"pyrotechnics" poems
when i want inspiration to write poetry
i watch a heaving tempest of kisses
they have a better flavor
than cooking shows
what's prettier than pretty pretty
in pigtails
shaking her delicious
derriere whipped Soufflé?
i'm kissing butter princess
witchy ****
spread lickity splits
eating her
with a big wide **** eating grin
like an open face dagwood
whats more poetic than that hopeful glaring
of
Adonis's plumper in paradise
filling Cleopatra's slathered meringue?
ga-ga-ga-gag me, daddy
merciless, pa-leazze
fluttered big wet talking eyes
like pools of blue honey
getting it zigged zagged
hard against a redraw mouth
throttling fluted gullet
while eager throat gasps
a symphonic music of the spheres
in relentless staccato chokes
lovin her big devil **** splashing
all gym built wonder-boy
a litter of ****** and tongues
licking pig greedy
rapturous milkshake waterfalls
whimpering
mmmmmm
oooh big daddy
oh my ****** god
pillar of colossus
you Tunisian donut you
pierce me like a spoon
through summer guava
who screams like that eating lunch
but a half ate apricot?
better than a football game
I'd rather take her greek
more fun than math or small talk
preferable to a pat on the back at work
or a ridged procession at a funeral
oh beautiful dark fig
squatting crotch candy
bubbling tapioca ***
queen of
spun sugar ****
all pyrotechnics
and fluttering sinews
if you asked most
do they watch ****
they'd grow smug like a senator
or punch you in the mouth
outwardly high-minded
refusing the blessing of a
video **** parade
of pirouetting vaginas
and glistening areolas
for the glory
of the secret ************ ceremony
the *** moralists
only good for a secret ******
living their lives
with passions submerged
and nothing to confess
except for guilty offerings
as they wander through dreamland shopping malls
wanting to know
Victorias ***** little secret
seduced
but not caressed
by
a mouthpiece for castrated dreams
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Black, Swiss cheese hulk on horizon
The James Longstreet
immobile old freighter of the bay
Towed to the ignominy
of its last commission
in the curled arm of The Cape
Tides flex their muscles against it
But The Longstreet is steadfast
in its dark purpose
Standing target for practice
A sortie if planes home in on its bulk
Honing their skills
on this “fish-in-a-barrel”
Thunderhead-etched pyrotechnics
Booming follows the miles over water
Against The Longstreet’s silhouette enduring
even God fixes sights
firing bolts across its bow
taking aim at our futures
Standing targets for practice
Vietnam? Cape Cod?
No difference to teens
before life’s ocean of conscription
Sand is cold beneath dunes
Beach grass rustles
to the pulsing surf
to the wind’s whispers
just below hearing
as if there’s a secret
that must be kept
We are targets for practice
We are meaningless din
Pulling our sweatshirts and blanket closer
The Supremes sing thinly
from transistor
“Stopped for a moment in the name of love—
Thinking it over”
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
The air hangs heavy today
After last nights banging of the drum
Its strobe light pyrotechnics
The awe inspiring deluge
That washed even criminality from the streets
The old horse-chestnut tree who's shade I often steal
Proudly exposes its now swollen spiky fruit
We sigh together, this old friend and I
Another summer will soon come to pass
Let us drink its final rays
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
Political correctness has reached a brand new low
It has now reached good and evil
And has changed things down below
The devil is still the devil,
That much has not changed
But, the food is all organic
And the meat is all free range
I didn't know the changes 'till
I made a plea last week
To sell my soul for increased wealth
And other things I seek
I expected a commotion
When the devil came from hell
But, there was nothing quite so flashy
When someone...rang my bell
I answered thinking nothing much
I looked outside to check
I am wary of the Mormons
and Jehovahs on my deck
I looked outside and there I saw
A man dressed all in grey
A poll taker, election geek
Let's see what he may say
"Good day, kind sir, I come to you"
"You wanted to be rich"
I thought he isn't from no bank of mine
He said "Sir, just call me Mitch"
"Mitch", I said, "I don't know how"
"you'd know I want to sell my soul"
He told me that was why he's here
To get a deal done was his goal
I said, "why use the door bell"
"Why not the cloud of smoke"
He said "with budget cuts'
"Pyrotechnics made us broke"
