expand further.
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 11:10 AM UTC
You can pick fun at Trump all that you want
you can't do that to Putin in Russia
You can only vote once at American polls
and ten to twelve times in Prussia
We laugh and we cry we're American pie
they just want their ***** each day
When push comes to shove thank God above
I'm living the American way
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
Europe my realm and my prized possession,
I instill in thee our novel ideals,
for your feudal laws our conquest repeals.
Our boisterous wind of emancipation
liberates Spain from draconian inquisition.
Of the proud Brits' stupendous earning power,
an Egyptian campaign would rest the case.
I have made subservient Austria to face
defeat and lasting capitulation.
By sheer divine providence, I soar
above my Italian inheritance,
bequeathed by Papal authority,
and placed in custody of my viceroy.
By my might, I brought to subjugation,
the recalcitrant fiefdom of Russia,
and the resilient kingdom of Prussia.
Not even Portugal dared resistance,
with her weak army debased like a toy.
But in sudden flight, and rare sobriety,
her sovereign lord bowed to abdication.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC