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"rigged" poems
I remember the history well: The soldiers and politicians emerged With briefcases and guns And celebrations on city nights. They scoured the mess Reviewed our history Saw the executions at dawn Then signed with secret policemen And decided something Had to be done. They scoured the mess Resurrected old blue-prints Of vicious times Tracked the shapes of sinking cities And learned at last That nothing can be avoided And so avoided everything. I remember the history well. 2 We emerged from our ******* mounds Discovered a view of the sky As the air danced in heat. Through the view of the city In flames, we rewound times Of executions at beaches. Salt streamed down our brows. Everywhere stagger victims of rigged elections Monolithic accidents on hungry roads The infinite web of ethnic politics Power-dreams of fevered winds. The nation was a map stitched From the grabbing of future flesh And became a rush through Historical slime 3 We emerged on edge Of time future With bright fumes From burning towers. The fumes lit political rallies. We started a war Ended it And dreamed about our chance. Fat fish eat little fish Big ones arrange executions And armed robberies. Our ******* shapes us all. I remember the history well. The tiger’s snarl is bought In currencies of silence. Eggs grow large: A monstrous face is hatched. On the edge of time future I am a boy With running sores Of remember history Watching the stitches widen Waiting for the volcano’s laughter In the fevered winds Hearing the gnash Of those who will join us At the mighty gateways With new blue-prints With dew as seal And fire as constant And a trail through time past To us Who remember the history well. We weave words on red And sing on the edge of blue. And with our nerves primed We shall spin silk from ******* And frame time with our resolve. ________ Source: http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml
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17.4k
On Edge of Time Future
I remember the history well: The soldiers and politicians emerged With briefcases and guns And celebrations on city nights. They scoured the mess Reviewed our history Saw the executions at dawn Then signed with secret policemen And decided something Had to be done. They scoured the mess Resurrected old blue-prints Of vicious times Tracked the shapes of sinking cities And learned at last That nothing can be avoided And so avoided everything. I remember the history well. 2 We emerged from our ******* mounds Discovered a view of the sky As the air danced in heat. Through the view of the city In flames, we rewound times Of executions at beaches. Salt streamed down our brows. Everywhere stagger victims of rigged elections Monolithic accidents on hungry roads The infinite web of ethnic politics Power-dreams of fevered winds. The nation was a map stitched From the grabbing of future flesh And became a rush through Historical slime 3 We emerged on edge Of time future With bright fumes From burning towers. The fumes lit political rallies. We started a war Ended it And dreamed about our chance. Fat fish eat little fish Big ones arrange executions And armed robberies. Our ******* shapes us all. I remember the history well. The tiger’s snarl is bought In currencies of silence. Eggs grow large: A monstrous face is hatched. On the edge of time future I am a boy With running sores Of remember history Watching the stitches widen Waiting for the volcano’s laughter In the fevered winds Hearing the gnash Of those who will join us At the mighty gateways With new blue-prints With dew as seal And fire as constant And a trail through time past To us Who remember the history well. We weave words on red And sing on the edge of blue. And with our nerves primed We shall spin silk from ******* And frame time with our resolve. ________ Source: http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml
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76
She's like a drama queen, Plays the 'blame game' like a loser, Fair minded as a bigot, Wages war like drones, As free as surveillance, As open as privatized prisons, As equal as feudalism, As rich as the beggar masses, Bankrupt as homeowners, Socialist as the military, Truthful, trustful as "NEWS," as propaganda, Pagan as the manufactured Goddess 'Columbia,' Christian as the stingy, Pious as a sinner, Wicked as securities, exchanges on 'Wall Street,' Insecure as an empire, Greedy as a fast food glutton, As brave as a fool, Warmongering as a chicken hawk politician, Machevellian as a coward, As rigged as the free market, As selfish as Capitalism, As tolerant as Islam, Beautiful as a clear cut forest, Charming as a strip mall, Forward thinking as chaos, Lawless as congress, United as a belligerent crowd, Compassionate as a swat team, Green as any petrochemical company, Organic as pollution, Deep as a strip mine  .  .  .   .  .  .
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Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
Similes for America
Civilized life is rigged, O land-dwellers! With landmines hidden in trails of Society's doctrine, 'Too often is it stepped on, Too often does it explode.' Blowing constitutions to smithereens, Where you then rummage within your nucleus to piece together your scattered jigsaw, Misplacing your natural elements, Overcasting your ability to side with beauteous aspects in simplicity— Of those ethereal-resplendent butterflies. Disillusioned on land thus is you (the complex you). Let go— Rise above your materialistic graves— Walk on air! My kindred wisps Walk on air!
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Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
Society-a-Landmine
Everyone complains about the "system", how it is rigged, manipulated and controlled. But they do not take a moment to listen, or to take a moment and break the mold. Work out and do not eat those fries, then you will say goodbye to those thighs. Work hard, work long, and get the paycheck, take a chance and stick out your neck. Become what you despise, or stand and rise. Because you can lie down and die, and let them walk on you, curl up and cry, and let your whole life turn blue. But your failure is your own fault, not the systems, you were not locked in a vault. You have been duped, or you are duping, So stop singing the song the dupees sing. Updated from my tablet which my white upper class parents bought me to prepare for my pre_paid college*
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Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Walking in the shoes of ignorance
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore — No doubt you have heard the name before — Was a boy who never would shut a door! The wind might whistle, the wind might roar, And teeth be aching and throats be sore, But still he never would shut the door. His father would beg, his mother implore, 'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore, We really do wish you would shut the door!' Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore; But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore. When he walked forth the folks would roar, 'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore, Why don't you think to shut the door?' They rigged up a Shutter with sail and oar, And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore On a voyage of penance to Singapore. But he begged for mercy and said, 'No more! Pray do not send me to Singapore On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!' 'You will?' said his parents; 'then keep on shore! But mind you do! For the plague is sore Of a fellow that never will shut the door, Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!'
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Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore by William Brighty Rands
My mouth blooms like a cut. I've been wronged all year, tedious nights, nothing but rough elbows in them and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby crybaby , you fool! Before today my body was useless. Now it's tearing at its square corners. It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot and see -- Now it's shot full of these electric bolts. Zing! A resurrection! Once it was a boat, quite wooden and with no business, no salt water under it and in need of some paint. It was no more than a group of boards. But you hoisted her, rigged her. She's been elected. My nerves are turned on. I hear them like musical instruments. Where there was silence the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this. Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped into fire.
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5.3k
The Kiss
Freedom is premium priced, At the casino of the world nations throw the dice, The tables are rigged by the fat rats and mice, Girls in curvaceous miniskirts on poles entice, ***** laced drinks and cancer sticks merrily fleece, Fizzy burgers are served filled with crucified cheese, Layers of salt and blood and veins congealing with grease Are the fillings inside the consumed meat, Come to the sale of the century and let your life be diseased, Take whatever you want and still you will never be pleased, Remember, one day all will be held to account, so all evil immediately cease, Do not make the mistake to ********** the legend of glorious Hercules Or pollute and sell the message of almighty God so cheaply. ©Rangzeb Hussain
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Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 3:40 AM UTC
Sell Hercules
I take your hand As we run though the rigged woods Running feeling the dead trees crack Beneath our feet We stop by a small creek You take me steadily in your grasp As we walk further under a small dark bridge You stop You turn your head up To look up at the moon I feel you against my back Searching for the stars The cold winter breeze Bites at my skin But your body Holds me warm The gentle tickle of your breath against my ear Telling me of a story The moon, the night, and the stars When the wolves cry The darkness sets And across it all it shines bright These are the moments The moments I cherish with You tonight
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Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:37 AM UTC
Winter Nights
I am worth being valued for existing Not only in the moments That I become relevant, necessary, or useful For lustful, celebratory or inspirational insanity I am not a lollipop or an exotic destination Stop exploring me ************* Because you salivate over this Hispaniola Beautiful island desecrated and decimated How many beautiful spirits will you make savages How many pure rivers will you **** blood on How many conquests will you claim a stake in How much balance will you disturb and subjugate to the trauma of your transitory exploration There's no impunity for conquerors Who taste, plunder, disguise disapproval in their apologies and move on There's no impunity for conquerors Who pick and choose who's worth Of validation, when, & how There's no impunity for conquerors Who play with men and women Hierarchize their prey But fail to acknowledge Their man-child whitewashed Hidden agendas & rigged market values Conquerors haunted by the trauma they've caused Will not be absolved by the revolution Neither will the revolution be the breast That heals conquers who are traumatized By the realization of their own fuckery
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Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
Conquerors Shall Not Be Absolved by the Revolution
Remembering the Strait of Belle Isle or some northerly harbor of Labrador, before he became a schoolteacher a great-uncle painted a big picture. Receding for miles on either side into a flushed, still sky are overhanging pale blue cliffs hundreds of feet high, their bases fretted by little arches, the entrances to caves running in along the level of a bay masked by perfect waves. On the middle of that quiet floor sits a fleet of small black ships, square-rigged, sails furled, motionless, their spars like burnt match-sticks. And high above them, over the tall cliffs' semi-translucent ranks, are scribbled hundreds of fine black birds hanging in n's in banks. One can hear their crying, crying, the only sound there is except for occasional sizhine as a large aquatic animal breathes. In the pink light the small red sun goes rolling, rolling, round and round and round at the same height in perpetual sunset, comprehensive, consoling, while the ships consider it. Apparently they have reached their destination. It would be hard to say what brought them there, commerce or contemplation.
