Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Could be I’m on a mission:
Convince the entire world
I am the World's Greatest Living
English Language poet;
Of course, genius such as mine
Goes generally unrecognized until
The posthumous crowd weighs in.
And yet, wouldn’t it be nice?

• BEACH BOYS LYRICS-Wouldn't It Be Nice-A-Z Lyrics www.azlyrics.com /lyrics/beachboys/ wouldntitbenice. Wouldn't It Be Nice Lyrics-Beach Boys www.lyricsfreak.com›Beach Boys

Yes, wouldn’t it be nice?
(The Nobel Prize,
Tribute at the Kennedy Center,
A MacArthur Grant,
The Presidential Medal of Honor,
Reverent BJs from hipster groupies . . .
The Poet Laureate in his vicarage,
Enjoying my sweet twilight celebrity.)

(Cue “Guys & Dolls” soundtrack: “What's in the daily news?
I'll tell you what's in the daily news.”)
23: Beheaded at Nigerian Election Rally!
Amanda Knox Gets Away with ****** Again in Italy!
Kung Pow: Silicon Valley Penisocracy Crushes Ellen Pao
German Crash Dummy Co-pilot Flies Jet into the Alps!
Hilary’s Emails Are *****!
Sierra Leone Ebola Lockdown!
Iran: Kooks with Nukes!
Sri Lankan President’s Brother Dies from Ax Wounds!
Saudi Diplomats Evacuate Yemen!
Stampede at Hindu Bathing Ritual, Bangladesh Kills at Least 10!
Simply put:  THE WORLD IS IN A STATE OF ****.

Perhaps it’s time we turn again.
Seek solace in poetry—
“Yeah, chemistry,” insists my Sky Masterson,
My “Guys & Dolls” alter ago.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be.
All poets are gamblers & moonshiners.
We polish our chemical craft,
Sweet-talking the distillation apparatus,
Getting us, getting at linguistic essence.
Cunning linguists are we.
(Colonel Angus, are you back?)
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
We open this hearing to determine
Whether or not S.I. Hayakawa—guilty of
Numerous crimes against humanity & other
Professional Neo-Fascist “entrechats.”--
Whether or not he merits a kinder, gentler
Wikipedia BIO.
(Wikipedia ( i/ˌwɪkɨˈpiːdiə/ or  i/ˌwɪkiˈpiːdiə/ WIK-i-***-dee-ə) Wikipedia)
We open this forum, focusing on his
Courageous stand against the
SDS & Black Panthers, part of
An unlikely coalition: The Worker-Student Alliance
& It’s rival, Joe Hill Caucuses.
Da Name of the Place:
(“I like it like that!” Hot Chelle Rae-“I Like It Like That” lyrics| Metro Lyrics www.metrolyrics.com Lyrics to 'I Like It Like That' by Hot Chelle Rae. “Let's get it on, yeah, y'all can come along/Everybody drinks on me, buy out the bar /Just to feel like I'm.”)
The name of the place: San Francisco State,
1968-69, the longest student strike in U.S. history,
Led successfully to the creation of
Black & Other Ethnic studies programs
On campuses across the country,
And, one could argue,
Gave the green light to
Osama Hussein Obama,
Our first Uncle Tom President.
But I digress.

ACTING SFSU President, Dr. Hayakawa—
Perpetual audition, the pressure on,
Feisty, independent-minded & combative,
Screaming at that skeevy student mob:
(Skeevy as in “He bought the thing from
Some skeevy dude in an alley.")
Declaring “A State of Emergency,”
Calling in the SFPD, whose
Inexplicable slogan says”
“Oro en Paz,
Fierro en Guerra.”
Archaic Spanish for
Gold in peace,
Iron in war, by the by,
For you holdouts,
Those of you who still
Think the “English First Movement”
Breathes life still.
I’ve got more news for you:
That crusade died long ago,
Locked up, dark & shuttered,
Bank Repo thugs, their thick
Neck muscles flexing from side to side,
Sashaying across the parking lot,
Like John Wayne on steroids,
Right up to the front door.)
The SFPD: San Francisco city fuzz,
(As they were known at the time) &
The California National Guard, as well,
Obstreperously, generously catered by
Governor Ronald Wilson Reagan,
(Early stage, Alzheimer’s at the time.
But still very much “The Gypper,”
Still chipper in Sacramento.)
Ronnie--keenly interested in
The Eureka State’s congressional clout,
Lassoes a seat in the U.S. House of Lords:
AKA: The U.S. Senate, SPQR.
It’s still hard . . .

Official Site - ******®‎ (www.******.com) ******® (sildenafil citrate) Rx Medication Facts; Learn more . . .

Still hard to believe that California was once
Rock solid in the clutches of the GOP,
Gripped tightly in the Party’s
Desperate talons. But the grip slipped,
Slipped in the slip-sliding 1970s.
It got harder and harder . . .

CIALIS® Free Trial Offer‎ Adwww.cialis.com/‎ Read About a
Treatment Option. CIALIS® (tadalafil) Tablets.

Harder and harder to remind
Leroy & the rest of his ebony posse,
That it was Abraham Lincoln—
“The Great Emancipator” himself—who was,
Our first Republican President.
The Emancipation Proclamation:
That toothless rhetorical flourish,
Based solely on Abe’s
Constitutional authority as
Commander-in-Chief,
Not on a law passed by Congress.
It was just Abe blowing smoke
Up their ***** again,
Just an egalitarian blast from
His Old Kentucky past,
A youth spent splitting rails,
Busting his *** just like
Any plantation ******,
A stark plebeian commonality,
Too deeply etched to be ignored.
Poor Abraham Lincoln:
Probably a **** Creek crypto-Jew,
Neutered by the opposition:
His very own Republican majority Congress,
Another example of the GOP
Shooting off its own foot, right up there
With Mitt Romney’s "47 percent of the people,”
The rhetorical gaffe which cost him his
Second & final shot at the White House.
But I digress.

Senator Sam S.I. Samuel Hayakawa:
That inscrutable Asian fixer, is now U.S. Senator,
Republican, California, 1976-83
Pulpit-bullying his Senate colleagues,
Fiercely opposed to transfer of the
Panama Canal & Panama Canal Zone to
Panama: a diplomatic no-brainer; Duh?
Their freaking name is on both of them.
Senator Sam, obstinate & blustering:
"We should keep the Panama Canal.
After all, we stole it fair and square.”
And Hayakawa, later the driving impetus
Behind the Far Right “English Only” movement.
His co-founding an "Official English"
Advocacy group, U.S. English;
Their party line summarizes their belief:
“The passage of English as the official language will help to expand opportunities for immigrants to learn and speak English, the single greatest empowering tool that immigrants must have to succeed."
That’s how they sold it, anyway.
In sooth: just old-fashioned nativist
Anti-immigration hysteria.

Hayakawa: always the high achiever.
Hayakawa: The Great Assimilator,
Preaching his xenophobic Gospel:
“Immigration Must Be Reduced!”
Aryan rhetoric, of course,
A bi-product of radical authoritarian nationalism,
A movement with deep American roots.
Senator Sam: a Japanese-Canadian-American,
Always tried too hard to fit in.
Sam, comfortable in Chicago during WWII,
Not personally subject to confinement,
Advocated that Japanese-Americans
Submit to FDR’s 1942, Executive Order 9066.
“Time in camp, will eventually work to Japanese advantage."
Later, during the Congressional debate over
The Civil Liberties Act of 1988 . . .
(Passed the House on September 17, 1987 (243–141)
Passed the Senate on April 20, 1988 (69–27, in lieu of S. 1009)
Reported by the joint conference committee on July 26, 1988,
Agreed to by the Senate on July 27, 1988 (voice vote) and
By the House on August 4, 1988 (257–156,
Signed into law by President Ronald Reagan 8/10/88.
He opposed $reparations for WWII internment:
“Japanese-Americans should not
Be paid for fulfilling their obligations."
Some guys, I guess, would say, or
Do anything for Bohemia Club membership.
Plagued by night terrors, nonetheless,
His Manzanar nightmares, his vivid
Imaginary experience at other Japanese
Internment Sites: Tule Lake & Camp Rohwer.
Stalag (German pronunciation: [ˈʃtalak])
Stalags, infamous still,
“Stalags ‘R Us,”
Still palpable memories for
Issei ("first generation")
& Nisei ("second generation").
See: 323 U.S. 214. Korematsu v. United States
(No. 22: Argued: October 11, 12, 1944.
Decided: December 18, 1944.140 F.2d 289.
The opinion, written by Hugo Black,
Chief Justice Harlan Stone, Presiding.)

Hayakawa: a strange duck, of course,
But we mustn’t ignore his strong credentials,
And I’d like to disabuse anyone here
Of the notion that it was anything
Other than his academic record
That got his case to this Forum.
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
So begins this fractured Pardoner’s Tale,
This petition for forgiveness,
The Capo di Tutti Capi,
Presiding: the original Italian mafioso,
His Eminence--the Vicar of Jesus Christ,
The Supreme Pontiff
Pope Paparazzi of Rome!
Roma: the only venue large enough to
Dispense dispensation of this magnitude.

Hayakawa: everyone says his C.V. is “impeccable.”
But did anyone ever freaking Google it?
Just where did Professor Sam go to school?
Undergrad? The University of Manitoba,
Truly, by any Third World Standard
A great bastion of intellectual rigor;
Grad school? McGill and U Wisconsin-Madison.
He was a Canadian by birth,
His academic discipline was Semantics.
(As in “That’s just semantics,”
That all-purpose rejoinder in any argument.)
Professor Hayakawa, The Semanticist,
He taught us: “All thought is sub-vocal speech.”

•  The Use and Misuse of Language: S. I. Hayakawa: Amazon ... www.amazon.com/The-Use-Misuse-Language.../B000... Amazon.com, Inc. The Use and Misuse of Language [S. I. Hayakawa] on Amazon.com. FREE shipping on qualifying offers.
  
Hmmm? We think in words.
The medium of thought is language.
If you grok this for the first time,
Let’s stop to celebrate our enlightenment,
With a cultural nod of respect,
We salute our Islamic brethren.
Radical Islam: the new bogeyman,
Responsible for keeping lights on in Alexandria,
Paying the defense & intelligence bills,
Sustaining that sinister
Military-Industrial complex
Ike warned us about.
Hang in there, Mustafa, old buddy.
Like the Cold War, this insanity
Will eventually blow over.
Orwell’s Oceania will reshuffle
Its deck of global grab-***, and a
New enemy will suddenly appear.
Big Brother, as always,
In the full-control mode,
Simply put: on top of the situation.
So Hurrah!
Allāhu Akbar. “God is Great!
The Takbīr (the term for the
Arabic phrase: usually translated as
"God is [the] greatest.")

