"purportedly" poems
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
an old familiar,
an adversary of the first degree,
when we wrestle,
me and this god
disguised as an angel disguised as man,
the door to where we tangle,
clicks shut with a perceptible oval sounding,
a trumpet announcing commencement of the festivities,
that we are
Occupado
no stray observers permitted in,
the room entrances locked,
someone's two hands upon each temple,
(cannot be mine, for)
inside we combat literally,
"mano-a-mano"
hand to hand,
word to word,
gradually, continuously,
up close and personally,
one on
One
over the course of a lifetime,
each battle named,
famously borrowed and thus recorded,
Agincourt, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Leningrad, Ðiên Biên Phú,
for the record keeping purposes of our unforgiving ******
historian
the rules of engagement somewhat flexible,
biting, choking, eye gouging,
kicking when down, not just legal,
encouraged, no holds barred,
when we wrestle,
the dirtier the
better
take turns declaring a victor,
for that matters little, truly,
just a record keeping notation,
the battle and its aftermath,
the waves of pain inflicted,
the casualty count engorged,
is the greatest glory,
dans une manière de
parler
though sent away the children,
our earthly goods,
designating them purportedly,
non-combatants observers,
yet 'no rules' meant
they could be accidentally drawn in,
non-combatant status does not prevent them
from being freely captured or
killed
the conflict ongoing,
no one ever calls for a truce,
for both unequal adversaries know,
no quarter will ere be given,
and though the tide shifts,
each individual battle produces as always,
a winner and a
loser
noisy affairs,
long after the battle,
the slain yet scream,
perhaps I am confused,
perhaps it is the day's survivors,
announcing that sadly,
they are still
alive
it must be the latter,
for here I am writing and recording,
and though alone,
I hear an ever growing louder,
gouging sine wave scream piercing,
daring my soul to leave my wracked
body
for though mortal wounded,
I am therefore
both dead and alive,
but which more so,
none can surely
say
this conflict remains
unconcluded
the pain in my hip, now
everywhere,
my Jacob, now, Israel,
marker
so visible even if itself,
unseen
3:59am
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
I...
think...
I...
like...
crazily chasing concocted crushes
however hasty high hopes
earnestly entangled erstwhile enthusiasm
left languishing limp lethargic
suddenly soundless stupidly selfish
every emotion enviously expectant
an abject apology absent
purposeful pleasure purportedly posed
unearthed unhealthy ungainly uncertainties
devouring devotion disgracing dogma
an accident awaiting arrival
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
I am anti-matter.
Trending on Twitter.
Shooting a guest-spot on Two-and-a-Half Men.
A five-dollar foot-long
meal-deal of a man,
long on propaganda
while short on substance;
A School-House Rock rendition of
Aspiration Asphyxiation
penning love-letters to Jesus
beneath my breath
to abate the sensation that I'm just
redundant protoplasm
with a pecker and a pocketbook
failing to distract myself from the fact that
every intake of breath is a death sentence.
I have no praise-worthy abilities.
You can't **** your way into heaven.
Satan himself
caught a better break being
cast out of the kingdom--
there is certainty in condemnation.
Those poor souls who harbor
the illusion of indemnity
through faith in a
purportedly magical Jew
truly are the blessed few
not via the Lord's redemption, mind you,
but by the thoughtlessness of their devotion.
Perhaps the two are tantamount to one another.
The ****** are so labeled
because we question ceaselessly--
curiosity is no comfort.
Should the sun burn black,
the world will go cold
or
some star-burst might
scorch our galaxy clean
of all delusions of eternity.
The meek can inherit the ashes.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
faked botulism
and Beulah reds
Abyssinian horses
purportedly dead
all night blindness
that 'gravel' soothes
hovering indentions
southwestern barceuse
luminaries marked
tiny infantries swell
conically formed
so steady with shell
dihedral burns
for unlucky hands
swaying cognition
oh, little demands
sanctums ******
the sputum reigns
tenderness denied
a proper grave
you were ferried
holstered soul
lift your head
and let it go
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 5:20 AM UTC
Thursday to the shopping list did add my tremulous bequest,
Honey Nut Cheerios, great was the anticipation of a marriage with cold milk,
product of the oats and the cows that made this nation really, really great,
but in the Manahattan organic commisary seems this
so called food is strictly verboten,
so she brought me home on Friday some imposter named
Grain Berry?
this pseudo Cheerios tainted with Onyx Sorgum,
intended to give me heavy metal poisioning surely,
and rob life of joy by slowing down my sugar absorption rate,
and the plant fiber contained was purportedly natural,
as if there was another kind!
clearly a plot on my life by the Bannonian alt-right, for it,
this "whole grain toasted oat cereal,"
supplied more free radical protection
by sun activated antioxidants!