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3.7k
Large Bad Picture
In Battalion, Misery is served in a thousand ways. Misery is served in buckets of rain and hours of wind. Unyielding, soul-sucking cold and wet. Porous jungle boots that invite the frigid water in and soften your feet for a relentless 30 mile march. Misery is served in a stifling aircraft flying Nap of the Earth. A nauseating rollercoaster ride that never fails to elicit chain reaction vomiting from the paratroopers rigged to jump. Misery is served at pool PT When your arms and legs feel like lead and drowning is a better alternative than the aquatic torture that you’re enduring. Misery is served during blistering Company runs led by the Commander who was a college decathlete. Runs where the strongest of us pulled aside, emptied our stomachs, and rejoined the formation. Misery is served by no warning alerts separating families and lovers for indefinite periods, sometimes forever. Misery is served by the Spec 4 Mafia Unleashing Hell on new Rangers testing their threshold for **** Misery is served by road marches, prickly heat, Black Palm, and sawgrass. It’s served by desert heat, Arctic cold, and the stench of the world’s worst places. Misery is served by the loss of brothers in war and training, gone too soon to join the Great Ranger in the Sky. Through it all, misery hardened my body and strengthened my soul. It made me a warrior and ushered me into a Brotherhood that will be with me until we all sit at the great table in Valhalla. So on this Veteran’s Day Embrace the **** Endure the pain Invite the Misery For that’s what makes us Men amongst Men Rangers Lead The Way.
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Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
The Gift of Pain
In Battalion, Misery is served in a thousand ways. Misery is served in buckets of rain and hours of wind. Unyielding, soul-sucking cold and wet. Porous jungle boots that invite the frigid water in and soften your feet for a relentless 30 mile march. Misery is served in a stifling aircraft flying Nap of the Earth. A nauseating rollercoaster ride that never fails to elicit chain reaction vomiting from the paratroopers rigged to jump. Misery is served at pool PT When your arms and legs feel like lead and drowning is a better alternative than the aquatic torture that you’re enduring. Misery is served during blistering Company runs led by the Commander who was a college decathlete. Runs where the strongest of us pulled aside, emptied our stomachs, and rejoined the formation. Misery is served by no warning alerts separating families and lovers for indefinite periods, sometimes forever. Misery is served by the Spec 4 Mafia Unleashing Hell on new Rangers testing their threshold for **** Misery is served by road marches, prickly heat, Black Palm, and sawgrass. It’s served by desert heat, Arctic cold, and the stench of the world’s worst places. Misery is served by the loss of brothers in war and training, gone too soon to join the Great Ranger in the Sky. Through it all, misery hardened my body and strengthened my soul. It made me a warrior and ushered me into a Brotherhood that will be with me until we all sit at the great table in Valhalla. So on this Veteran’s Day Embrace the **** Endure the pain Invite the Misery For that’s what makes us Men amongst Men Rangers Lead The Way.