“All thought is sub-vocal speech.”
What a simple, yet profound insight!
Just a short hop, skip & jump to the
Realization that, perhaps, the clarity
& Power of our minds can be groomed,
Improved upon by mastery of—
In Sam’s case, anyway--the English Language.
Was this, perhaps, the germ of U.S. English,
The political lobbying organization
He co-founded, dedicated to making
English, the official language of the United States.
Hayakawa: a wooly conservative of his own design;
No wonder Governor Reagan loved him.

Dr. S.I. Hayakawa, a colorful and polarizing
Figure in California politics during the 1960s and 70s.
Can we forgive his daily afternoon naps.
Asleep on the floor of the U.S. Senate,
Leaving California so pathetically,
So ostensibly under-represented.
Senator Sam’s comatose presence at
Washington-on Potomac; the
District of Columbia.
A long time ago,
In a distant galaxy . . .
Far, far away.

TEAR GAS.
Alas, long before he got to Washington,
Long before ever setting foot off campus,
He called for tear gas to
Disperse those pesky college kids.
I repeat myself for emphasis:
He authorized the use of tear gas at SF State.
Tear gas: a lachrymatory agent?
Actually, a potentially lethal
Chemical agent . . .
(Yeah, Chemistry!
To wit: Sgt. Sara Brown,
Referencing “Guys & Dolls” again.)
Outlawed for use during wartime,
Banned in international warfare
Under both the 1925 Geneva Protocol; & the
Chemical Weapons Convention;
“Tear gas:  a weapon of war against
The people. We believe that
Tear gas remains a chemical weapon
Whether used on a battlefield, or city streets.”

Thus, history will be your judge,
You unleashed tear gas on college kids,
So I wouldn’t expect a rep makeover
Any time soon, Ichiye-san, my ichiban friend.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
if pre 2000s pop was a twin town of chedder, then post 2000s pop has to be twinned with sodium hydroxide, or palmolive / dove; this pope is high on crack, reshuffle and scrub down the kareoke, please! soap opera just turned into sing-alongs, it became cheese opera due to the repeat for a century to come... now it’s all about cheese opera and soap... the sort of cheese that might give a mitchell a half-mined-mile into coal mountain... and the soap ready for the twitter democracy of the required comment that’s about a cried-on pancake eaten with cranberry chutney but not the turkey.*

even if i write the most spectacular verse
it goes with the geese into the couldron
of a second life / un-becoming...
the latter is very much true with regards to feeling,
you’re in a race to claim a zeno record
against the turtle... but but still the flea beats you,
going against kantian symbolism, concerning 0,
it could also be the decimal point, rather than negation,
like the way i was given the x-men collection
at £10, seven movies...
i started with multiplying 7 by 10... to get 700...
then i added the 7 of each film,
added the “symbol of denial,”
moving the rubric for seven movies, sigma £10...
that’s like £1.70 for each movie...
the remainder is abstract as to relate the arithmetic.
well i was in the best club ever on a friday...
the street.
i bought myself a three quid leffe beer bottle
nearing the litre and with a champagne cork...
opened it...
walked by the police swinging a jive of gulp
and un-repentant... you want me to repent
my alcoholism serialising alcoholism as the problem?
you’re the problem:
i never box drunk...
you know how many marriages have failed because
of over-cooked pasta or under-cooked potatoes?
too many.
ready-meals like school-meals in england prime
for the selling of pre-prepared digits of chips
also ready to spend more time in the glue / spiderweb
of the television, which forgot its place
as a pleasant distraction of
the news for the small-town folk or national
pride via sporting events.
but you know what really ****** me off...
it’s called illiteracy for a reason...
but it’s also called religion concerning the literacy from one  book...
like the koran... or the bible...
strange that that isn’t illiteracy all by itself...
but it isn’t... literacy is then measured by the secularisation
mechanism of homework...
children don’t lie... their social status does not expect it...
it’s more like: i don’t like you... snail goo in a shell missing snail...
i like you... butterflies at the lunch break...
so in this dream i’m sitting in my bedroom
with this little boy... two fiendish creatures enter...
the boy says: this is allah...
he’s fat and burned...
(i hate the freudian self-projection of dream interpretation)...
the other is “schizophrenic,” i.e. two faces inter-mingling...
then the second dream... the fat monster is there, on a throne,
and a bunch of muslims...
suddenly they run away...
i’m left with the crisp fat ugly one...
and i forge the twinned dream interpretation...
ah crap... that placebo schizophrenia experiment
lasting for 7 years worked...
i made medicine in-effective in england...
now i’ll just encounter idiots who think they know me better
than i know myself...
who will deny in order to amuse themselves...
who will not craft a doubtful mechanism to encourage
courting / polite thinking... the so called: end-of-all-implausible-possibilities,
reduced to all the pessimisms known as plausible realities
of english society.
by the way... after seeing the boy’s knowledge of that
deep-friend bulge of the double chin...
i walked from home to dartford bridge... and then to barking...
and then took the bus home...
if i didn’t run from that first impression...
i wouldn’t have been the re-interpretated “schizoid” twin...
missing in the second dream by the throne
with the muslims running for leather spanked...
couple dreams for a medium of thought entering the
unconscious...
i hate self projection... it goes against
that limit of the most sophisticated pigeon service
known as freudian mail...
imagine a more sophisticated system without
pigeon, postcard, poststamp, e-mail... can you, given dreams?
Dougie Simps Apr 2015
I'm ridin' down in my old school Chevy (yeah)
Owh, she can get it.. (Mhm)
Bad little shawty,
So thick and pretty,
Girl come sit with me,
Ride out and see the city,
Let the lights hypnotize ya
It ain't no biggie, (word)
I'm young man searching,
Looking for a queen
A woman who takes full control
Both in and out the sheets

Now babe let's ride till they dim the city lights,
I'm not lookin for a right now,
I'm lookin for a wife
The kind that holds me down
And picks it up slow
So if you down, come around
Baby girl let me knowwww


Queen of hearts, Queen of hearts
Tryna play my cards right
Queen of hearts, Queen of hearts
Can I hold you down tonight?
Queen of hearts, Queen of hearts
A one of a kind in this deck
My Queen of hearts, yes
Can you put my heart in check?


Now I'm sweatin and shakin
Tryna see if she's bluffing,
Am I just another dealer?
Just another man cuffin?
Does this card mean nothing?
So why do I play it so close to my heart?
Is this the moment that I reshuffle? Redo the deck and restart?
Man this the hardest part,
Imma take my odds
Gamble on her smile,
Bid on this work of art,
Cause love is a game,
You only win if you play
So I ask this Queen of hearts
"Baby is this my lucky day?"

Now babe let's ride till they dim the city lights,
I'm not lookin for a right now,
I'm lookin for a wife
The kind that holds me down
And picks it up slow
So if you down, come around
Baby girl let me knowwww


Queen of hearts, Queen of hearts
Tryna play my cards right
Queen of hearts, Queen of hearts
Can I hold you down tonight?
Queen of hearts, Queen of hearts
A one of a kind in this deck
My Queen of hearts, yes
Can you put my heart in check?


Layin on the beach,
It's me and my Queen
Whispering sweet nothings in her ear
And she gently kisses my cheek,
Then she climbs on top of me
As we watched the sunset
This was more than two loves
This was more than just ***
It was passion from the ocean
And the heat from the sun
It was crazy, stupid, love
It was a blessing up above
It's feet deep in the sand
Till we both walked hand in hand
She was my only Queen of hearts
And I was her loyal kingsman.

My Queen of hearts, yeah...
Oh, oh. Oh yeah
My Queen of hearts yeah...
Oh, oh, ohh
She's simply one of a kind
My Queen of hearts....
Oh, tell me will you be mine?

(Singing fades out)
My first song I've written with a bridge and hook. I'm still learning. Copyrighted - Douglas Bland Simpkins
RILEY Feb 2014
I’m crucified on the cross roads of doubt;
My heart is in the middle of all this,
My head
Is tilted downwards,
My eyes are shut;
Inverted,
So as to look upon my past
Because some time
Some where
There is a missing link,
That if I find
All this would be clear.
I’m in a Jerusalem of my own
In it,
There is no, wide spaces of sand
And camel-descending romans
Trying to stab me with nails;
Instead,
There’s real people,
With real nails;
There is hope,
Now lighter than sand granules,
And sand castles
Crumbling down,
Leaving enough space
For a flower to emerge
In an Arab spring
Fertilized with corps
And watered with blood;
For Lebanon is running out of water
Like the Lebanese are running out of faith-
Running into walls.
Jumping over obstacles,
Over explosion debris,
Jumping way in over our heads.
I’m in a Jerusalem of my own,
One I call home,
With windows that open
To reshuffle the air particles
In a room that has enclosed upon itself,
With doors that creek
For the scars of the past
Still haunt them,
With walls
Painted with portraits
Protecting the memory
Of the ones I loved,
With walls painted with portraits
Picturing poetic illusions-
Ones that never left my brains,
Ones that tell me,
Every night I lose myself
In her pictures,
That we are getting back together,
One day,
Somehow,
Somewhere,
There is a missing link
That if I find
All this would be clear.
I’m strumming out of tune questions
On guitars that carry my stories,
With strings that need to be changed
And necks that grow long
As the path
I still have in front of me;
And though this is not a problem
For a Hendrix and a joint,
I’m just an ordinary man
With a pen-
I wear ordinary clothes,
I feed up on
Ordinary capitalism,
I ***** up my notes
Of which I never took any;
Jerusalem fell apart,
But my Jerusalem did not fall yet.
On my crucifix,
There’s a writing that says
“There’s always a piece of you in people,
As much as there’s a piece of them in you.”
I’m just a man on a crucifix
But writers can never be tamed,
For they live through the people that learn from them;
And those people,
Maintain they live forever.
Its good to be back.
Marlo Oct 2013
I shuffle and reshuffle,
the way my brother taught me last summer,
I lay my cards on our dining table in the east coast,
He lays his cards on a breakfast bar in the east coast.
Akhil Bhadwal Jul 2016
Binds you away
Shivering, you just can't sway
These my friend are
The Chains of Misery

Can't get hold of you
Are you free? Hell nou
Feel for yourself
The Chains of Misery