I am a real man,
I love my artificial flavors and colorings,
how better to preserve my pickling, briny brain
than in artifical perservatives!
From West Texas came this grain,
surely they will appreciate the insoluble fibered irony,
while I eat cold cereal for Friday dinner,
SHE is eating steak rare at Gallagher's Steakhouse!
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
~
*a secret-possessor, a poetess of riddles,
informs, but my senses don't conform,
claiming that in my possess,
a gift ensconced, a soulfulness harbored,
purportedly outing me as "one gifted soul"
~
this "gift" of cobbled together phrases, on the back of
paper napkins,
words impermanent, undeserving of the firmamen
of cottoned cloth,
they shall not be mourned, when forever lost,
for like my soul, but a fleeting glimpsed visitor,
a 100 year comet, naturally self-destructing,
intended to be witnessed but once in a lifetime
~
wincing at this dear praise, yet it serves me well,
as the sweetest reminder, that we shall all yet meet,
all on that day, all in that place,
from where souls are gifted and returned,
however shopworn
or even disgraced
~
all welcomed upon our inevitable return, no proof of purchase needed,
where, living forever, in such good company is a
certain surety,
knowing this, that we are all certainly possessed with this relief,
easy then, in agreement, every each, born in fluid from the belly of belief,
each of us
"a gifted soul"*
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
No gods, no fate,
not even yielding to chance
To live this one life
in full acceptance:
This will only happen once!
A stubborn strength
born of a conviction
That there is no soul
in need of absolution
That life is not made meaningful
by abstract metaphysical contortions
in favor of a jealous,
angry, cruel
deity
Purportedly in love with creation
Such is the choice of the humanist
in staunch opposition
to the zealot, the spiritualist
To stand on one's own feet
Acknowledging the grand mystery
Not willing to submit.
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 10:24 AM UTC
Whispering her smile
Looking beatific,
Looking arousingly terrific,
Uninvited but invitingly,
Place my pointer finger
Upon her breast, ******* already attentive,
***** she preps to dance and to
Leave me
Bid her despedida,
For my adieu is tinged
With desperation internal raging,
For tantalizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
My tango muse,
Off to dance in dives,
Where all the men are
Strangers, who paid in cash,
With creased and stained $20 bills,
To soil themselves, to dance with my woman,
Paid far in advance.
For consorting with the enemy,
I renounce her not, but guilty charged,
For mesmerizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
She'll return, after three,
Undress before me,
Purportedly sleeping,
Pointedly, slowly, knowingly,
To insure I scent the sweat
That tango demands,
The ****** side effects,
The Argentines invented,
Accoutrement rituals,
Excuses to invent dance,
In order to pleasure intensity,
For teasing w/o mercy, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
She chambers her body bullet,
Sliding in unrobed,
For a negligee would be
Negligent in her condition,
Laughing at my pretend closed eyes,
She whispers,:
I return here, to you
For one reason alone
Despite soul and body, exhilarated,
While gone, you have been composing
About me without permission,
Of this, of thee,
J'accuse!
I know you have penned
Poem,
Which long after the dance thrill has chilled,
Will belong to me forever,
I will kiss you now so I may taste the
Words that are mine, until next week,
When I will be guilty again
Of charging your imagination
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
a deep yellow is arching across
the cosmos
gods outside of time
exist in individual infinities
creating countryclub chapels
chosen people, entranced by purportedly
impermeable destinies, are freely choosing
everywhere to catch and spread feverdreams
the world community has compassion; it
wants everyone else to catch what it has
wants to keep what is rightfully its own
organs are fighting underneath taut yellow skin
sacrosanctity is stretched across the cosmos
and a faint pulse can be felt everywhere
it may sometimes happen that
jaundice shows
long before a liver fails
long before a sickness takes hold
long before anyone exists
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
Yup, that's right.
Don't be offended or upset.
It's very environmental,
recycling words.
True, the quality of literacy,
(have mercy on it!)
is getting quite strained
(not-so-good poems
*droppeth as the
gentle rain from heaven*).
Certain words are grumbling,
talking, overworked and overuse,
in poems that say nothing new
(they got their pride too!).