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40
I dream of rigged lacrosse matches won in 4th quarter overtime of chess games won with en passant (what exactly is that?) of horses falling at the first hurdle. I dream of Martian landscapes through sand-dunes of heartache because as a child, at McDonalds I was never allowed a milk shake, while in my waking hours I have absolved a multitude of sins for lapsed nuns, ringmasters and troubadours. I have filmed riots, marathons and abortions. I have seen things pickled in jars holding open heavy doors. I have tried, like an idiot to commit all this to memory.
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Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC
I have tried to remember to much
Your trying too hard to make me invisible. Yet there's something left in that head that makes me irresistible. All ego set aside... I'm not the one to run and hide. Your stuck in this moment that doesn't even exist. It's too bad you fell in love with a realist. Started making things up, to make that pedestal seem higher. But the world can be an ugly place...I'll let you in on a secret, your not the only liar. That pedestal has been stuck in that hole you continue to dig. I have been trying to work around it, but you have my world rigged. My beautiful dragonfly will lead the way around. Knows you just as well as I do, so it's got me flying far from the ground. If you want to continue to live behind the scenes... Carry on, by all means. I tried to convince myself it was all derived from respect, Like you never pulled the trigger, but with the coldness of your heart I don't know what's left. Just remember the world will keep on turning. This is the only fire still capable of burning. With the lack of words, it should need its oxygen fix. I guess in light of you, it has it's own tricks. Your not the only one slowly sinking in quick sand, Looking around...in need of a hand. The fact is, not everyone is that weak... Having to file the most difficult into the "problems that don't speak". This is more real for me, than it is for you. Yet you can't get it through your head that it's even true. There is beauty in all evil, & now it resides right by my side. The weight of it grows heavier as the days roll on, may as well have some pride. The worlds evil can transform, if you care enough to mold it yourself. The thing is you were never there, so you are clueless how it feels, or how it felt. My beautiful dragonfly, Never got the chance to walk along side. Never had the opportunity to leave footprints in the sand. Not even a moment to reach for a hand. But eclectic wings have spread, Ever since the sky shattered, some light has shed. All I need is me, myself, & my dragonfly. May not have been born to the real world, but the soul is encrypted in my mind. Wether you come to terms and face the facts, or continue to hide. At least I will have evils beauty, forever flying by my side.
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Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
Evil's Beauty
Your trying too hard to make me invisible. Yet there's something left in that head that makes me irresistible. All ego set aside... I'm not the one to run and hide. Your stuck in this moment that doesn't even exist. It's too bad you fell in love with a realist. Started making things up, to make that pedestal seem higher. But the world can be an ugly place...I'll let you in on a secret, your not the only liar. That pedestal has been stuck in that hole you continue to dig. I have been trying to work around it, but you have my world rigged. My beautiful dragonfly will lead the way around. Knows you just as well as I do, so it's got me flying far from the ground. If you want to continue to live behind the scenes... Carry on, by all means. I tried to convince myself it was all derived from respect, Like you never pulled the trigger, but with the coldness of your heart I don't know what's left. Just remember the world will keep on turning. This is the only fire still capable of burning. With the lack of words, it should need its oxygen fix. I guess in light of you, it has it's own tricks. Your not the only one slowly sinking in quick sand, Looking around...in need of a hand. The fact is, not everyone is that weak... Having to file the most difficult into the "problems that don't speak". This is more real for me, than it is for you. Yet you can't get it through your head that it's even true. There is beauty in all evil, & now it resides right by my side. The weight of it grows heavier as the days roll on, may as well have some pride. The worlds evil can transform, if you care enough to mold it yourself. The thing is you were never there, so you are clueless how it feels, or how it felt. My beautiful dragonfly, Never got the chance to walk along side. Never had the opportunity to leave footprints in the sand. Not even a moment to reach for a hand. But eclectic wings have spread, Ever since the sky shattered, some light has shed. All I need is me, myself, & my dragonfly. May not have been born to the real world, but the soul is encrypted in my mind. Wether you come to terms and face the facts, or continue to hide. At least I will have evils beauty, forever flying by my side.
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40
Claw machines, the educational system, and religion. Are all rigged. But sometimes, Sometimes you can win. I've seen people do it. Stuffed rabbits, Beat the system, And are even comfortable with their own sins.
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Sinner.