"The PC folks got wind of us"
"of our tricks and double speak"
"Now, you sign away your soul to us"
"but, you can get out within the week"
"We can't go by the same old name"
"Hell is not allowed"
"We're H...E...double hockey sticks"
"Try saying that aloud"
"It doesn't have the forcefulness"
"That the other word once had"
"we can call it heck, if we're in a pinch"
"You can see, it's got quite sad"
"The contracts are all readable"
"You don't have to sign in blood"
"With *** and STD's"
"It may as well be mud"
"A soul still has some meaning"
"But, as you yourself can see"
"The devil stays at home now"
"And sends his minions out...like me"
"I have a small brochure for you"
"You have choices, please pick six"
"It's more a club, a health resort"
"In H...E...double sticks"
"I can't get out, I'm stuck for good"
"I signed my deal before"
"The PC people got us good"
"And now...we use the door"
"Please look over the contract"
"Take your time, and read it close"
"You'll find it is a real good read"
"With language, non verbose"
"If you should have some questions"
"change your mind, or want to tour"
"Just call me on my cell phone
"I'm at star66 extension 4"
"I'm sure you'll still come down to us"
"It's not so bad, you'll see"
"Just call me when you're ready"
"You've got time, now we're PC"
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
See, the smile on the stone face
of the mountain, once so cold, stoic
it drives home the meaning of change
brought about by erosion of ages past,
molten paste slowly sediments,
decides to be various kind of rocks
on it's path being metamorphic
is just one of it's pranks,
volcanoes in ******** frenzy erupt,
display the pyrotechnics of creation
in it's ****** urge a deep sea stream
breaks tectonic plates,makes new continents
mountains that hold their heads high,
are brought down by landslides, floods
avalanches or sudden cloudbursts
stars script secret messages across galaxies
the meanings will never be deciphered
in spite of the astonishing research
astrophysics can put together and
the thirst for knowledge of mankind
Beauty, my muse, lovely concert I adore,
I see you in animals, birds and fish
that undergo mutation and become different,
ocean currents, seasons,shower of stardust,
most of all in music, that activates the hidden signals,
that come beyond birth and death,embedded within oneself
Can you cite one reason for writing biography
of any one, whoever it may be, in this planet?
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
Melancholic pale moon, lovelorn shy ******
kept on peeping from her corner of the sky,
through the window we left deliberately open
knowing her curiosity, as detained ever, to be solitary.
Let her find out that we both didn't sleep
or remain quiet , not a moment, all night,
as the night sky responded vehemently
in celestial pyrotechnics to our delighted squeals.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
Words. Work.
Getting old. ***** shirt.
Exhaustion remains after washing away stains from dirt.
Lower back hurts,
..but this mindstate is not where I'll stay.
Meaningless pay spending my hours when I just want to create and play.
Heavy body, cat nap after embers hit the ashtray. Astral stray.
The most nutritious are sometimes the first to decay.
Get up just to lay.
Easy to see darkness when there's no heart in the frame..
So I'll adjust how I see, and remember to breathe,
because all of life comes to us with ease.
Gonna physically release just to come back and share my dream
Yes yes, nothing less.
Do what you love
is all I can confess.
Limited time, I see that we're blessed
Hope to make the most of mine,
before in peace we rest
Death sentence. Moral Repentance.
In the age of remembrance blinded by pyrotechnics.
Embody the calisthenics and honor further than aesthetics.
Depths beyond measurement kissing anti-venom lips.
Tethered to the weather within our steady blissful trips.
The clock can tick all it wants but the hands are losing their grip. Proving nothing to be more beautiful than this present-tense eclipse
Intuition is our intangible compass
Creating a compassionate instance that can't be diminished
I am hear forever to play with the trinkets and parade those that listen
Love is all encompassing, not just a mission
Thoughts come to fruition
Extending what you envision
The Synapse fires like a piston
What you've done indicates your current position.
Think now my friend.
You are the sun shining at the podium speaking at the perceived end.
You are the sum dictating everything yet to come.