Rumors of unionizing going around,
increasing the minimum wage
to a passing grade,
and something like
a penny a letter,
and double for words,
not of the English language...
The ringleader I'm told
is the word itself
Words
tired from being in
59,649 poems (plus 1 now)
*Death, heartbreak and depression,
scars, cutting and sad,*
the most overwrought ones,
the children's beloved,
their never-ending
plastic ones trending,
under the weight collapsing
of boring and from
the pressure of overuse, bending.
The words have brought
the unrisen, alabaster body
of poor dead (oops)
Love (137,207 + 1)
as evidence of this
too long a verbal
season of victory.
Make no mistake,
among the guilty we be,
our sweet tooth
for these miscreants,
documented in black and white,
resting uncomfortably,
among our total of
171,500 words we've purportedly
recorded and employed.
The Writer's Guild,
all a titters, arms, up and akimbo,
the cries of poetry poverty
among the living thundering,
no longer
suffering silently,
ere the mendicancies cries
from Ye Olde York emanating,
seeking contributions
and donations,
minimum on PayPal,,
one whole dollar!
Well I have paid my dues,
much more than one
and much more than once,
would so again, annually,
as I could no more
surcease this gig,
for where to find
another profession that
pays so handsomely?
Let it not go unnoticed
like so many poems
left footed born,
themselves, unread, unnoticed,
that the ever increasing number of
Poets
is a good thing for the universe.
So many new humans each day,
from the black forest of
daily life's lessons emerge
choosing poetry to
conquer life's ailments.
For they bravely
having taking the
*road less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference,*
and the world,
a better place for it...
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
A blue
a blue
from under the brown
behind the square and
between the circles
Few and singular,
the blue takes a step
to the left and the South
Bereaved, the blue sits
believing
It is good at hockey
Faithfully skating,
mucking and making
musical messes
Its banjo twang and
its choir sang,
and the color red had yet to call it
Pity the blue
for it is truly
in trouble
Its flips don't flop
its whizz's don't fizz
Its preposterously powerful past pastor has purportedly put a price on its puny posterior
Poor piddly pathetic blue
But of course,
blues do not have butts
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
Humanity has a flawed
Self proclaimed idea
That they are the custodians
Of this beautiful planet
All beings put here for purpose
Looking back at an unknown creation
Theories and hypotheses
Till now, we have no conclusion
Humanity decides for this planet
Said who?
We have taken the onus
Of deciding the fate of this planet
Other living beings were here
Much before we arrived
Ruling the vast landscapes
Maybe not in the present form
We claim to have an upper-hand
In taking all decisions
More wrongs, compared to rights
Purportedly by the advanced minds
Brains that can think
Hearts that can feel
And make choices
Where do we falter?
Not thinking enough
Not caring about the right feelings
Not making the right choices
For centuries the Earth has been patient
Watching us make a spectacle
Where are we heading?
Who cares? Even towards oblivion
Shall leave behind a legacy
Which shall forgotten by time
Time will be the adjudicator
Let’s leave it there
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
(alternately titled random axe of violence)
I calculated an average
of ~10.16.... deaths per year
of mass school shootings since Columbine,
a morbid benchmark where,
iGen / Gen Z 1995 - 2012 bore significant hit,
now students require armed guards to learn - veer
really within purportedly "safe places",
which statistics tracks a unilinear
trend, and justifiably causing
absolute zero reassurance
countering alarmist state of mind dust tear
ability to accept rationale
dismissing greater probability
prevails lightening will strike loved ones,
nonetheless share
ring understandable expressing
rightful salient concerns with school board
quotidian possibility son(s) and/or daughter(s) rare
lee remain mum at every opportunity,
how second amendment does not square
with democratic e pluribus unum firmament,
lieutenant management,
quintessential reverent tenets
pointing trigger finger of accountability
at lax gun purchasing rare
lee does emotional uproar demanding
immediate controls, limitations, restrictions,
et cetera on firearms scare
the bejesus from stalwart National Rifle Association,
whence spokesperson doth prepare
convincing rebuttal (lock, stock at barrel) overbear
ring lee outgun legitimate
parental concerns, now near
daily occurrence hardly cause a flinch glossed
inducing similar reactions as
sports home team defeated, sans mere
slightly raised eyebrows while headline news
when another tragedy gets tacked
unto the 122 students killed since Columbine
took innocent lives 19 plus years ago
which ** hum sacrifice of youth or teachers bare
lee induce ripple despite an increasing number
of spent bullets fallout inflicting
more than 208,000 vulnerable
impressionable psyches sorrows need a lifetime to air!