Some man unworthy to be possessor Of old or new love, himself being false or weak, Thought his pain and shame would be lesser If on womankind he might his anger wreak, And thence a law did grow, One might but one man know; But are other creatures so? Are Sun, Moon, or Stars by law forbidden To smile where they list, or lend away their light? Are birds divorced, or are they chidden If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a-night? Beasts do no jointures lose Though they new lovers choose, But we are made worse than those. Who e’er rigged fair ship to lie in harbours And not to seek new lands, or not to deal withal? Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbors, Only to lock up, or else to let them fall? Good is not good unless A thousand it possess, But dost waste with greediness.
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2.8k
Confined Love
Unanswered uncertainties limber up Unwanted confrontations cumulate Passion deliquescing over unexplored reason Unacknowledged, ignored, overwritten and dismissed Without consideration for his fragile heart The answers flow broiling him, wearing him down Scorn rejection, When trust is misplaced, And she exfoliates to true skin Hatred smothers over her love act Bogs him down by the shoulders All seems empty, all is empty Toyed with, lied to and used up He is a clock rigged for self destruction With no actions that lead to consequences The reason seems bleak and obvious His respect for her dies, His respect for her other doesn't exist She is not the one he loved, she is not the one that he knew A younger him he sees in her other Making the same mistake he did, mislaid trust The multifaceted chameleon that she is The other doesn't see Pouring his heart out and defending her wrongs The other starts to undermine and ignore him Move on they say, Only his heart is too heavy Forget her they say, Only she was a perennial settlement in my memory, he thought Hate her they say, Only he hates himself more for trying No one understands him Everyone tries, but no one understands He loved, he was back stabbed He suffered and suffocated under the blanket of secrets Lighten your heart brother, the mascot of a good soul You will be alright.
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Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
One Sided.
___FLUFF:___ _Frequently, I discover words with hidden meaning, shining like coins in a handful of fluff, apple seeds and other down-the-back-of-the-sofa leavings. Some are too precious to share and I secrete them away. Others I spend cheaply on rigged slot machine verbiage. Mostly they sit waiting to be written usefully. Adding insight, lending moment to my day._ § ___NONSENSE:___ _Foraging amongst the dahlias For Cinderella’s lost slipper, I am Barbie magic made manifest, I am Germaine (sodding) Greer’s antifem, I am Super Mum with gumboots on._ § ___ABSURDITY:___ _The best nonsense is always spoken in the middle of the afternoon while heading north on a train bound for a smallish beige town, and so it was that the occupants of second-class carriage BG1754 found themselves gripped by a kind of eloquent hysteria as they rattled around the final bend in the tracks before the steep descent to the weatherboard station at Claggy Peat._
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Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 3:51 AM UTC
Fluff, Nonsense & Absurdity
Once I held you in my arms, I loved you in my sleep, above the traffic and the circumstance, above the slaughter of the sheep. You made me sing at my guitar, a grown man falling to defeat. Now I cannot find The Answer in the company I keep. The game is rigged, we know it is, in a hustler's wet dream, the bank cartels and corn-fed chicken descend upon the weak. I held you in my arms on a precipice brave and steep, above the breadlines and the cannibals, above the slaughter of the sheep. You have me writing poetry about landscapes left unseen, you kissed the addict on the mouth and now he's looking to get clean. But the day is long, you know it is, forgive me for sounding bleak, a sucker for those sad, sad songs, and that chemical retreat. I am not working on perfection in a lifetime stretched and brief, but I am working on a promise that for once, I intend to keep. See, I've got a knack for giving up, for feigning inner peace, I've had my fill of oil spills and the slaughter of the sheep. You've felt it too, that burdened love, the dead-end of familiar streets, you lay down with him, habitual ease; lilac skin now a slab of meat. The dignitaries come, the friends you have to meet, a compromise of ancient ties, amongst the ****** and the thief. Words are falling fast for you, though I lack the skill to piece all the fragments you paint for me in this temple of disease. The race is run, you know it is, a pace we couldn't keep, our lungs are full of cigarettes, our tongues of old deceit. The Lie is out amongst the crowds, but I have no time for war and peace; I am slipping into my lover's robe, into your twisted sheets. Once I held you in my arms, I loved you in my sleep, this wolf's disguise, those bells that chime at the slaughter of the sheep.