Thank you for praising the vibration connected to one.
Take a deep breath, smile, and have fun.
This strong web we've achieved can never be unspun.
Reflect your true self and know we've only just begun~
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
October fell in early July,
And it shattered in the form of memories.
We drove to Tennessee
You 18, just graduated,
Your girlfriend, the same.
I was 13, naïve
We drove to Tennessee
And I say “we”
Because I wanted to be just like you.
We drove to Tennessee
With 3 CDs
For 2 days
And 2 of those were Queen.
“It was summer”
And thank God for the AC.
The cool air
Made my un-cool comments
More room temperature.
Your girlfriend
Who became you wife
And my best friend
Listened to me
And laughed
And nothing else mattered to me.
We drove to Tennessee
And when we got there
“hey hey” was the sound track of the moment.
We drove to Tennessee
And I can’t remember how long we stayed
Which room I slept in
But other things from that summer
Became “a part of me”.
The 4th of July
Cracked with Pyrotechnics
And pop cans
And beer bottles
And thunder
And soon we found our selves
“caught in the rain.”
You were both 18
Grown
Mature
And all of this was demonstrated
By a dancing, and galloping
Through puddles,
And sheets
And drops of rain
With all of the other teenagers who weren’t 13.
I stayed inside
Warm, dry, and miserable.
My youth displayed
By a can of sprite
Dry socks
And too much eyeliner.
You all started chanting,
As if God himself had asked you what you wanted.
“Keep it coming!”
And I went to bed early.
The next day
Just like the sky
Things became clear.
We 3 turned into
You 2
And I.
You two went off,
With all the other teenagers who weren’t 13,
And I stayed behind,
Played with the children,
And went “walking” by myself.
It was summer,
If not evident by the calendar
Then the heat gave it away.
The next next day
You 2 were still gone
And I was left to be pitied.
Sympathy snaked its way
Into my three blueberry pancakes
Made just for me.
Into the play station
Where I played out dated games
When others wanted the tv.
On to the receipts
Of the clothes,
The earrings,
The movie ticket
Bought just for me
And just like me
They had people trying to get rid of them.
We drove home from Tennessee
With 3 CDs
And 2 days
And 2 of those were Queen.
The other
October Fall’s “A Season In Hell”
Guess which we listened to?
Guess which I remember.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:23 AM UTC
A burning star, her pyrotechnics
arrested him, with her he resonates,
he too is in fire, by this affair
though fully aware of his folly,
he could do nothing except hopelessly
falling for her fatal allure.
Legion of lovers, once adored her
but none left now, she beams only at him,
is it gratitude, or enlightenment, at last?
Fading celestial pulchritude, he feels
too had so much gravitational pull.
A supernova she is, a majestic celestial
no words could describe, her
even in this moment of tragic burst,
the whole galaxy has gone dark
on her splendor, though for a while.
A nebula, all gas he is,being in love with her
though while she is embracing death
will make him aware of his own immortality,
prepare for an incarnation, in the womb of space.
"All star material one day will be spewed,
mineral dust in the interstellar loneliness,
from that planets and beings get incarnated"
The moment of zen, sings in them a resonant tune.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
In particular evinces of comparable obliviousness
To implications of extraneous misunderstandings
That bring a melancholy of limited constrictions
Makes one articulate anxiety in dazzling reform
Of vibrant linguistic experimentation of lawless incongruity
Resulting in rhetorical pyrotechnics that defy inflections
And a wild farrago of tongues that boast a fecundity of speech
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
In the darkness, extravaganza,
Flashing, blazing dramas,
Sky rockets and sparklers,
So spectacular,
Fireworks in my brain,
Illumination
Catherine wheels,
Is this for real?
The pyrotechnics,
Was it all a squib?
Crescendo
To diminuendo ....
I float down from clouds above
Another little death of love!
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
Vocal pyrotechnics and aural fireworks
Fire and flame from my mind
Begin to drive me berserk
So I join the rest of my dying kind,
Laughing through pain and sorrow
Living now, only for today
Forgetting there was ever tomorrow.
Sticks and stones and bricks and hay
Poor building materials are these
The big bad wolf comes to knock them down
His pelt mangy and ridden with fleas
Humpty dumpty wore a crown
Yet it too rolled down the hill.