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
a thousand options or two
are all but irrelevant
I need no choices but One:
of my arbitrary will
created perfectly, in
wisdom and potent power
that if not shall be and is
thus truth for it is thereof;
gladly I enslaved myself
to my very own then be
enticed and just as enslaved
to choices purportedly
for my good—or make my foes
cry—if believed piously
but unseen its that same One
of strange self serving powers
and their arbitrary wills
and truths in a post truth world;
alas we totally lack
knowledge, fed and believed lies
of freedom, choosing by will
to be proud and gladly slaved.
Jul 30, 2024
Jul 30, 2024 at 11:36 AM UTC
what does her true voice sound like?
going on seven, maybe eight years,
know the thumbprint of her stylish,
at twenty paces, her tower recognizable,
leaning in, she is the garden, can’t tell
where the garden ends and she begins
she opens the pages and lets slip out the
exposed flora+fauna of of her heart’s eyes observatory,
revelation unintended but wanted, she can’t be helped,
for she, both a revealer, reveler, party girl, beat poet
know her
in the bursting: of the spring welcoming festival
in the bursting: of the season of loves busted unhappiness,
I know her well enough but not at all
in the sparse, frozen soil, and in the contra-blooming,
in every season, she warps my judgement,
with words unheard, unknown, the dictionary my accompanist,
what she says is a language purportedly in common, maybe not,
she takes me on a tour of her symphonic insights,
as my foreign tour guide
enwrapped, entrapped, I am, as she crooks her hair, in the
curved shape of a question mark top,
unknowing what does her voice sound like?
try different versions, a tasting menu of mellifluous, and
imagine myself to sleep, wondering and wandering,
what does her voice sound like?**
off to sleep,
smiling, frowning
upside downing
11:51pm Tue May 5
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 12:10 AM UTC
the upshot constituted a figurative straw
that broke the virtual camels back
where yours truly fingered as scape goat,
who meekly, passively, and subserviently
felt the stinging crack
of wooden, smooth,
and oblong paddle and stands pat,
asper innocence, though now
(myself more than two score years
orbitz around sun) remains more defiant
for purportedly causing Roberta -
not her real name flack
and clears that blot (now a composite
of petrified spitballs) as a hack
writer of poetry, feels jilted like Jack
donning many major protagonistic ruffian knack
nursery rhyme roles, which fables never didst lack
for upstart precocious, kickstarters impish grin,
as if he just wolfed down a swiped Bic Mac
and goose that laid more than one golden egg
McMuffin running from the Giant,
with spindle shank for each leg,
and sliding down the beanstalk, which didst peg
world wide web Marathon record
suddenly the envy of Queequeg,
which way word ness
far off course from the theme of this work,
hence hold tight
to hazmat bag of **** pin jay dreck,
while poetic license allows me to twerk
intended story aye (captain...
oh captain) moost not shirk,
lemme reel yar attention
back to the classroom of missus Labosh,
hood didst whistle and perk
unbeknownst to me, my scrawny derriere
unaware what quaint, hence danger didst lurk
for letting passivity
find me singled out as the bona fide ****
wishing Moby **** could swallow
hook, line and sinker
with a slight even Steven crane
of his neck, every mother plucking bird brain classmate
deemed Scott free, and Chutzpah didst gain
while this smart *** wannabe took a crash course,
sans weltanschauung "Artful Dodging
Spitball Shooting Maven" in the main
quite heavy on Physics and Trigonometry as became plane.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
Sitting here
Deftly stroking keys,
Thoughts envelop
My mind of ideas,
Intricate plans
That no one sees,
But above all,
In them I see us,
Fate has not to meddle in this,
My path I have chosen to follow,
Working hard
I can reach bliss,
Stepping firmly
Not looking below,
As I walk high above obstacles,
But as long as you are by my side,
Forward on to the highest pinnacles,
I will strive on with pride,
Until I reach
My unwavering goal,
All the while you and I can be,
Inseparable in mind and soul,
Let it not be purportedly...
© okpoet
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
In tatters
My heart
still beats
How it
can be so
is a mystery
Dragged through
the streets like
a dog
For all to see
Ragged and
betrayed
Left on
the side
of the road
To die
But it lives
purportedly
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...