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Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
The Slaughter Of The Sheep
Once I held you in my arms, I loved you in my sleep, above the traffic and the circumstance, above the slaughter of the sheep. You made me sing at my guitar, a grown man falling to defeat. Now I cannot find The Answer in the company I keep. The game is rigged, we know it is, in a hustler's wet dream, the bank cartels and corn-fed chicken descend upon the weak. I held you in my arms on a precipice brave and steep, above the breadlines and the cannibals, above the slaughter of the sheep. You have me writing poetry about landscapes left unseen, you kissed the addict on the mouth and now he's looking to get clean. But the day is long, you know it is, forgive me for sounding bleak, a sucker for those sad, sad songs, and that chemical retreat. I am not working on perfection in a lifetime stretched and brief, but I am working on a promise that for once, I intend to keep. See, I've got a knack for giving up, for feigning inner peace, I've had my fill of oil spills and the slaughter of the sheep. You've felt it too, that burdened love, the dead-end of familiar streets, you lay down with him, habitual ease; lilac skin now a slab of meat. The dignitaries come, the friends you have to meet, a compromise of ancient ties, amongst the ****** and the thief. Words are falling fast for you, though I lack the skill to piece all the fragments you paint for me in this temple of disease. The race is run, you know it is, a pace we couldn't keep, our lungs are full of cigarettes, our tongues of old deceit. The Lie is out amongst the crowds, but I have no time for war and peace; I am slipping into my lover's robe, into your twisted sheets. Once I held you in my arms, I loved you in my sleep, this wolf's disguise, those bells that chime at the slaughter of the sheep.
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66
S. **** and cunning, working the cool steel pole, she finds comforting T. Tricking those into spending their months pay, but others watch her sway and plan a way to R. **** her, of her ****** prowess, and the things that make her human.for they only desire power I. in dominion over her, they lick their lips at the thought P. Planning a way to get to her, but they don't know that she was already P. Planning her escape. By the way the fire started, she rigged the place to be set in flames when the Dj reached her favorite part of her stage song E. Emergency crews arrived to find the place still burning and the fire unable to burn out R. Rain, only lifted her head to the sky as the flames engulfed her, she smiles, watching all the psychos die
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Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
Stripper
a comeback with a draw is no comeback at all no matter how rigged the game is we are demanded to be ****** to end the fight with a **** no matter how rigged the game is and for sure after each fight the worry never stops because the last one means there is a next one coming: another comeback why do we go back if the audience expects another comeback after the last one? o well after all we are the modern shit-gladiators and before us are the unentertained gods of insanity.
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Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
**** day jobs and comebacks
maybe a black mouth opening and closing usually you can see the gums the teeth lips stretching over them there’s nothing a gaping entrance to the void there are two stale muffins on the table one soaking in milk it’s been two hours now the room at the top of the stairs is growing louder and louder a piercing bellow drowning out all thoughts but it doesn’t i want to scream throw myself into it until my entire being is lost between the teeth the white black lacuna corn splitting from the cob a rotting banana an empty carton of milk my god, could life be any more boring? i caught a cold sneezed at the floor achoo achoo get well soon cards at my funeral loraclear on my casket dirt over grow me like a mushroom expanding into the root systems puffing into a bulbous fruit pick me and slice me but i trust only supermarket goods picked by mechanised beings ******* on an industrial conveyor belt modernity made physical look into the slaughterpens while you eat your steak barter your children for another shot of coffee hah hah hah, doesn’t affect me strutting your cash like an empty slot machine rigged to emote only with your colleagues while the television blares another thousand deaths **** this ****** world consume me until there’s nothing left everyone’s a nihilist someone brought back a dozen breadloaves from the women’s refuge eat them before they go off turning our bodies pouring soap down the sink all the fishes scales rot away they slowly sink into the depths and line the seabed with teeth and ribs
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Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
the seabed is littered with dead gaping mouths and everyone deserves to die
maybe a black mouth opening and closing usually you can see the gums the teeth lips stretching over them there’s nothing a gaping entrance to the void there are two stale muffins on the table one soaking in milk it’s been two hours now the room at the top of the stairs is growing louder and louder a piercing bellow drowning out all thoughts but it doesn’t i want to scream throw myself into it until my entire being is lost between the teeth the white black lacuna corn splitting from the cob a rotting banana an empty carton of milk my god, could life be any more boring? i caught a cold sneezed at the floor achoo achoo get well soon cards at my funeral loraclear on my casket dirt over grow me like a mushroom expanding into the root systems puffing into a bulbous fruit pick me and slice me but i trust only supermarket goods picked by mechanised beings ******* on an industrial conveyor belt modernity made physical look into the slaughterpens while you eat your steak barter your children for another shot of coffee hah hah hah, doesn’t affect me strutting your cash like an empty slot machine rigged to emote only with your colleagues while the television blares another thousand deaths **** this ****** world consume me until there’s nothing left everyone’s a nihilist someone brought back a dozen breadloaves from the women’s refuge eat them before they go off turning our bodies pouring soap down the sink all the fishes scales rot away they slowly sink into the depths and line the seabed with teeth and ribs
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53
I found -in the shadow of a Crane rigged and ready- that I couldn't help myself. Took a ladder to the huge sphere Of chipped and battered iron,   And threw one leg on either Side of the chain. Sang leaning and rocking Into the walkie talkie As my foreman spat his Coffee not to choke; laughing along With Swedes, Polish, Lithuanians And Norwegians alike. Miley. Bringing people Together.