Following the example of its predecessors, poor Jack and clumsy Jill.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
FIREWORKS
A summer night and fireworks
break dark’s quiet whisper,
drowning fragile moonlight.
First a flickering, then
a blossoming of color--
wild and illicit –and
the air’s askew with booms,
delirious with fiery chaos
as a million man-made stars
tumble across sky.
A veil of smoke creates
a glorious illusion --
the art of pyrotechnics.
A stolen moment’s exaltation
without the wariness of danger.
As fire jewels dwindle to obscurity,
there is a strong spell of reversal.
What seemed like revelation fades.
Universe returns to mystery
and mind to world’s reality.
May 20, 2023
May 20, 2023 at 5:09 AM UTC
It's not too long until Guy Fawkes night,
A month and a bit, I believe,
Crunching damp upon the grass,
many autumn leaves,
they're laying underfoot.
It's getting a little chilly now,
The children all have mittens on,
Where on earth's that kitten gone?
kittens should really stay inside.
The bonfire almost a mile high.
A nervous mummy hides inside.
Daddy sets fire to the pile of trash,
hoping that by the morning,
should just be a pile of grubby ash.
Potatoes are all wrapped in tin foil,
you see,
who will take them from the fire?
not me.
A gigantic box of fireworks,
pyrotechnics display.
Wahey!
They should all thrill the sky,
supposed to do them one at at time,
David running round like a lunatic,
had one can too many,
and a couple of glasses of cheapish wine.
Tripped over a stone,
fireworks,
all went off with a boom.
A crash,
a whizz,
a crazy zoom.
A sudden flash,
Blew the roof off,
destroyed the living room,
The kitten hid under the couch,
The dog he dashed into the garden,
with his tail between his legs.
David felt a real wally,
cos he was off his trolley.
Very carefully crept into the living room,
to find the tiny ***** cat,
cowering in the gloom.
The remnants of bonfire night,
not much left of the living room.
Of course,
as this is just a funny poem,.
That little kitten,
well, she was safe and well!
(C) Livvi
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
1.
I am optimistic enough this day clings to the highest mast,
is now born out of prophecy.
I pass by the old mirror: see myself: blear myself:
is blot to canvas, slit from the wrist of this home:
I witness how it is to sustain beatings.
2.
In the empty lot, age 9, we wrung frangipanis and ruined
the pedicle somehow a map of a history where this ground
shook that was once an old cathedral. We blew
bubbles out in the haziest of days, pallid and droopy
the clouds identify in their short collisions – the stream that was
the sky
the face of my mother when found news of my would-be death
1996, Kawasaki my mother's clutch on the soiled linen
beginning an autopsy
3.
I conjure a frayed upon image of death in its colloquial.
a fractal of mistakes taken as righting out. I sense prognostication
when potential for a satisfied framed encounter or out of luck that was
a night making all of this less than total.
I remember the discoloration of the many lights – the sky beginning an
erratum: this could have been your last – what is exacted here
like a tarot, the culprit a newfangled man in the rearview mirror.
4.
How can I forget you – all of you? You wear light like karsunsilyo.
You are all flowers I arrive at a contusion of gardens.
Rinse me with light – abandon me after.
5.
Made air staler. Dew my maiden when lit
from the matutinal – in tow, a bedraggled kite soaring in the heat
one distinct summer,
wish it pure that was I, almost touching the vermillion,
my faintest image of freedom was a bird trapped in between
the venetian.
6.