The following elucidated
conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
of salt, and no ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui
got pulled by Evan -
Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
(wads worth to you)
speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
re: out of thin air
by this half
fast hue man,
Hill Billy ***** Wonka Nilly,
who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
Century21 today Aswan
**** maxim initially
bespoke, when collective
primates begat enfant terrible
foo fighting predetermining anon
metastasizing debacle Yeti
bedeviling civilization
a bajillion years in the future with
Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
before even an odd iota
of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst
pristine Earth, where
unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
recorded disc contented sow
sow hogtied pan
dum mo' nee ham, or
blessed historical events,
kept (stay'n) alive,
courtesy"FAKE" Trump
petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets
of sparse **** sapiens,
i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
primary, and/or prolific,
where superstitions parlayed
(voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
digitized, and demented
oh yea), not
tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
asper "time and tide
wait for no man"
purportedly by one
Saint Marher, circa:
1225 anno domini.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
H.G. Wells..., ah...now there
without dark shadow of a doubt,
in my (myopic brown) eyes,
a prolific writer hooked hood accessorize
the English language, and captivated
populations, sans "The War Of
The Worlds" to realize,
with an assiduous presentation
convinced listeners, how
aliens did cannibalize
innocent Earthlings strictly via radio,
where rapt audience could actualize
"FAKE subjects" pretended to agonize,
yea of course after receiving
substance that did anesthetize
in an effort to minimize
potential melee erupting,
which feasible outburst,
could tinder, kindle, and antagonize
crowdsourcing masses,
who suddenly became repentant,
and sought to apologize
each to their personal deity, apprise
zing respective comportment, thus
the apprenticed faux presidential Don,
rather than agonize
over farcical shenanigans, where dissension
among rank ken file seems to arise,
could take page from said playbook
visiting storied aforementioned scribe,
whose spirit author might be able to authorize
and conjure creative satisfactory
acceptable non costly deterrent breadthwise
cuz, more anger will materialize,
particularly if monies summarily brutalize
for social services that benefit the 99%
myself and the missus included analogous to...baptize
with gentile invisible knifed incision
or if Semitic tolled uncivil lies,
asper emotional financial, mental...
painless process to circumcise
purportedly for best interests
of citizens at heart, but tummy
essentially acting counterclockwise
to the modus vivendi that underlies
the immigrant experience that peopled
United States Of America, who did colonize
at expense of rightful natives
scattered innocent tribes, whose demise
vis a vis any fact checker, would
clearly recognize as blatant lies!
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC
trump - hide and run for headline cover before armageddon
arc de triomphe interesting facts
if zee al chemist trump doth win go hide in the bunker
to save your ***
brace yourself as this don holed
confabulates that gold iz brass
and conjures prestidigitation
like spinning false hoods in2 truth - crass
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
a synonym force head fabricator -
will threaten democracy, thus be afraid
as this pompous voice quotes
from hiz playbook, which = a charade
the hard core truths, he
(who i liken to the plague) doth evade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
and dreams up fault of Barack Obama
for extinction of dinosaurs,
crucifixion of Jesus Christ
down fall of the Roman Empire,
or far tethered Fred Flintsone ca fetching an escapade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
yea...this rip pub lick'n presidential contender
evinces a psyche frayed
building and monopolizing castles in the sky -
nonexistent as a grade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
school fib - or donning role
as play ground bully teaming with ivan
the terrible to dominate the greensward
in the above fiction, but...man
that loose canon dressing his
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
"make america great again" gag line - whar i ran
and mid eastern countries will rise
as one cheering him as star of global hit parade
despite any raging oppositional pandaemonium
birth er ring a conflagration
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
kenya believe the world acquiesces
to thine projected masquerade
blocking im grate shunning crowds -
which number of people rival in size
taller (if stack one atop thee other)
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
than the trump tower casino or high rise
with his signature - hm...mebbe funds provided
by drug lords, the swedish house mafia
or terrorist ties???