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May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
...Like a Wrecking Ball
Dear Science and Math, I pray to you because you are what I believe in. Today is the midterm elections for 2018, and boy are we in a mess. Evolution, I would like to apologize that we have devolved as a society to allow our government to function as a really terrible sitcom. Economics and Statistics, I feel your heavy gaze as we still have 2 more years before we hopefully take the bankrupt millionaire out of office. Every day we live under a system whose poster child mocks its citizens and strips the majority of their rights. Their rights to Medical Care, a healthy and functioning Environment, and a Financial System which can support the majority, not just the top 1%. Today I did my part. I practiced my right . . . no my privilege to vote. Too many people chose not to vote. I didn't vote for the last 6 year because I felt I was uneducated in the topic. I felt I was flying blind, something I could have taken 15 minutes to change. If I were a citizen of Georgia I would have lost this privilege, because of 5 years of voting inactivity. If I were of Hispanic descent I would most likely have had to jump through excessive hoops because of a hyphenated last name. There are so many people who don't want to vote because they fear jury duty, or they don't want to wait in line, or they don't want to make time to vote, or they are just plain convinced the system is rigged and their opinion doesn't matter. Let me tell you something, your ballot only "doesn't matter" if you don't hand one in. In fact, it is probably working against the team you would have voted for. I am a woman, which mean only in the past 100 years was my second X chromosome "granted" this privilege. There are still grandparents alive today who remember when, specifically, black people could not vote. There are also plenty of other cases of this "right" being restricted from huge groups of people because of, in reality, what makes them unique. So, I sit here today Science an Math, praying to you that my little corner of the United States may become a better place for ALL of its inhabitants. Please let the scales tip in the favor of justice.
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Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
Election Day 2018
Dear Science and Math, I pray to you because you are what I believe in. Today is the midterm elections for 2018, and boy are we in a mess. Evolution, I would like to apologize that we have devolved as a society to allow our government to function as a really terrible sitcom. Economics and Statistics, I feel your heavy gaze as we still have 2 more years before we hopefully take the bankrupt millionaire out of office. Every day we live under a system whose poster child mocks its citizens and strips the majority of their rights. Their rights to Medical Care, a healthy and functioning Environment, and a Financial System which can support the majority, not just the top 1%. Today I did my part. I practiced my right . . . no my privilege to vote. Too many people chose not to vote. I didn't vote for the last 6 year because I felt I was uneducated in the topic. I felt I was flying blind, something I could have taken 15 minutes to change. If I were a citizen of Georgia I would have lost this privilege, because of 5 years of voting inactivity. If I were of Hispanic descent I would most likely have had to jump through excessive hoops because of a hyphenated last name. There are so many people who don't want to vote because they fear jury duty, or they don't want to wait in line, or they don't want to make time to vote, or they are just plain convinced the system is rigged and their opinion doesn't matter. Let me tell you something, your ballot only "doesn't matter" if you don't hand one in. In fact, it is probably working against the team you would have voted for. I am a woman, which mean only in the past 100 years was my second X chromosome "granted" this privilege. There are still grandparents alive today who remember when, specifically, black people could not vote. There are also plenty of other cases of this "right" being restricted from huge groups of people because of, in reality, what makes them unique. So, I sit here today Science an Math, praying to you that my little corner of the United States may become a better place for ALL of its inhabitants. Please let the scales tip in the favor of justice.