In a dream, I am pursued by a train in an alley – in the next scene,
I am being forced to take a plunge
into a chasm: the fall did not scare me – but my acquiescence
made me flinch: standing before space, anesthetizing
the skin so it made me more than metal, the clangor
suggests a tragedy. Awakened by violent nudges
from my mother: it was the New Year. Pyrotechnics paint the sky
over and over an ephemera in the bleak behemoth of this:
a makeshift home ruined by untranslatable music
the sound of rain at 11 in the afternoon and a nearby funeral.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
I did
I think
But it's been years
Years
Years
When I was not
And I don't remember
quite
What being well
is like
I mean
I mean
I am always well
I am
Always moving
Because an object at rest-
I've said this already
So I'll rest when I'm dead
Or I'll die when I rest
And I'm not ready
yet
I haven't made my mark
yet
I haven't swelled my voice
With the chorus of those
who came before me
yet
I haven't heard that note
One note
In a symphony
The glorious harmony
I
Haven't drawn a breath
and
Heard the empty space
and
Felt the sharp ***** of awe
That the gap
Is for me to fill
Little me
Little
Gap
And that
I think
Holds me here
Roots my feet to the ground
To Earth
Because humans
Are delicate
It would not take so much
To flee this mortal form
But
I am not ready
It is not my time
I am secure
Knowing my days are numbered
Measured out
By One
Who does not lose count
Lose thought
Think
All in the wrong order
At all the times
Which are
Most inopportune
It is my greatest honor
It is my greatest humbling
And anyways
I am well
Well enough to sing
To dance
Well enough for joy
To light its fire
Bursting pyrotechnics
In my chest
Except
Of course
When I am not
Not when my thoughts
Take the wheel
And I am caught in loops
Loops
Loops
"Shape without form
Shade without color"
I drift
In monochromatic waves
Clinging to the memory
And hope of hues
Beyond my mind's walls
I drift
In soft piano melodies
And synesthesia winds my senses
In a great tangle
Melancholy tastes like apple
But un-achored
Only smells like dust
Looping and twirling in the breeze
Over the ocean
Invisible
Under the too-wide sky
Over the too-bright sea
Until it hits city
And the city
Brings it back down
Tears it into a million
Tiny
Fragments
They used to be it
They used to be whole
They were once
But now
Not
And just like that
The conclusion
Brings me down
With a jolt and a bump and a thud
Like a plane
Or the clanking chains
Of a rollarcoaster
My stomach is doing rollarcoaster loops
Loops
Loops
I used to be well-
(i've said that too)
-But sometimes
I am well
Now
And I forget
That with a breath
I can be
Not
It is terrifying
But I am not scared
You know
Part of life
Is living it
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC
Love happens at random moments in time,
her chemical pheromones mingling with mine.
It is forever spontaneously combustible,
everlastingly irrational, and irresistble.
It happens to me, and to her simultaneously,
often it sneaks up unreasonably erroneously.
Wrapped in a perfect breast full of intoxication,
and supple red juicy lips of inosculation.
Inoculating my impaired brain to fight off reason,
her drunk tongue in my ear ultimately pleasing.
Her unseen warm places so wickedly entice me,
her cool intrepid breath so willingly invites me.
The bright stars radiate from her musical eyes,
like elaborate pyrotechnics on the 4th of July.
She has questions to answers I already bought,
feels subliminal messages I already thought.
Love; its that strange apple we've tasted before,
locked deep within our emotional repertoire.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
A sketch
A cigar burning,
smokes,
loitering indoor,
the acrid smell,
abrading,
the undersize room,
a solitary versifier,
at a table with,
rose motif,
scribbling,
the longings of stars for the clouds,
the pyrotechnics flickering,
the heat of wine,
evanescing.
Sleepless,
in the dead of night,
the fountain pen,
stranded on the paper,
staining,
arbitrarily,
till the break of day,
rendering,
ink wash painting,
a lifelike,
buttonneire of roses,
delivering,
words unspoken,
intricate sentiments.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
To watch with intent but not desire, his life passed
him on as he tries to explain which one he
would take to the afterlife if there is such,
like a convergence at the tip of the horizon or a
humid evening in Pasay as pyrotechnics scrape
sky fashioned like acrobats. The breeze he needs
no longer. And then begins to disquiet the quiet
with the heavy burden of which he will then forget
when he starts to move all of a sudden in space,
capitulating afterlife again if there is such,
and if everything takes a sojourn into the bleakness, must I remind you that you are all
variations of the same absence. Remember when
you had your name carved on wood as attendance
but not for long. You have escaped, locked in the
arms of a life that you thought was yours but
still isn't, leashed under the Sun. Bodies pulse
then fluctuate but not a sign of life. Words function
more in stillbirth. Never forget, as a dandelion
hovers and puts a smile on your dreary face,
and a question in search for all available and naked
answers. Principles undermine caprice. Do not
adhere. Must I remind you that you are
someone else apart from who you think you are.