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
whom security details silence by tossing a hand grenade
sham on you Potemkin village people for quaffing draughts
from elixir purportedly to transform visage with trademark
swept back, wavy and coiffed hirsute.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
(alternately titled random axe of violence)
I calculated an average
of ~10.16.... deaths per year
of mass school shootings since Columbine,
a morbid benchmark where,
iGen / Gen Z 1995 - 2012 bore significant hit,
now students require armed guards to learn - veer
really within purportedly "safe places",
which statistics tracks a unilinear
trend, and justifiably causing
absolute zero reassurance
countering alarmist state of mind dust tear
ability to accept rationale
dismissing greater probability
prevails lightening will strike loved ones,
nonetheless share
ring understandable expressing
rightful salient concerns with school board
quotidian possibility son(s) and/or daughter(s) rare
lee remain mum at every opportunity,
how second amendment does not square
with democratic e pluribus unum firmament,
lieutenant management,
quintessential reverent tenets
pointing trigger finger of accountability
at lax gun purchasing rare
lee does emotional uproar demanding
immediate controls, limitations, restrictions,
et cetera on firearms scare
the bejesus from stalwart National Rifle Association,
whence spokesperson doth prepare
convincing rebuttal (lock, stock at barrel) overbear
ring lee outgun legitimate
parental concerns, now near
daily occurrence hardly cause a flinch glossed
inducing similar reactions as
sports home team defeated, sans mere
slightly raised eyebrows while headline news
when another tragedy gets tacked
unto the 122 students killed since Columbine
took the lives of innocent lives 19 plus years ago
which ** hum sacrifice of youth or teachers bare
lee induce ripple despite an increasing number
of spent bullets fallout inflicting
more than 208,000 vulnerable
impressionable psyches sorrows need a lifetime to air!
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
Handy dandy blues clues plain
all purpose favorite refrain
i.e. "impossible mission"
courtesy complimentary doppelganger
G.I. ("Government Issue", "General Issue",
or "Ground Infantry") Jane
in tandem with Alyson Chain
comes to the rescue attempting
to describe entrenched nonproductive
crippling psychological mindset ascertain
most any reader would consider insane
embedded deep within
genetic code possibly
inherited maternal grandfather,
who emigrated nineteenth century Ukraine,
he (purportedly tailor by trade)
only spoke Yiddish,
language used by Jews
in central and eastern Europe
before the Holocaust.
Originally German dialect with
words from Hebrew, and
several modern languages and
today spoken mainly in US, Israel, and Russia.
Mental illness, (or predisposition thereof)
linkedin courtesy heredity,
supposition nuts so crazy nor insane,
yet nothing further about biology
Iberia lee kant hex Spain
emotional status concomitantly
intertwined with possible causes
such as: Autoimmune, Behavioral,
Cognitive, Neurological,
Environmental - inextricably lodged
within cerebral domain
manifesting as countless
fixations, I disdain
(in retrospect) precious time forsaken,
and absolute zero benefits to gain,
and inflicted severe strain
father and mother felt helpless,
especially when anorexia nervosa
nearly imperiled life source villain
rent asunder body electric drivetrain
brought corporeal standstill
loosed maniac running
rampant within brain
emaciation delivered me
at death's door
prescribed medications Mellaril and Elavil
nsync with psychiatric intervention plus
mother as licensed practical nurse wayne
wright me malnourished body
nutrient fortified drinks,
I passively did abstain
eventually grudgingly gained weight
buffering scrawny skeletal
skein knee membrane
definitely stunted growth plus chain
reaction impacted livingsocial
courtesy thank you me private Charlemagne
promoted cultural revival known
as Matthew Scott Harris'
Carolingian Renaissance.
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 2:58 PM UTC
'Pon reading tragic headline...,
aye experienced grief alone,
no matter the killer (Chris Watts,
thirty-three years
of Frederick, Colorado) unknown
to me, the sheer brutality,
whereat he killed Shanann Watts,
Bella and Celeste,
his once adorably beautiful,
now ceased wife
and daughters ages thirty four,
four, and three respectively
(purportedly via strangulation)
reflexively did i groan
particularly, the propensity to ****
with in sinew weighted bone
times gone by,
where expletive laced epithets
incessantly did drone
nearly activating trip wires,
a blood dripping knife,
would be shown
to police, unless...I took my life,
cuz immediate regret would well up
resulting with an agonizing moan...
hence after perusing morbid
(somewhat inexplicably fascinating)
screaming tragedy ado
admit sadness overtook this chap,
what wrought motive,
(albeit premeditated)
for him to construe
such an atrocious, ferocious,
heinous, et cetera grew
some crime toward innocent wife
(she supposedly knew)
intuitively felt and possibly
foresaw the slew
how her life (a grotesque
mass square aid )
would meet one gross violent death
intimating marriage frayed
ranking as "FAKE,"
or Eff for failing grade
yet tidbits publicized twas shaky match
from get go, no heaven made
nor wedded bliss -
her precious life paid
as well two preschoolers
(cute as a button),
and expectant third progeny (male fetus)
existence extinguished by, "killer"
the husband, who went
into a deadly tie raid
now guilt upon
his conscious heavily weighed.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 2:39 PM UTC