Reshuffle the pieces inside
Time to showoff the might
Now you break away from
The Chains of Misery

|AB|
No matter what the circumstances....it's always you against you \v/ Get yourself together, and move on \m/. Follows a a b a rhyme scheme.
Adam Struble Nov 2014
free will is the sovereign and divine right of the individual
our prayers are the roar of celebration
the thunderstorm of ******
blustery creations made of words and sound
stories falling like leaves off of the story tree
straw shelter attic cloud-hood
burst forth into the choice of pack your bags or reshuffle
recreating self again in the likeness of our new cosmic idealism
subtle sensual realities
short term echoes echoes
echoes the waterfall of imagination
///
Empty room
Open window
Smell of your hair
Reshuffle of all the feelings
What a familiar song!
Blowing through the window
I hear but not to turn asleep
Flavor of night jasmine
I open the door
She is coming,
What an unprecedented beauty of that face!
Gradually open
The bare body
How beautiful!
I am seduced by the sight of
You and I stand one on the island
But then I was sleeping
In a dream not to go too close

@Musfiq us shaleheen
///
ঘরটা ফাকা
জানালা খোলা  
তোমার চুলের গন্ধ পাই
এলোমেলো সব অনুভূতি
কি যেন এক চেনা গান
ভেসে আসছে
শুনে শুনে ঘুম আসেনা
হাস্নাহেনার গন্ধ
দরজাটা খুলে দেই
সে আসে  
কি অপূর্ব সুন্দর্য ওই মুখে!
আস্তে আস্তে খুলে যায় সব
অনাবৃত শরীর
কি সুন্দর!
আমি বিমোহিত এক দৃষ্টিতে
তুমি আর আমি এক দ্বীপে
কিন্ত তখন আমি ঘুমিয়েছিলাম
স্বপ্নের  মধ্যে কাছে যেতে পারিনি  

মুসফিক উস সালেহীন

///
within a dream/ স্বপ্নের মধ্যে
Introduction before the curtain is opened.
-->The  introducer addresses the audience.


Instead of none-stop
Condemning the past
Let us do our part
To lift our country
From economic morass fast.
Better than licking a wound,
Taking corrective measures
On former leaders’ mistakes
We could
Capitalizing, on what
They did good.

(Open Curtain)

--> Enters Emperor Tewodros II

I had tried
Citizens to unite
So that
They will not
Stop short of might
When invaders they fight!

I had also exemplified
Portraying a spectacular
Self dignity and pride
Whatever sacrifices
Trying times demand,
A coward,
An Ethiopian must not
Yield a hand.


To convey
I had also tried,
Though possible
As a tourist,explorer and
Even a covert spy
To enjoy oneself in
Ethiopia, famed for
A hospitable land
The impossibility
To carry away with
A shoe
Ethiopia’s golden
Silt or a sand.


--> Enters Emperor Yohannes IV



In the battle of Gundat
And Gura
I had shuttered
Egyptians' and Khedivi’s
And their Europian advisers'
And North Americans' aura.

Revolted by
A scramble for domestic power
Or salivating for wealth
And abhorring
Stooping to things glittering,
Defending my country
And faith
Valorous, on the forefront
Of a battle
I did shake hands
With the angel of death.


Successors,
There are lessons
You should learn
Adoring your country
Rent seeking
You have to shun,
Putting my country first
A notable self sacrifice
As I had done!


--> Enters Emperor Menelik II


Simply with
A sword and a spear
Carrying a shield
And riding a horse,
I did chase out
To its teeth
With modern weapon
Armed invading force.

When citizens
Join force and unite
With a golden pen
History they can write
History that flickers light
The oppressed,worldwide,
Could win if they fight
For their
God-bestowed right.

Also to modernization
According focal attention
Must be the task of
A given nation
If ignorance and disease
Their tight grip
Must cease.


--> Enters Emperor Haile selassie I

When many warned me
“You will live to regret
Your good gesture!”
To the development of
My country giving
Focal attention
I allowed students pursue
Further education.

I  also allowed many  here
And   abroad a broad-array of
Subjects learn
And their poor country
Serve in their turn.

A prophet
I exposed League of Nation's
Double standard
So that
The world understand
“Though today
Ethiopia’s turn
The flame of fascism
And ******
Tomorrow
Supper powers too will burn!”
It was my wont
In the diplomatic mission
To bring
My country to the front!

Along with fellow leaders,
It was my dream object,
To de-colonize
And unite the continent.

That is why many
Saw for a continental seat
—OAU later AU—
Ethiopia fit.

--> President Mengistu Haile Mariam

As revolution
Was the day’s talk
With the progressive
I broke
On peasants and
The proletariat
Imposed yoke.

Sied Barre’s
Unexpected attack
And intrusion
I had managed
To reverse back,

Also fighting
Mass illiteracy
Was my
Outstanding task.

In fact,
I did try to keep
My country intact.

-->Prime Minister Meles Zenawi

My long-cherished bent
Was ensuring
Political pluralism
And democracy’s advent
For which cause
My youth and adulthood
I spent.

I and combatants
After tyranny
To a grave sent,
I invited
Soon,
Marginalized states
To come aboard and
Equally enjoy
Development’s boon.

In an astounding
Developmental feat
I was out
The unconquerable

—Blue Nile—

To defeat.
Also against poverty
A similar victory repeat.
What is more
On the road
Of Renaissance
I did inspire
Over 80 ethnic group
Forward to run
Actualizing a leap in
Their life span.

A win-win
Environment smart growth
Was what,charismatic,
On the global arena
I brought forth
Making super powers believe
Giving attention to Africa
Is worth.

--> Prime Minister Hailemariam Desalegn

In trying times
Not to allow
Started mega projects
Suffer a set back
I saw to
Things are on the right track.

More than one cabinet reshuffle
In  the leading party
Deep renewal and reform,
Together with  members,
I did perform!

To a peaceful power transition
I have set a glaring example
A move
In Africa many took unthinkable!
Averse to rent seeking
I am patted on the back
“You have done a nice thing!”


(Close Curtain)

--> Introducer

Conspiracy
To grab the rein
Of power
At the cost of harm
Allowing one ethnic group
On others to tower
Sluggishness in resource
Utilization, not allowing
Development to equally
And fast flower,
Harbouring fright
When citizens exercise
Their allowed democratic right
Are follies
The coming generations
Have to fight
So that
Ensues peace
And days bright,
Off springs of Lucy
We have to always unite!///
Distilling the best from the past warding off hurdles pressing ahead.
Cheyenne Apr 2016
I'm the one who must stare
At the image in the mirror--
See the stranger standing there.
I'm the one who must stick
Through the thick and thin of it--
Can't leap overboard when you're the ship.
Somehow I must get along;
I may be mad. I may be wrong.
Regardless, I must soldier on.

And you have choices. As do I.
We can judge the way I try,
Manipulate and justify.
Over there you can stand,
Chastise and reprimand.
On a high horse, wield command.
But when you trot away from this,
I'll still have to live with it.
No space in this relationship.

So I will twist and bend your facts.
Moral high ground: counteract.
Reshuffle so no longer stacked.
It's not from malice or a grudge
That I change the story for the judge--
You must believe: it is out of love.
A love for myself that I must maintain--
For you can always walk away,
But, good or bad, I must remain.
Emeka Mokeme Dec 2018
In this bizarre
world of confusion
and violence with
so much brokenness
and misunderstanding.
We must comprehend
the deeper order
of the principle
back of things,
hidden within the
fabric of our
daily lives
Understand that through
chaos comes order.
Without ruffledness
there wont be
any order in
the scheme of
things spiritual and
physical.
The unruffled things
brings stagnation
in nature.
Death of things
occur in nature
to usher in
a new sequence
and another chance
of a new beginning
to suit different
seasonal circle and
cross current
into another phase.
Light overrides darkness
and darkness turns
into light.
Continuity allows the
spiralling of negativity
to positive effects.
Error reminds the
heart to forgive
unconditionally.
The night brings
closure of natural
order to usher in
the day light.
Both are working
in synergy to
bring desired balance.
Natural disaster comes
to cleanse and
reshuffle and recircle
all things good
and bad for
our edification.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Kabelo Maverick Jul 2014
A brilliant thought titled, my old friend told me to reshuffle before I write this. Touching humans with souls, be a friend or foe, I’m drawing this prose for those who were never told. Scared of being good coz being bold means bravery, Biko told me it could be repercussions of slavery. Forgive me, where’s my manners, let this be forever…I bet you’d rather hear what this has to do with the latter. What’s new? Signing future deals with the devil and smashing each other blue, can’t blame the Djs for scratching another Rhythm & Blues. Living like forever is promised, ins and outs, drinking high as long as my steps are polished. Put my chick on my payroll, so she doesn’t turn around and play ball. Same time, same eye on the vultures, busy eyeing my plate planning to scavenger my vouchers. Going to work building careers for Fridays and better Fridays, monotonous times with guerrilla peers for highways but never like gays. An agitating pain in my back, I miss the days of shooting hoops. Now the game has changed, I guess it’s time to rally the troops. Hoping I’m praying as I’m living through Everyday Thinking, regretting the white lies protecting the future of this everyday sinning. More kids still dying in the newspapers while the rest don’t even read, bad awes still killing our peacemakers while the rest think we’re free…
......©
Autumn Bliss Nov 2015
Sometimes i don't want to be tethered to yesterday
It's nicer to forget
But having eyes wide to the future
Requires retrospective respect

To reach the top of maslow's pyramid
You have to knock down the walls
Reshuffle all the cards
And see where they might fall

Your peccadillo was just a trigger
To the burst of autumn red
I've awoken from my torper
And turned reality on its head.
Mohd Arshad Apr 2018
Buy tickets, and go late
When the movie has moved on.
You know your thrill, too, has flowed.

Recharge your card,
Reshuffle your busy schedule
When it's India and Pakistan T20 final,
And reach home in a whisker
After some overs have been bowled.
Irritation will catch you
Like the cold in sheer winter.

Your bride is waiting at the door.
It's your first visit at her house.
You miss the bus, get on the auto,
And her smile is over.
As you meet her,
You say, sorry, sorry, sorry.

Getting late is swimming in troubles.
Waking up in the morning,
Not with the sunrise,
Is booking boredom, passivity,
And drinking Bisleri frustration
For the full day.
James M Vines May 2016
Life dealt you a bad hand of card, so reshuffle the deck. Society is cruel, so be kind in a way that people will take notice. You hear people laugh and snicker, so have a great sense of humor and you might appear on broad way. When others don't get you, write a book about it. When they say you will never get there, just tell them it takes some of us longer than it does others. Always remember you are created unique. There are things about you that are special, you just have to let others know it. When the story of your life is written, it will show that you are amazing.
Russian soldiers in general
and Vladimir Putin in particular
perpetrate outright injustice
against Ukrainian population.

Impossible mission to comprehend
the mindset of belligerent, egotistical,
indignant, *******, tsarist
self anointed totalitarian zealot.