You have yourself straightened, tucked safely
like intent, not desire in all its voluminous and
vehement speeches annotating something unknown
to the behest of ourselves. If I were a house,
I am gratified by windows -- your mirage there
transfixed in a secluded spot, looking out
brimming with life as curtains oscillate as the
Earth breathes with you. If I were a house,
you would ransack everything with a sly mouth
packed with powerful narrative. How you
have done over, leaving everything undone,
moved off-tangent, under impossibly gray skies,
brindled in prayer. If I were a house,
doors slammed, speculative fabrications sleep
through evenings and mornings until no difference
is met -- you meant a word as if it had a lock
and the key, somewhere cold in the air of
sleuthing pains making me so, less than
this and more of a fractured house.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
Under the murky water of consciousness,
there are one or more, even a shoal of fish.
On the bank,I sit, a brooding moon on it, reflects,
looks like it swims in the sins of clouds,
My fish-line and hook lay limp on the grass bank,
I've to catch the fish,the line is strong, baits ready,
But I am enamored by the moon's reflected glory
on the water,a lover of the moon, I'd love to catch
as much fish,without breaking the watery moon.
To forgo the love of illusions,keep focused and wait.
deep inside one has to decide,what to seek from life
whether to walk the hard path where wisdom trees line up,
or heartily be regaled by the pyrotechnics of apparitions.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 5:01 AM UTC
I used to hear your voice in my dreams, & it may be because a ‘goodnight’ over the phone was the last thing I heard before I let the night take me.. but that was so many years ago, & your voice now is a distant enigma attached to fond memories.. of times where we breathed the same air, with pyrotechnics illuminating our souls whenever your lips found mine, & the warmth of your skin as my own tries so desperately to conjoin to make more than just our souls one…..
I don’t hear your voice in my dreams these days, & it may be because the distant gave way to new ‘good nights’ before the night takes us.. but I do still dream of you, because the air we shared, our fireworks display, & the desire of soulmates is something distant could never take.
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 10:04 PM UTC
Malignant gangrenous political cancer
corrupts, festers, and poisons United States,
thus opposition cannot wait,
especially since Gospel in accordance
with feeble minded Donald Trump
implemented wrought ugly trait,
particularly obliteration, sans progressive
human rights legislation
more or less pronounced positive
in every L ionized Nittany or cotton bowl state
and ratiocination inherent within
mine Democrat oriented mind doth rate
this forty fifth president (defect)
with sawdust packing
his noodle oven egotistical pate
trophy wife (spouse number three),
a Slovenia mate
donning "I don't care anymore"
t-shirt rousing media firestorm of late
essentially silently corroborating,
fostering, and illuminating hate
mutely bolstering the Trump anthem,
viz make America great
again, which pathless,
pithless, and pointless aim
roars like an earsplitting runaway freight
train oblivious of wailing soul asylum,
that no era meets said criteria
backtracking time machine before
rightful indigenous occupants of this land
got decimated as one after another
exploiter did inundate
(comprising a multitude
of indigenous variety of village people
indignantly subjected to Genocide,
when first "discoverer"
of new land didst promulgate
activation wrought deliberate sealed fate
vis a vis capitulation, demolition,
and extirpation, cuz
a scathing rebuke aye attest,
those murderers didst equate
worthlessness of
so called "Indians" on 1492 date,
and still remnants of storied tribes,
now attempt to create
historical documentation operate
ting with limited resources to adjudicate.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Food methinks doth buzzfeed drumbeat agog
at pyrotechnics July 4th, 2018 shared as blog
posts, a falsehood prevails which dog
gone “FAKE” brewed watered down grog
posits that the majority of Colonialists stay hog
tied to strict task masters, and mainly the scant
upperclass experienced autonomy,
no matter the under class didst futilely rant
and rave with the occasional
uprisings over time did grant
minimal appeasement to stifle violent kant!