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As the stormy weather passes; Shadowed waves along the bay. The wind sweeps through the headland grasses, And we breathe the violent day. And violent days abound, Where the sea and land collide. And in every fishing town, Lay the marks of those who’ve died. They lay as stark white crosses; Set within, green and grassy field. And we that breathe tote the losses, … And keep our thoughts concealed. For what can man or woman say, That will calm the hurt within? For some that braved the sea today; …. Have yet to come back in. Ten souls are held in thrall, By the dark and brooding seas. And stark are the faces, one and all, As we make our silent pleas. Oh! Sailor set your canvas tight, And make your actions sound. See that the tiller is rigged alright, And get ye homeward bound. The church bell tolls a heavy toll, And candles light, pane on pane. Whilst desperate eyes search the rocky knoll, Through high seas, and cur-sed rain. Worried hands, wring worried hands, And they wring out misery. Wives fidget and spin their golden bands, And make their silent plea. Oh! Sailor set your canvas tight, And make your actions sound. See that the tiller is rigged alright, And get ye homeward bound. The rain sheets in across the bay, It writhes in violent spree, And we look anon in grim dismay At the ferment of the sea. And terrible it is to see that sight, That holds fathers, sons, and lovers. And hold the fear, that the sea just might, Bear new crosses, ‘midst the others. And in the silence of the rain, As it dashes hopes upon the sea. I walk with other souls in pain, As we make our silent plea. Oh, Sailor set your canvas tight, And make your actions sound. See that the tiller is rigged alright, And get ye homeward bound. The raging storm wreaks its worst, Shadowed waves along the bay. Our thoughts become bleak and cursed, As we breathe the violent day. And then a voice crisp and clear, Shouts “Look ye to the lee”! And there we spy the crew, so dear; Of the good ship Karalee. Oh, Sailor set your canvas tight, And make your actions sound. See that the tiller is rigged alright, And get ye… Homeward bound.
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Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 6:06 AM UTC
Homeward bound.
As the stormy weather passes; Shadowed waves along the bay. The wind sweeps through the headland grasses, And we breathe the violent day. And violent days abound, Where the sea and land collide. And in every fishing town, Lay the marks of those who’ve died. They lay as stark white crosses; Set within, green and grassy field. And we that breathe tote the losses, … And keep our thoughts concealed. For what can man or woman say, That will calm the hurt within? For some that braved the sea today; …. Have yet to come back in. Ten souls are held in thrall, By the dark and brooding seas. And stark are the faces, one and all, As we make our silent pleas. Oh! Sailor set your canvas tight, And make your actions sound. See that the tiller is rigged alright, And get ye homeward bound. The church bell tolls a heavy toll, And candles light, pane on pane. Whilst desperate eyes search the rocky knoll, Through high seas, and cur-sed rain. Worried hands, wring worried hands, And they wring out misery. Wives fidget and spin their golden bands, And make their silent plea. Oh! Sailor set your canvas tight, And make your actions sound. See that the tiller is rigged alright, And get ye homeward bound. The rain sheets in across the bay, It writhes in violent spree, And we look anon in grim dismay At the ferment of the sea. And terrible it is to see that sight, That holds fathers, sons, and lovers. And hold the fear, that the sea just might, Bear new crosses, ‘midst the others. And in the silence of the rain, As it dashes hopes upon the sea. I walk with other souls in pain, As we make our silent plea. Oh, Sailor set your canvas tight, And make your actions sound. See that the tiller is rigged alright, And get ye homeward bound. The raging storm wreaks its worst, Shadowed waves along the bay. Our thoughts become bleak and cursed, As we breathe the violent day. And then a voice crisp and clear, Shouts “Look ye to the lee”! And there we spy the crew, so dear; Of the good ship Karalee. Oh, Sailor set your canvas tight, And make your actions sound. See that the tiller is rigged alright, And get ye… Homeward bound.
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