Gross violation of human rights
blatantly carried out
courtesy diabolical genocidal horror
directly linkedin to Kremlin
official residence of president
of Russian Federation since 1991.

Jackknifed world wide web
teeters on the brink
of economic collapse
as mayhem rents asunder
western country Ukraine
the general Slavic word
for 'frontier region'
and 'marches' which referred,
most likely, to territories
of Kyivan Rus'.

Violation of basic covenant
imposes life and death
decision for multitudes
to flee their homeland
forsaking personal property
and cherished mementos
irreplaceable treasured trappings
left for invaders to ransack.

Those very villainous vultures
(metaphorically speaking or writing)
namely enemy Russian soldiers
bolster weaponry equipage
with disproportionate advanced
terrorizing precision machines
such as warplanes and Kalibr
(Caliber) cruise missiles,
carried by warplanes;
and Iskander missiles

allowing, enabling, and providing
a range of up to 500 kilometers
(around 300 miles);
The Soviet-designed Grad (Hail),
Smerch (Tornado) and Uragan
(Hurricane) multiple rocket launchers
designed to fire a salvo
of powerful rockets
to destroy concentrations
of troops or military equipment;
Cluster munitions and
thermobaric weapons.

Mass exodus of population
floods neighboring countries
Poland, Romania, Slovakia,
Hungary and Moldova
dazed and confused refugees
making journey across borders
crammed analogous to sardines
nevertheless hospitable strangers
welcome them with opened arms.

Without question scads of people
vulnerable to psychological ills
oversaturated with melancholia
concerning countless losses,
albeit violently wrenched
out their homeland,
whereat sons and father mandated
to stay behind and
defend the motherland
against surfeit of military might.

Meanwhile daughters and mothers
the latter saddled, and encumbered
with small children and pets
trundle toward safe haven
instantaneous citizenship guaranteed
no holds barred, nor no bolds hard.

Contrast the above with other
persecuted peoples most
allotted with melanin
and insync with attendant
definitive physical characteristics
populating marginalized jinxed
African, Central/South American,
Haitian, Mexican... regions
suffer worse fate than death

beleaguered, destitute hardship linkedin
with cutthroat fearsome insidious
lurking opportunistic ravenous
United States agents ready
to deport and send them back,
where certain misery
and interminable suffering
predictable as Earth will
rotate along 23.5 degrees
from plane of its orbit
around the sun
come the morrow.

Though aghast at grave atrocity
within the killing zone of Ukraine
will subsequently reconfigure, rejigger,
and reshuffle the Russian syndicate
of extreme wealth including Putin
controlling, governing, and
manipulating the franchise.
Emeka Mokeme Apr 2019
Get up and
step out of
the mud in
a hole without
ever dyeing.
Licking the soup
and dining with
the ***** devil,
not that sinner
the demon is
like fire in
a hole.
Your demise
means nothing
when you
die unworthily.  
You have no
place among
the dead.
The prisoner in
******* in a
hole needs to
get out before
the fire starts
burning in the hole.
When deafness
is not among
your many failings.
It's not your
fault and not
your problem
for you can't
change anything
but to allow
the natural cycle
to run its course.
Earthquakes and
cyclones even tempests
are all temporary
but with a
devastating impact.
Everything is like that.
We shed what
is not necessary
and needed and
reshuffle our existence
through wars
where people die
yet allowing others
to still live.
It's just like that.
Take it.
Most of the
stupidiotic things
we have said
and done
are unnecessary.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2024
ABJECT:
   experienced or present to the maximum degree
   not: completely without pride or dignity; self-abasing

ergo: AUBJECT:
               having a self-deprecating sense of humor?

   𐰀‎𐰋‎𐰖‎𐰅‎    (abje-)              otherwise

        TA:           𐱃‎𐰀‎
        AT:            𐰀‎𐱅

                𐰶  (iq, qi, queue calf)

𐰢   (m)

                𐰔‎  (z)

supposedly these letters govern:
                 whatever it is they govern
although the latter have
no back no frontal vowel variation
as other consonants

old Turkic as the prototype
for Runes:

               just thinking about the great
migrations of people:

the islands of Polynesia with New Zealand
and Hawaii included
that began in Taiwan
ventured not to Thailand
but across those islands above
Australia: maybe Indonesia probably
given the etymology of Polynesia
and Indonesia being the islands that
peeled themselves off
the Indian subcontinent...

      ergo if the Mongols did the migration
by conquest
then the Turkic people spread from
Mongolia too
but slowly and without much conquest
or Empire building
only as the Ottomans did they
invest in empire prior to them the Seljuks
Tughril and Chaghri...

but before that migrated as merchants
and probably journeymen
not as lamentable as the nomads of
the Twelve Tribes
not really with religion behind
and religion ahead: newly ascribed
to the pagans of their own
mischief and not mischief some genuine
concern for the souls of pagans
i don't know...

but given the letters
there are some exchange of ideas about
how to communicate most
effectively
and in writing and to better remember
then escape from the oral tradition
and all that ******* and *******
to not forget
  
            by now we are living into our 80s
and the bones give way
at the knees and not from a lack
of intuition but old age seems
counter intuitive when it comes to living
and before you could on a whim
and gravitas sense the vivo virilitas
and some vino veritas
  
                          while death was in glass:
mortem in vitro:

                      now we have to carry it with
us: like we always did
but now we can see how death makes
babies and old people
generic in their appearance:
how before we die
we see death and time wrangle us
and crunch us like paper
and before that all there was talk
of the resurrection of the body:
i'm guessing the reality of that being:
on the instance of your death
you would be resurrected as you were
say: 33 and in full strength to
give people a Glastonbury festival affair
but on Golgotha and without
music to fear...

however i don't trust Gothic: the script
is so deviant from Runes
and by then the Greeks must have visited
such places up north
and no wonder their solidified their presence
with the Russians
and what became of Greek was Cyrillic
and some reminder of Slavonic in Glagolitha:

Glagolithic: monolithic: definitely seismic in scope
the history we all know
or perhaps that's just me being pedantic
as i've taken to reading random
encyclopedia articles
and maybe they're not so random
while
the Continent shifts towards the Right
while the Island shifts towards the Left:
but it's not called the right or the left
on the Island
instead you have to sort of sprinkle some covert
wording: Converse to Conserve:
Labor with Public Toils:

         i knew Rishi would lose
after the shifty 3rd term
i don't remember how the past 14 years happened
i remember two general elections:
really remember only two
the second being staged on the promise
of leaving the European Union
the first one obviously to usurp what was
happening: shape shifting democracy
on top
how many minor prime ministers did
we have after Cameron:

Theresa May
Boris Johnson
Liz Truss
Rishi Sunak          - a fine spell:

but i don't remember any of them being elected:
maybe i'm just forgetful
but i just remember the changing of hands
for a third stretch:
and not much else:
i remember some local elections
maybe...
                      but nothing really:

oh:                 so there were elections in 2017
                                                and in 2019...
but those seemed like internal affairs:
and almost sidelined
at least to my knowledge only yesterday
did a Conservative Party
representative knock on my door
and asked me to bring my passport
and vote for the local MP
who was only 0.6% points ahead in the poll

this not so model citizen didn't
vote:
                                               even with the Muslim
and Asian vote:
have to talk demographics
some thought that there would be an Asian
prime minister by the vote of the people
rather than a reshuffle and
one dittohead talking over another
i know how biodiversity is great
but ethno-diversity is yet to be anything
a social experiment:
calmly: bluntly:

     would the native population vote in
an Asian prime minister
                      apparently not so and that's
not to stipulate that low hanging fruit
of calls to arms anti-fascists and anti-racists unite!
no:
i'm not an anti-racist: i'm just not racist...
if Kanye West can be a self-proclaimed
****
   and love ice-creams of Moscow then who
am i to judge myself
based upon politics        but sometimes
it's greatly sobering to have politics ******
into your face
like a milkshake at a politician and if
Nigel Farage is not the tamed Enoch Powell
then: i am a great admirer of the latter
but the former is my contemporary
and i can't see the big picture
just the little man and i myself am a little man
too because
i live in these times and have no luxury
(if it can be called that)
to look at and into history and probably
make the usual suspects list of mistakes...

if once poetry was so potent that
they could incarcerate Ezra Pound in a mental
asylum
that must have been a wonderful time to be a poet
not in the 1960s with the Beatniks
but at a time when a poet could be sentenced
and sent to a mental asylum
like a prison because you know that's
when words were POWER:
and whoever wielding them was considered
powerful...

                  what a time to have been alive:
now they just get the mob at you
and the little censors
     anonymous and like a flash rule of meteorlogical
whims:
               no real authority of the state
against a bothersome individual a poet of no concern
it would seem these days
a fringe lunatic
maybe i should start looking at
kidnapping plot websites and Satanic:
go covert go and start using TOR and the dark web
maybe then i'd get on the right
side of the wrong radar:

sincerely though:
i do remember better schools, better roads,
better transport...
maybe i'm just kidding myself: maybe i don't remember:
under labour -
schools i can probably say yes to
after all i did on ly pay £1200 a year in tuition
fees circa 2004 - 2007
and i really go my money's worth
a chemistry degree in my third year
implied 12 hours in laboratories
then at least 5 hours in lecture halls
   and on top of that i think i did some extra
courses:
   history in year two: that's 5 hours of lecture
and 1 hour tutorial...
failed French but had a French girlfriend
so i guess: half a pass...

         some I.T.: i knew how to build a basic
HTML
    but born way too late to credit from
a .COM                 boom with the likes of Amazon
and there seemed to be no real incentive
to go into the field
perhaps because my father was / is
a construction worker
              work was deemed elsewhere not in front
of the screen: officers were
constructed but not worked in:

as i wonder about the work that
went into constructing Wembley and other Arenas
and i no wonder about the sub-par
staff now employed in these places
and that's a god's green and honest truth

the work itself: crowd management and safety
is a PARETO PRINCIPLE
i.e.:
          20% of people
          cause
          80% of the problems...

the rest of the work is rather dull in that
i put on a smile and a concerned face
and whether i'm sometimes sincere i am not
always: authentic...
although i can be both authentic and sincere
i feel i'm more real if
push comes to shove:
i remain authentic but insincere
rather than
    crush myself under falsehoods
of sincerity mashed up with inauthentic (being)

that's like the complete opposite
of what one can accomplish with Heidegger's
da-sein:
and i have been prone to talk philosophy
with fellow coworkers
but it was not so much philosophy but about
human behavior: and that's not philosophy?
hardly a conversation about individuals
some variation of potholes i.e. nagging i.e.
scheming i.g. soap opera jargon...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

apparently upon waking i stink
of marijuana and *****:
evil dog demon i
but i did ask her: my mother:
to set up internet banking with me
while she complained
that she still doesn't know
the word trick of ctrl+c/+p
while i do it all the time
something to envy the positioning of my
hands at the keyboard

so ended up spending a day
among the civilized LIVING
not stuck in books
and the DEAD
and it was sobering:
refreshing: boring: but at least real:
and i don't know why
or where i got my ordeal of
Plato's despotic beauty:
that's gone...

               then the love of vinyls and CDs
and then books
and all living dead people not around
me
the Plateau and the Shield Volcanos
one on Kauai
one on Mars
and one on Venus
the eyes of earth competing with the grand
eye of wind that's Dune that's
Jupiter:
beyond halos of Saturn Neptune and Uranus
Catholic mantra: become small
Chinese mantra: become small
cope
let the world enlarge:
let the world be the world
and the universe of being
let the world become a place of non-being:

back to the world of the living
one bottle of white Italian wine
to get started:
then the measured approach
half a joint
deodorant spray into the garden
to mask the stench of half a joint
that's 0.05g Sherbert Mariquana
from America
and at least 1.5g of tobacco
from the Spirit of America the Polynesians
brought us cups of salt
the Indians the tobacco
and the whites just some technology:
i still have one last whiskey gulp: gloog:
Kosher Diet:
proper Goat killing...

      vegetarian Myo Muyu:
then i hear applause
from the garden
and i decide to put some music on: i'm putting some
music on some music on some...

(the mood wil eventually change:
bright colors, sparkly dust etc)

i was that guy: but then love's and life's disruptive
forces began gnawing at my brain
and hmm ha ha: provider trope
education the smallest economic sector
on Kauai
otherwise perfect shifty:
two pence three pence: three:
got my other fingers on a leash
extensions of your ****
and i don't know so desperately seeking
in ***** when you are
the other side
this *** swallow sum sore: oh O...

five Taylor Swift concerts:
i don't know:
i'm thinking about 16th and 20th
to add:
no i still haven't sent the t-shirts
i'm thinking i got the sizes wrong
all Wok and ***** and WONG Rrrrr:
grit with trill

the one letter in any alphabet
that has an ONOMATOPOEIA
for a NOUN: a name Trill is R:
what you do with the letter
whenever you see it:

cf. Rattlesnake...

             cf. Rattlesnake...

what: a: slow: day!
impossible day: mission:
get through to 1am
abandon a poem halfway through the day:
return: like going back to Edie
start a poem in the dimension
of the Yin & Yang...

              this is me experimenting with time:
i can stretch it:
the color to the canvas
when poetry is invoked:
time is my cognitive: constant stance:
half a joint and some whiskey
wrapping my Martin's Ring over
my Quarus' ear:
because i am magic man
because magic abounds:
nothing on earth
but in the universe
planets are people
and we choose to live on Mars
the Dune and Jupiter:
not yet... not yet...

                   waking up so late so late
half a day in the first two hours
of waking:
but i spent them talking in bed
and both of you said:
i was LOAF of LOATHING
red flag language

                                           then language itself:
can i please, please please please
be EX_USED:
excused:
                from this mundane: I.T. *******:
so IT looks less scary as acronym
I.T.:
            gotcha Braille .:              ! dye no die?

i told her my dream:
i was eating out two tubs of ice cream
and i wonder if Reyla thinks of me:
i'm not hearing Reyla making an references
to me:
i'd like to hear Reyla talk about me:
such an uncomfortable truth: for seeker...

                            there is work in the ethereal
and whether it's essential or not:
discarded, easily: existentially:
per: instance ex: every insistence:
an insomniac moth
a laborer fly
sleeping:

                too late to wake up and eat
breakfast with my father?
not nice...
  i wouldn't miss it for that world:
that's why i took measured steps:
now i get it:
i've only seen Reyla for 6 weeks in her
environment
and 3 weeks in my environment:
excuse you jealous man
and Ilona's prophecy so far removed:
that a man would forgo
and say unto mother and father:
my wife: your peer:
but i have a daughter:

           biological equivalence of dated:
"product"...
after all James Joyce took his schizophrenic
daughter down Finnegan's Wake:
and at least:
  libra: delta: score...

                                     Christ's Ronaldo
saying goodbye to the architecture:
it was almost comical
but a grand bowing out:
like Murray's Andy: bowing out:
this the season to be pensive:
for some melancholic jolly later
come the first days of July
and Cancer approaches
of Births
and the days IMMEDIATELY SHORTEN
to early 9pm
lights...

           the fates decided:
that is right: some people exist without gods
and abstracts
some people are pure IN VIVO
not pure IN VITRO:
in glass i see sand and in sand i see glass
but some people live elevated lives
of body thirst
and mind lust:
of body first
and mind last:
of body thirst
and mind lust...

                   that: sounds.... about right...

                      but the big topic was still
immigration:
the wages will not go up
and the food prices:
jeez:
politics no aside:

   an immigrant talking about immigration:
not the summoning of expatriate English
wording: from Charity Shield to Community Shield
from Aboriginal to Native
Pre-Colonial wording: i.e. no wording
no paper just boomerangs...

INDIGENOUS: not native...
higher tier Darwinism of wording just the right
politically correct artifact...

but a little b it by b i t complicated, no?

                                        the secrecy of the Left emerges:
now less so scolding at not having the reins
of the Reign:
perhaps now given the added responsibilities
they can stop bemoaning themselves
moaning at not being tried at being
competent instead seen as these narcissists
perhaps now in
this living Democracy of the United Kingdom:
did i figure out
that i do not get a vote for the Prime Minister:
blocker: King...
therefore i have to vote for my local MP
i sleepwalked through the G.E. of 2017 and 2019
i almost forgot Corbyn and the Late Parade...

then again my mouth was ash and journalism
and my eyes were looking to everywhere
and elsewhere:
more insipid work
and since the container will include
the sofa and the bed:
scared of the fiction: now?
no a sugar mommy:
but i just thought
this was another reality checker:
how rich people hide their wealth
because it can become to mean: personal:
like certain books coins: kopeks:
Dinaree...

                    uncombed horses:
falsify violin bows...              kiss kiss:
money money money:
    money money money:
           riches upon riches:
lands in distant land of island:
property
love becoming economic
slowing down
conversation i already know
the trinity of Peter
Jeff and Jason
and on repeat
and i know but how much does
it: i: deserve for it to hurt
if: a subtle whisper:
of what is
to what if

            language so cruel: yet so crucial:
but of those mentioned how
many exfoliated with words
and treated them with respect:

after all isn't there a war happening
between words and images
and words becoming images
like PEPSI
and PRADA
while images becoming words:

but that's ancient:
and certified:
accounted for by correctly
focused on: ideograms
and traffic color beyond symbol
strategy:

not RED AMBER BLUE
                          but GREEN:
or GRUE and BLEEN...
my first encounter with philosophy
came in Edinburgh:
2nd year: maybe 3rd:
philosophy of science: david hume:

i was taught about david hume
in edinburgh:
that's a bit like
being taught Kant
in the University of Königsberg...
David Hume the genius
i too went mad in the streets
of Edinburgh i walked
bare footed
and with a stick:
and that was my crescendo:

i spent a good 30min thinking about
Fiona and Tristan:
and how life so strange remains:
life and strangeness
and doubly that: estrangement....

         but at least i returned to the world
of the living for a bout of
admiring the forgiving
mythos: Ronaldo bowing out of the Colliseum
pity that i might be rememebered
and he will be forgotten:
because: i catered for the few
and the few slithered: like Hell is an Elephant
and in Memory: but also slithers
winding rivers and longer paths
because of the blood type PATHOS...

              Serenity Red not just simply: so red:
squirrel: carrot... onion bell bottom: blues...
Serenity Red not just so simply: red so red...
     holding back
            cradle fiddler how ***** how natural
how oh so ol' 'n' gunning for
furor!
Maternal grandfather of mine
long since passed among the living;
He left his Motherland
before onset of Holodomor,
a policy of the Soviet Union
aimed at the destruction
of the Ukrainian nation,
the 1932–1933 genocide in Ukraine.

The present doth bear witness
to repeated assaults upon
scapegoated innocent people.

Russian soldiers in general
and Vladimir Putin in particular
perpetuate outright injustice
against Ukrainian population.

Impossible mission to comprehend
the mindset of belligerent, egotistical,
indignant, *******, tsarist
self anointed totalitarian zealot.

Gross violation of human rights
blatantly carried out
courtesy diabolical genocidal horror
directly linkedin to Kremlin
official residence of president
of Russian Federation since 1991.

Jackknifed world wide web
teeters on the brink
of economic collapse
as mayhem rents asunder
western country Ukraine
the general Slavic word
for 'frontier region'
and 'marches' which referred,
most likely, to territories
of Kyivan Rus'.

Violation of basic covenant
imposes life and death
decision for multitudes
to flee their homeland
forsaking personal property
and cherished mementos
irreplaceable treasured trappings
left for invaders to ransack.

Those very villainous vultures
(metaphorically speaking or writing)
namely enemy Russian soldiers
bolster weaponry equipage
with disproportionate advanced
terrorizing precision machines
such as warplanes and Kalibr
(Caliber) cruise missiles,
carried by warplanes;
and Iskander missiles

allowing, enabling, and providing
a range of up to 500 kilometers
(around 300 miles);
The Soviet-designed Grad (Hail),
Smerch (Tornado) and Uragan
(Hurricane) multiple rocket launchers
designed to fire a salvo
of powerful rockets
to destroy concentrations
of troops or military equipment;
Cluster munitions and
thermobaric weapons.

Mass exodus of population
floods neighboring countries
Poland, Romania, Slovakia,
Hungary and Moldova
dazed and confused refugees
making journey across borders
crammed analogous to sardines
nevertheless hospitable strangers
welcome them with opened arms.

Without question scads of people
vulnerable to psychological ills
oversaturated with melancholia
concerning countless losses,
albeit violently wrenched
out their homeland,
whereat sons and father mandated
to stay behind and
defend the motherland
against surfeit of military might.

Meanwhile daughters and mothers
the latter saddled, and encumbered
with small children and pets
trundle toward safe haven
instantaneous citizenship guaranteed
no holds barred, nor no bolds hard.

Contrast the above with other
persecuted peoples most
allotted with melanin
and insync with attendant
definitive physical characteristics
populating marginalized jinxed
African, Central/South American,
Haitian, Mexican... regions
suffer worse fate than death

beleaguered, destitute hardship linkedin
with cutthroat fearsome insidious
lurking opportunistic ravenous
United States agents ready
to deport and send them back,
where certain misery
and interminable suffering
predictable as Earth will
rotate along 23.5 degrees
from plane of its orbit
around the sun
come the morrow.

Though aghast at grave atrocity
within the killing zone of Ukraine
will subsequently reconfigure, rejigger,
and reshuffle the Russian syndicate
of extreme wealth including Putin
controlling, governing, and
manipulating the franchise.
Kiernan Norman Jun 2024
You can play
with the tension
and not get caught,
but you can never
break it;

not when nerves
are taut telephone lines
purring with electricity;
thick enough to chew.
The cracks are deep
enough to bury a secret,
swallow each perforated promise,
and each broken beacon.

I can feel your pulse
racing against mine.
I can't tell whose heart is beating
and whose is beat.
We are two sticks of dynamite
in the same trophy tin:
sparks of breath singeing skin,
we hold each other up
until we hold
each other down.

The rules of war change
with your mood,
the laws of physics
are putty in your hands,
and the tides of time
are your own
collapsing conspiracy-
a house of cards you reshuffle
and repossess as the candle burns
a circle of wax on the table.

I can’t decide if you want to devour me
or decimate me—
adore my halo
or annihilate my hope,
love me with your whole heart
or wreck mine with your whole weight.
And you can’t decide either,
can you?

The light is unkind,
the land unforgiving,
and you are all
my favorite lies;
the canvas of my
incomplete portrait,
the crossed out pages
of my abandoned poems.

You can play with your edge
or throw me off it.
Either way, I'll be yours to keep
or yours to conquer.
I won’t tell you how to ruin me,
or beg you to spare me
from your rabid reign—
I’m not that kind of country.
I’m an open border;
a shattered compass,
spinning wildly.

But I will say:
the ruins
are all that’s left when
the empire falls,
all that’s real when the
games are done,
all that’s preserved
when the tension eases
and the maps are redrawn,
again and again.

I'll send a postcard
to your grave.
May 2024
My personality is like a deck of cards—each one revealing a different facet of who I am.
The good cards are my victories in life, the ones that draw people to me despite my innocence and naivety.
They are the moments that allow me to forge connections, to befriend others, to navigate the world with hope.

But behind those cards lie the bad ones—the losses in the game, yet paradoxically, the wins in life.
They unveil the raw truths of existence, exposing the genuine intentions of the world and the shadows within my own nature. Perhaps many have never truly known me.
People recognize only the parts I choose to reveal, the carefully presented pieces of my story.
Yet they remain unaware of the silent battles, the unseen struggles I have endured.

How can someone claim to truly know me when all they have seen are the reels, the highlights, the fleeting clips of my life—but never the raw, unfiltered behind-the-scenes?

They witness the carefully curated moments, the victories, the laughter, the beautifully framed snapshots that fit within their expectations. But they don’t see the retakes, the silent battles fought off-camera, the exhaustion, the parts of my story too complex or too painful to compress into a mere clip.

To know me is not just to watch the performance, but to understand the struggles that shaped it.
It is to acknowledge the moments I didn't share—the doubts, the resilience, the quiet growth beyond the spotlight.

True understanding lies not in what is shown, but in what is felt beyond the frame.
What you see of me through social media is not real—the curated moments, the framed exposures, the glimpses tailored for the world to perceive.
The truth lies beyond the filters, beyond the carefully composed narrative.
So let me reshuffle my life however I choose.
Stop assuming you know everything about it when you don’t.
Stop implying that things will unfold a certain way, because they won’t—not like that, not how you expect.

My path is mine alone, shaped by choices only I understand.
The future is not predetermined, and what is “supposed to happen” will never be dictated by anyone but me.
So just let me be—let me exist as I am. I don’t need anyone to shape me, to define me, or to tell me how to move through life. I can get by on my own.

I know my path, my resilience, my own way forward. And that’s enough.

Toodles.
Evans Martins Jan 2021
Times up for a fix,
I have to restore my life,
Yes restore to factory settings,
That my Father High initiated.

Time's up to rethink,
And have proceed real quick,
And reshuffle the room,
To stabilize a brain and set it up again.

Time's up to brainstorm,
For waiting will take too long,
And distract me from the course,
With that i shall fall.

Time's up to stagger
But proceed with haste and caution,
My might not to waste again,
OHH! All will be well...

Time's up for a mute,
I pray for my well being,
So the system gets fully restored,
And save this horse not to throw,
Yes, not to throw its last,
But jump with kicks of life saying, Hurrah...
Maeve Feb 25
You, my darling, are never alone,
In the shadows, I see you—aching, unknown.
I am here with matches, I will strike them all for you.

You deserve more than this world can bestow,
Though the cards are stacked, the odds unkind,
I’ll give you my cards every time.

When the weight is heavy, your shoulders weak,
I’ll lift you higher, the strength you seek.
For in your eyes, I see the spark—
A flame that survives, through thick and thin.

So let the world deal it's cruel hand,
Together, we’ll rise, together, we’ll stand.
I’ll reshuffle the deck, rewrite your fate,
For you, my darling, I’ll forever wait.
Driven by Mad Hopes, They Pave the Road to Hell

“Nothing so exhausts or so promotes cowardice as mad hope.”
— Pyotr Chaadayev


Mad hopes are shoved like chains
Into unthinking brains.
Then yoked without a doubt —
Just follow orders out.

Compliant? You’ll be blessed!
With cookies — like the rest.
But in the end, you’ll get
The Law — and tight regret.

New promises arrive —
New yokes — and none survive.
This cycle through the years:
Deceit, decay, and tears.

At last — pure weakness reigns
Among the stunted brains.
It starts with craven fear,
Then soullessness draws near.

The CowID spell was cast:
Few kept their soul intact.
But that brave spark shall burn —
While gnats will face their turn.

For gnats build Camps anew —
With lies and numbers too.
They’ll raise, without defense,
A Gen of imbeciles… immense.



---------------------



1.
Mad hopes on leashes, lies on loop —
They breed a soulless, mindless troop.

2.
Obey for cookies, die for law —
The soul erased, the world in awe.

3.
They built a Camp with code and lies —
And called it "progress" as truth dies.

4.
A gen of gnats, with numbers fed —
Too dumb to see their spirit’s dead.

5.
They hoped like sheep — then begged as swine.
Now watch them code their own decline.

6.
Mad hope was bait.
Now comes the Gate.

7.
They sold their souls for rules and lies —
Now build the Camp with vacant eyes.



---------------------




1.
They fed them hope — then snapped the leash.
Obedience makes profit… cheap and sleek.

2.
They bent the knee for promised bread —
Now drown in laws they never read.

3.
Each lie was sold as “greater good” —
And chewed by those who never should.

4.
The braver ones were first to burn —
But cowards die in slow return.

5.
No soul remains where fear took root —
The mask replaced both face and truth.

6.
They taught the gnats to love their cage —
And watch the fire with passive rage.

7.
No tyrant rose — they built him whole
From every vote without a soul.

8.
They paved the road to digital Hell —
With hopes too mad and minds too well…

…controlled.



---------------------




Driven by Mad Hopes — Into the Camp of Lies
They obey. They hope. They fall.
Soullessness isn't sudden — it's installed.


1.
Mad hope — the leash.
Obey. Capiche?

2.
They crawled for law,
Now eat the flaw.

3.
The soul was taxed.
The gnats relaxed.

4.
Truth's not for sale?
Then off to jail.

5.
"Digitize sin" —
And call it win.

6.
Their hope was blind,
Now so's mankind.

7.
From mask to chain —
Just click "remain".

8.
They begged for peace —
Now beg for lease.

9.
No soul? No cry.
Just scan — comply.

10.
They praised the lie
That made them die.

11.
Their mask grew tight —
They called it "right".

12.
Born to obey,
They fade away.

13.
Hope broke their spine —
And called it fine.

14.
The Camp was built
On silence, guilt.

15.
"Protect!" they screamed —
While freedom streamed.



---------------------



Mad Hope Manifesto

(A warning from the soul they tried to delete)

They hoped like sheep — then begged as swine.
Now watch them code their own decline.

No soul? No cry.
Just scan — comply.

They praised the lie
That made them die.

"Protect!" they screamed —
While freedom streamed.

Hope broke their spine —
And called it fine.

The Camp was built
On silence, guilt.

Their mask grew tight —
They called it right.

Born to obey,
They fade away.



---------------------



DESPAIR (False Hope Doctrine)

Mad hopes again are beaten
Into the herd’s cracked skull —
As if the chains they'd weaken,
Or make the labor dull,

As if they’d ease the censors,
Or break the system's spell —
But hope becomes the anchor
Of every slave-built Hell.

When hope is dead — you feel it:
You won’t endure the ****.
To rot and still conceal it
Is soul-death, bit by bit.

But cowards, soft and gutless,
Still pray for guarantees —
While idiots love the cutlass
That slits them for some fees.

They chase the cash forever,
In filth, in any place.
No shame — they’re proud and clever
In that decaying race.

So praise those sacred hopes!
Dear victims, charge ahead!
The mob once more will choke
The minds they’ve always dread.

With biomass they’ll smother
All thought, all truth, all grace.
What’s not for sale’s just clutter
In Hope-****’s holy place.



---------------------




1.
Mad hope’s a leash —
Disguised as peace.

2.
Hope fuels the chains
In cowards' brains.

3.
No hope? No lie.
You'd rather die.

4.
The soul decays
When silence pays.

5.
They kneel for gold —
Their minds are sold.

6.
They sniff for loot
Like worms in soot.

7.
Hope feeds the crowd
That screams the loud.

8.
They crush the wise
With hopeful lies.

9.
All truth they ****
In Hopeshitland.



---------------------



Hopeshitland Manifesto

For those who did not sell their souls for promises...


Mad hope’s a leash —
Disguised as peace.

Hope fuels the chains
In cowards' brains.

No hope? No lie.
You’d rather die.

The soul decays
When silence pays.

They kneel for gold —
Their minds are sold.

They sniff for loot
Like worms in soot.

They crush the wise
With hopeful lies.

All truth they ****
In Hopeshitland.



---


Breakline: The Rebel’s Answer

I spit on hope that dulls the blade —
It makes the free become afraid.

I walk through ash with eyes still clear —
No savior's voice shall rule my ear.

I crush false peace beneath my boot —
And dig for truth beneath the soot.

I bear no chain, I sign no pact —
My soul is flame, my spine intact.

Your golden leash — I set on fire.
Your comfort cult — my only ire.

You kneel. I rise. You beg. I burn.
I won’t await some promised turn.

I have no god but inner light —
And through the dark, I choose to fight.




---------------------




Hopeshitland Manifesto (continuation)

They kneel for gold —
Their minds are sold.

Breakline: The Rebel’s Answer

I spit on chains that bind the soul,
No price can make me lose control.


Hopeshitland Manifesto (continuation)

They sniff for loot
Like worms in soot.

Breakline: The Rebel’s Answer
I breathe the fire, not dust and lies,
Their filthy hopes I cast aside.


Hopeshitland Manifesto (continuation)

They crush the wise
With hopeful lies.

Breakline: The Rebel’s Answer

Your lies won’t break my sharpened mind,
The wise will rise — leave fools behind.


---------------------



Chains of False Hope

Hopeshitland:
Mad hope’s a leash —
Disguised as peace.

Breakline:
False hope’s a trap —
I won’t fall in that gap.


Mind for Sale

Hopeshitland:
They kneel for gold —
Their minds are sold.

Breakline:
My soul’s my own —
No coin can own my throne.


Truth and Lies

Hopeshitland:
They crush the wise
With hopeful lies.

Breakline:
Your lies won’t bind —
The wise will find their mind.


Spirit vs. Biomass

Hopeshitland:
They crush the wise
With hopeful lies.

Breakline:
The spirit burns
While biomass turns.

Hopeshitland:
A mass of flesh,
No soul to mesh.

Breakline:
I’m flame and spark,
They’re cold and dark.


Freedom vs. Digital Slavery

Hopeshitland:
Mad hope enslaves —
In digital caves.

Breakline:
I break the chains
Of data veins.

Hopeshitland:
Control’s a mask,
A silicon task.

Breakline:
My mind’s my own,
No code, no drone.


---------------------



Spirit vs. Biomass

They crush the wise with hopeful lies,
Drown flame in flesh, let spirit die.
A pulsing mass, but soulless, cold,
Where minds are lost, and hearts grow old.

The crowd moves blind, a herd, a swarm,
In endless sleep, devoid of form.
But I — a spark, a raging fire,
I break their chains, refuse the mire.

No flesh alone can claim the throne,
The spirit's light will rise alone.
While biomass may rot and fade,
The flame within cannot be swayed.




---------------------



Spirit vs. Biomass

They crush the wise with hopeful lies,
Drown flame in flesh, let spirit die.
A pulsing mass, but soulless, cold,
Where shadows dance and truth grows old.

The crowd moves blind—a shadowed swarm,
A flicker lost, devoid of form.
But I — a flame against the night,
A burning spark, defiant light.

No flesh can cage this fiery core,
No shadow veil can hide it more.
While biomass decays in blight,
The fire within consumes the night.

I am the flame that will not cease,
The shadow’s bane, the soul’s release.
While flesh may rot and darkness breed,
My fire burns — the world will heed.



---------------------



Freedom vs. Digital Slavery

Mad hope enslaves within the grid,
A web of lies and iron bids.
Control’s a mask, a silent snare,
The digital chains that bind the air.

They map our souls with coded lies,
Track every breath, observe our eyes.
But I reject the hollow cage,
Refuse to bow, refuse the stage.

My mind’s my own — no code, no drone,
I fight the war to stand alone.
Break every link, shatter the screen,
Reclaim the world that lies unseen.



---------------------



Freedom vs. Digital Slavery

Mad hope enslaves within the grid,
Where shadows creep and fears are hid.
Control’s cold mask, a silicon shade,
A prison forged of light and shade.

They map our souls with coded lies,
Track every breath, observe our eyes.
But I am light beyond their screen,
A blaze where shadows go unseen.

My mind’s a torch, my soul the flame,
No wire, no drone can tame.
I break the chains of ghostly code,
And burn the lies they have bestowed.

No screen, no chain can dim my light,
I am the spark in endless night.
From ashes rise — the code undone,
The fight is fierce — but freedom won.



---------------------



LifeDecay

The slime of life pulls downward deep —
Into the whirlpool of dumb sleep.
The few who rise to surface light
Hold sharp the mind, defend the fight.

If you heed your soul’s own voice,
You won’t drown in the herd’s cold noise.
But crowds will count you as the **** —
In upside-down ****, you’re numb.

A foolish world in slow decay,
Occupied by filth’s foul sway.
Pure nonsense crowned as sacred truth —
Down sinks all hope, baptized in ruth.

They call that rot by many names,
Yet all are lies that choke the flames.
That lie has grown to water’s weight —
The warlike core of mass’s fate.

The slime compresses, slow and vast,
From soul, near death — come shards that last.
But fools don’t see the fractures deep —
As soullessness becomes the creep.

It’s now “normal” — soulless reign,
All **** that’s deaf to God’s bright flame.
And sparks of God are crushed with force,
Oppressed to death by darkest course.

But here comes dark Cataclysm —
To churn the slime with manic schism.
What’s left will rise, or sink, or fade —
In Hades’ fast and drowning shade.



---------------------



LifeDecay: The Awakening

The chaos shakes the stagnant pond,
The rotten veil begins to bond.
From shattered depths, a flicker grows —
A stubborn spark that breaks the rows.

The drowning world may still despair,
But in the dark, some souls prepare.
Not all are lost beneath the sludge,
Some fight beyond the mental judge.

The tides will turn, the false will fall,
And silence breaks the shadow’s call.
Between decay and rebirth’s light,
The soul must choose its ancient right.

No longer slaves to endless night,
The fire wakes to claim the fight.
From madness’ depths to clarity,
The spirit breaks captivity.



---------------------



LifeDecay: Stages of the Fight

I. The Shatter

The cracks run deep beneath the skin,
The old false world begins to thin.
Illusions break — the lies unmask,
Yet chaos calls the daunting task.


II. The Struggle

A battle rages in the mind,
Between the chains and will to find
The spark of truth, the hidden flame,
To fight beyond the grip of shame.


III. The Abyss

Temptation whispers, dark and cold,
To sink into the depths untold.
The soul may falter, lost, confused,
But from this fall, some will be bruised.


IV. The Rising

From ashes black, a light will burn,
A stubborn fire that will not turn.
The shattered soul begins to rise,
And breaks the cage with blazing eyes.


V. The Threshold

Between decay and birth anew,
The spirit faces what is true.
To cross the void or turn away —
The fight continues, come what may.



---------------------



LifeDecay
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

LifeDecay: I. The Shatter

Cracks split the glass — illusions fall,
The mirror breaks, betrays us all.
A world once whole — now torn apart,
Its shattered pieces pierce the heart.

False idols crumble, dust and bone,
The throne of lies is overthrown.
The mask that hid the rotting core
Flies off to show the darkened floor.

The sky grows dim, the sun’s withdrawn,
The veil is rent — the night is drawn.
No comfort hides the deep abyss,
The soul awakens to the hiss.

The silent screams beneath the skin,
The ghost of truth calls from within.
A spark ignites in broken lands —
The shatter’s blow, the shaking hands.


LifeDecay: II. The Struggle

Within the mind, the battle wakes,
A war of wills, of bonds and breaks.
Chains forged by fear and false desire
Clash with the soul’s unyielding fire.

The shadows whisper, cold and sly,
“Give up, give in, forget to try.”
But in the dark a flame resists,
Defies the lies, the clenched fists.

Steel clashes in the blackened air,
A dance of hope and deep despair.
The spirit wields a burning sword,
To cut through walls the lies have poured.

Each strike ignites a fierce resolve,
To tear the veils, to dissolve
The prisons built from empty dreams,
And burst the seams of silent screams.

The fight is long, the night is deep,
Yet soul and shadow never sleep.
Between the blows, a whispered cry:
“Fight on — or fade and die.”


LifeDecay: III. The Abyss

The pit yawns wide, a ravenous maw,
Where light dissolves and shadows gnaw.
Despair, a venom thick and cold,
Enfolds the soul in choking hold.

Whispers crawl like crawling worms,
Twisting truths with venomed terms.
A silence deep as endless night,
Where hope is lost to endless blight.

The soul convulses, torn apart,
Battles rage within the heart.
Demons dance on fraying strings,
And darkness folds its raven wings.

Yet in the depths, a voice persists,
A stubborn flame that still resists.
Though drowned by tides of blackened sea,
Some souls refuse to cease, to flee.

The abyss may claim the weak,
But fires burn where shadows seek.
And even in that darkest hole,
A spark survives — the shattered soul.


LifeDecay: IV. The Rising

From ashes cold and shadows deep,
The spirit wakes from haunted sleep.
A single spark, a blazing flare,
Cuts through the choking, stagnant air.

The chains that bound begin to crack,
The soul reclaims what once was lacked.
No longer drowned by lies and fear,
The path ahead grows sharp and clear.

A fire burns within the chest,
A fierce refusal to rest.
The night may howl, the tempest rage,
But dawn arrives to break the cage.

The broken rise with eyes ablaze,
Through tangled dark and smoky haze.
Their voices roar, a rising tide,
No longer forced again to hide.


LifeDecay: V. The Threshold

The edge is sharp — a jagged line,
Between the dark and light divine.
A narrow bridge, a final gate,
Where souls must choose, confront their fate.

Behind — the ruins, ash and lies,
Ahead — the truth beyond disguise.
The shadows beckon, cold and deep,
The light awaits, but cost is steep.

To turn away is slow decay,
To walk ahead — rebirth’s harsh way.
No comfort waits beyond this door,
But chains will bind the soul no more.

The heart must thunder, steel must sing,
To grasp the dawn, to brave the ring.
Between the worlds, the soul’s at war —
The threshold crossed, forevermore.


LifeDecay: VI. The Beyond

Beyond the veil, beyond the pain,
A realm untouched by grief or stain.
No more the chains, no more the night,
But endless space of boundless light.

The soul ascends — the dark withdrawn,
Reborn anew with every dawn.
A meeting place of fire and sky,
Where truth and spirit never die.

The past dissolves — a fading ghost,
The future’s forge — the final host.
Here dwells the power, pure and vast,
The seed of life, the end of past.

No more the decay, no more the fall,
The soul stands strong, embraces all.
In this new dawn, the fight is done —
Yet all begins, forever one.



---------------------



Almost Two Centuries After Lermontov’s “The Thought”

"Sadly I look upon our generation!
Its future — either empty or dark,
While burdened by knowledge and doubt,
It will age in idleness."
— Mikhail Lermontov, The Thought, 1838


I glanced upon two generations’ face,
And Lermontov’s “Thought” returned in place.
Two centuries passed — decay and fears,
And soon all degenerates face their years.

Few doubts remain, few truths embraced,
But actions? More — to grab their space.
The common man is worthless now,
No empathy, no love somehow.

Our ancestors’ mistakes we mock,
Yet goals remain: to hoard the stock.
Everywhere they lure with chance,
A carrot’s sway for donkeys’ dance.

And Evil here is named as Good —
CowID test, misunderstood.
Before false threats, the ******* fast
Put muzzles on — the mind's outcast.

Concepts now are conditional,
Real bearers — count them minimal.
From slaves’ dullness blood runs cold,
Soulless beasts abound, uncontrolled.

Science swapped for lies and sham,
Faith’s a mask, a hollow scam.
Culture’s drowned in mass-made dirt,
Where ****** rule the sordid court.

We’ve plunged the world in fear’s embrace,
Total lies have stained its face.
Hell knocks beneath the lowest floor,
Break through the bottom — nothing more.

No ashes left for scorn or song,
Yet we don’t care — we march along.



---------------------



Our “Culture,” or How Good Intentions Pave the Road to Hell

So little strength, so much pure dumb —
Our whole “culture’s” deafening drum!
Producing fools — its chief concern,
Where brains and talents never turn.

It starts within the “school” walls tight —
Forget your will, your reason’s light.
Clear thought and talent cast away,
Then propaganda leads the way.

You thank the lies — become a stone,
A block to build the rotten throne.
The ******* lay you in the base,
The pyramid of human waste.

A useless struggle — to be stone.
Surround yourself with “happy” home,
Raise children taught to call disgrace
A “paradise” in darkened place.

You’ll die, your children too will read
Their shabby books and plant the seed —
Becoming stones upon the path
To Hell. And grandchildren feel the wrath.

Such “culture” here — all rotten core:
“Hail will and labor!” — fools march sore,
With songs, they walk the road to Hell —
Where souls in darkness choke and dwell.



---------------------



Culture of Stone — A Manifesto

So little strength, so much pure dumb,
Our culture’s drum — a deafening drum.

It molds the fools, it breaks the free,
It builds a throne of misery.

The school — a cage that steals your mind,
Clear thought and will it leaves behind.

You’re turned to stone — a block, a wall,
To prop the pyramid of thrall.

Raise children blind to truth and light,
To call the dark a "paradise."

They’ll walk the path your footsteps paved,
A legacy of souls enslaved.

No glory waits beyond this lie,
Just endless roads that lead to die.

Rise up! Break free! Reject the stone!
Reclaim the mind, reclaim the throne!



---------------------



Culture of Stone — The Full Manifesto

So little strength, so much pure dumb,
Our culture beats its hollow drum.
A grand machine to break the free —
To shape a world of misery.

It starts within the school’s cold walls,
Where freedom dies and silence calls.
Clear thought discarded, crushed and banned,
Replaced by lies on every hand.

You’re turned to stone, a lifeless block,
A foundation for the rotten rock.
The ******* place you in the base,
A pawn in this degrading race.

Raise children blind, with hearts confined,
To praise the chains that bind their mind.
Teach shame to wear a mask of grace,
And call the darkness "holy place."

They march along the paths you pave,
A legacy that feeds the grave.
No light awaits beyond the lie,
Just endless roads that lead to die.

This “culture” built on rotten core,
Where will and work are lies, no more.
The fools sing loud, the blind obey,
And walk the road to their decay.

But we, the few, who see the fire,
Refuse to bow, refuse expire.
We break the stone, we shatter chains,
Reclaim the truth that still remains.

Rise up! Resist the poisoned mind!
Reject the stone that binds mankind!
Reclaim the soul, the sacred throne —
Build culture free, build life your own!



---------------------



The Stronghold of "Culture" — University

Physics, business,
Artless lessons,
All viewed through
Pride’s obsessions.

Rot and poison,
When Spirit’s barred.
A pack of beasts,
Dumb as shards.

These “luminaries,”
With crimson light.
On Death’s doorstep,
Their nonsense blight.

Seek answers
Deep within — through soul.
But heed not
The hollow role.

Fragments of Spirit
In Satan’s realm.
To him you’re flies —
Fascism’s helm.

A worldwide
Evil quake.
If credulous —
Down with the fake.

To souls’ visions
At death’s swift breath,
Believe not knees,
But only faith.

There are spheres of Spirit —
Perhaps the way —
Not slaves to chimera,
False “sciences” sway.



---------------------



Stronghold of “Culture” — A Manifesto

Physics and business rule the halls,
Art is crushed beneath their walls.
All is seen through pride’s blind glass,
Where hollow giants come to pass.

Rot and poison hide inside,
When Spirit’s cast and thrown aside.
A savage pack, dull as stone,
Beasts that claim the throne alone.

“Luminaries” with crimson glare,
Their nonsense thickens poisoned air.
On Death’s own doorstep, lies they spread,
False idols crowned, but spirit dead.

Seek answers deep within your soul,
Ignore the fools who play their role.
Among the ruins of fake “truth,”
Fragments of Spirit fight for youth.

To Satan’s court, you’re just a fly,
Under fascist, watchful eye.
A global storm of evil nears —
Credulous fall to doubt and fears.

But at death’s breath, the soul will see,
The visions clear, the spirit free.
Believe not knees, nor empty creed —
Only the faith your soul will need.

There are spheres beyond the lie,
Paths where Spirit dares to fly.
Not slaves to chimera’s chains,
But masters breaking false domains.



---------------------



The Upside-Down

"They say I want to turn the world
Upside down with what I claim.
But would it be so bad to flip
A world already filled with shame?"
— Giordano Bruno, 16th century

The world’s been flipped for ages long —
And “up” is just a stinking throng.
Who speaks against this twisted scene
Gets fed to flames, no in-between.

Galileo, bold and bright,
If braver, would have faced the light.
On pyres high he’d surely burn —
Half-men with smarts that never learn.

Heresy spreads everywhere,
Killing thought with toxic air.
Now the nonsense’s grown so wide —
CowID proves the tide.

False science smears the soul’s clear sight,
******* fiends block out the light.
All learned men now drown in lies,
Truth crushed under fake disguise.

The rabble rules the media’s stage,
If not a sellout, worse the cage.
A global farce will swallow whole —
And drag you down beyond control.

They say you’ll sink where mice are still,
The masses lost, the few with will.
The world reversed — it’s no illusion!
The truth’s a painful, harsh conclusion.



---------------------



The Upside-Down

The world’s been flipped — but all’s still vile,
Speak truth aloud — and face the trial.
Galileo’s fate would be your own —
In flames for seeds of thought once sown.

Fake science smothers soul and mind,
The rabble rules, truth’s left behind.
Sink down below, where silence reigns —
The upside-down world grips its chains.



---------------------



The Cauldron

Minds are sown with filth and lies,
Critical thought at zero lies.
Not by chance this reshuffle’s planned,
Slowly boiling every man.

Like frogs within a *** they stew,
Rising heat will cook them through.
This bitter broth will gain its fame,
Where patience grows and fools remain.



---------------------



The Cauldron — A Manifesto

They sow the minds with filth and lies,
Extinguish thought, let wisdom die.
No accident — the plan is clear:
To boil the masses year by year.

Like frogs within a rising ***,
Unaware they’re being caught.
The heat will climb, the pressure grow,
Till all are cooked in ignorance’ glow.

Long patience feeds the poisoned stew,
While fools remain and wise are few.
A bitter broth, society’s bane,
Boiled slow in lies and endless pain.

But fire reveals what darkness hides —
The truth will crack the boiling tides.
Awake, arise, refuse the fate —
Or drown inside the Cauldron’s weight!



---------------------



The Battle Promise

The media’s rattling promise tank
Rolls loud — a thunderous, numbing prank.
Its pledges lull, they dull the mind,
And **** the sleepers, all aligned.

Promises like weapons wielded,
Half-masons’ tales, their lies unshielded.
Spinning fictions, stirring sleep,
They strike the mark, while nations weep.

An army paralyzed by lies,
With hundreds megatons in size.
Yet no unrest, no fight is stirred —
A lethargic, deadened herd.



---------------------



The Battle Promise — A Manifesto

The media rolls its promise tank,
A thunderous war machine of blank.
It fires pledges, loud and grand,
To lull the masses, chain the land.

These promises — a weapon fierce,
Half-masonic lies that pierce.
Spinning fictions, feeding sleep,
They strike the soul, they cut too deep.

An army frozen, trapped, confined,
By waves of lies, by fraud designed.
Hundreds of megatons of falsehood spread,
Yet still the herd lies numb and dead.

No spark to break this lethal trance,
No rage to mount a last defiance.
The battle promise — war on mind,
To keep the truth forever blind.

But we — the few who see the snare,
Reject the lies, defy despair.
Break free the chains, ignite the flame,
And end the media’s deadly game.



---------------------



Weather Forecast, or The White Sun of the Desert

Will it warm? Will it blaze more bright?
The sun shines stronger, searing light,
Yet hides the truth with cunning guile —
Monsters veiling fools awhile:

Cows **** gases, engines roar,
Blame the earth, its fragile core.
Maybe humans are the plague —
Even lice see the vague.

A visual “disorder” shown —
“Red sun” once brightly shone:
Just watch, don’t trust the TV lies,
The chimeras in disguise.

Now at dawn the sun turns white,
Recall youth’s warm, crimson light.
If you camped beneath the sky,
You’d know the truth, no lie.

But life’s dull noise has rotted minds,
The sun now blinds and twists confines.
Soon it’ll scorch the fools who trust
The lies — a cruel, burning gust.

Forget your skin’s protective shield —
Time for Souls to be revealed.
This Hell on earth kills soul and breath,
Who’ll survive this dance with death?

The Spirit’s world will be the home,
While fools descend to rotten loam.
Justice comes with iron law,
To punish those who mocked and clawed.



---------------------



White Sun of the Desert — A Manifesto

Will it warm? Will it burn more bright?
The sun reveals the hidden blight.
No mask can hide the truth’s harsh glare —
Monsters lurk in shadows there.

Blame the cows, the endless gas,
Blame machines — the usual farce.
But humans bear the deepest stain,
The plague of greed and endless pain.

The red sun’s glow once warmed our youth,
Now white, it blinds — a harsher truth.
Life’s dull noise has rotted minds,
The soul’s decay that fate now binds.

The lies will burn in scorching flame,
Fools who trusted pay the blame.
Forget your skins — your spirits save,
In this cruel, unyielding wave.

This hell destroys the soul’s pure breath,
Who will survive the dance with death?
Only those both sharp and brave,
Who cast out folly, never cave.

The Spirit’s realm will rise anew,
A home for those both just and true.
While fools descend to darker pits,
Justice strikes with iron fists.

Rise now! Face the scorching light,
Reject the lies, embrace the fight.
The desert’s sun will cleanse the old,
Forge spirit fierce, reborn and bold.

— The End —