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 1:00 AM UTC
*and when they write their novels, the last thing
they'll realise, is that... contradictions, are
twists in the plot... philosophy books are only
akin to novella by creating contradictions,
as a way of suggesting playdough, scrapheap
of phenomenology;
some say contradictions are desired faults
in an "arithmetic" / plot, and yes, that's... "arithmetic",
meaning a + b can't exactly be 1 + 2... but that's
∞ = a-z....
the two are incompatible correlatives...
crafted to ensure babushka lingua
sell her tomatoes...
and all subsequent blah blahs;
oh please! you'll go to thailand some time next year,
you want me to feel sorry for you?
pet a rat!*
and will i dicta villager simply,
qualm?!
you! ruddier!
charcoal fat!
you sludge-ipsen
you vermont Kaiser guised!
you! finicky, thing!
avocado fat ****
let us bravado a chin!
that double! half-wit quiff!
fringe alongside the combover!
all things elongated towards a giraffe....
you! squeaky Lombard of Milan!
you! paraphrase! you! Merovingian!
cackle squat! and summation parts teutonic;
defaced, with mention of tectonic;
and they did live, a happily ever after,
which is the sad part;
you! piglet charcoal with dumb & dumber!
i dare not carve my name in stone...
i carve my name in lamb limbs...
so i debase myself on
the throttle when there's encouragement
of the speeding aversion toward Macbeth;
i look upon the toil,
as i might take slightness of asserting
the earthenware,
to have milked the cow, or to have
leisured an urn from a basic of dover chalk -
there you are... a kingly kin awoken...
there the highlands... and there the deposited
into basin...
for all pyrotechnics
there's still the pedophobia -
means i have an aversion becoming
a father... i don't like children...
do i hate to? ~. really, do i have to?
as it strands... i have to.
it was Macbeth who looked down,
and said: as mere pebble be,
i see less time occupying the lot of the heavens
even if they conjunction Aries into
a warring tide...
there, among
the toothache and awoken chance to meet grit...
i find time worth embedding a scaling into...
a rigidity, that could never define Romeo,
and as said... lost the mc. as having lost
the juliet... and subsequently gained the Beth.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
eyes roll back, as i roll back,
cuz i roll fat, when i smoke that /
sprinkle on the hash, dab up the wax
dust just for touch, yea the angel is back /
white girl on top, watch that ***** melt /
snow to the flame, no chance in hell/
snow white, 7 dwarfs, deep sleep spell /
nickles ounces grams, thats what i sell /
pick an choose your color, step forward, my realm /
black sheep, white sheep, bad wolf, oh well /
huff an puff,call ur bluff, blood an guts, just my luck /
life is rough, light is dark, dark is light, drugs a must
soul polluted, corruption of mind/
like a vortex i spit a distortion of time/
truths hard to swallow, ***** kinda dry/
i speak threw the sickening, im those you call wise/
a battle im told, gods in the sky/
Zeus verse Hades, boots that can fly/
don't shoot the messenger, don't even try/
roots to your written, skills in my eyes/
look threw this window, see threw the lies/
like a black widow, he waits in disguise/
i thank the dark magic, an the places it hides/
Birth Of An Ang3l, my up rise/
Satanic at best, supersonic lyrics, this black holes about to swallow the rest,
power obsessed, demonic regrets, im bout to re open that vortex/
Ancient scriptures, Egyptian texts/
pictures on the wall, hieroglyphic sets/
cities burn down, pyrotechnics/
an still they remain, in stone there etched/
skip on the beat, let the minutes run slow/
ill rip on this **** cut off the flow/
slick wid this **** slip on the floor,
Angel of Death, Azrael for short,
Blitzed is dead, im not him no more/
apocalyptic i said, La' Verdad Por' Favor
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
This is the end
There is no coming back this time
I set fire to the bridge
You so carefully walked on before
It went up in flames
And I let it happen
I thought that's what I wanted
That in the end
It was better for both of us
But now
All I want is to come
Crashing
Barreling
Sprinting across
The swinging rope bridge
Into your heart
Arms
And mind
But I can't go back now
Because flames destroy
I wish I wasn't such pyromaniac
Playing around with fire
And your heart
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC