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Julian Sep 2020
I famigerate without taciturn timidity the straits of a straightened jury-rig of nesiote narrowbacks harping the accordion zest and zeal of the plenilune consuetude of a scrivello infamy sprung into the rows of rip-tide acclaim hamstrung by the decline in fastidious upkeep of the timberlask vesicles that avoid the phenakism of prismatic reformation fundamental to transmogrified simpers of dismal saturnine darkness encroaching on the parallax of realms within the dominion of the Almighty for the omniety of the usucaption of the fruitful prune in the priggish afterglow of a noontide eclipse bereaved of whispering retreat in the hallowed wasms of stiltanimity becoming an entreaty to ecumenical barbs of propriety selected without intimacy to folksy bibliopolists but rugged in sterling tribute to the true vine of the appointed ways of sacerdotal triage among a roughshod vanity of a derelict world marveling at otiose rejoinder rather than true spasms of tragedy flickering in the recessive alleles of a careworn culture. The travesty of Beirut is the bromide of current leapfrogs of sentinel lust and malapert destruction forming an ironclad camaraderie with chocolate-box langlauf disasters wed uxoriously to the penury of the brackish version of the catadromous bailiwick of despotic nescience pregnant with sophrosyne redemption at the cusp of a plaid perfunctory quip of quisling intimations of the sketchy provenance of humdingers of comestion lurking in the plodding prowl of a ribald wiseacre of a beckoned billow of trinkochre welded into a conscientious blarney that awaits the popinjays that sculpt brittle redshort fictions into awakened carapaces of a limacine reduction of impoverished fulmination into the neatly sworn footprints of a geotaxis shuddering with magnetism only in spectacle without the overhailing zeal of vintners who specialize in curtailed wine drawn from Caiaphas and soaked with the muddy turgid Siloam as avenues toward the repentance of asunder becoming marginalized as a whimper of taciturn choleric war receding not even into an audible delope as the masterful chryselephantine assault of cryptic auditions in the theater of effete refuge sink into the pelagic oblivion of a remarkable blister festering into inconsequence as the rebarbative emoluments to tattered travesty hearken a battle-cry yet emanated in the reprehensible bulwark of the gerendum of a poised plastered humility aggrieved with such friction turgid on rollicking magpiety that even the larceny of brutish renegades of triumph sink beneath the brevity of accident rather than the fortitude of globalized turpitude weakened by the improper demarche of fuliginous homeless depredation of innocent bystanders flocking to the harvest of war found in insight rather than the perfunctory bromidrosis of the macroscian enmity of hidden maleficence spawning a credenda that is spayed on arrival in the faineant zoolatry of a spelunkers’ madcap dash to flex the filigrees of turmoil in resentment of the amicable truces of a God who never tempts and a lurking lie that never itches for trigger-happy hapless rebukes because the skittish skirmish of futilitarian repose is a scoundrel of the profligacy of errant weakness blinkered by the humdrum din of deafening semaphores of provocative thornbush on the threshing floor of cowardly imposture president of all affairs of spirit and all renegades of caitiff megalography of forgotten oblivion despite the curglaff of vindictive and never vindicated assaults on the integrity of the birthright of Lebanon to wager a presumptive gamble of trifling retribution for the alacrity of suspicions eloping with forbidden mistresses in the humdingers of flackey rather than the troudasque harbinger of a lunacy impugned by a restive triumphant fallow time seasonable for a litany of pretenses demassified for a liturgy of seances with eldritch commiseration in the saw-toothed serration of selachostomous bravado wielded by likely or unlikely culprits of ravenous ruin shepherded by the guilty cardinal sins of the complicity of explosive vanity marauding on the ruins of a fortress debased by pettifoggery of internal excuse rather than the wrath of provocative ire in the irksome cauterized wounds of the inured to deliver spectacular reticence despite such grievous diacope. Evil gilderoys of maleficence carve the sapwood of the periphery to aimless subversions miscarried by the modern atrocity of glamour memorialized as a sound-byte underminnow of a roaring rhombos rip tide as stocks wavy at the curvature of edgy demarche despoil the denuded wasteland of cultural despondency a wagtail to the impudence of famigerated affronts that deserve a sterling recompense wielded by the onerous and operose burdens of a prone decubitus of aboriginal bread seeded from Heavenly realms dissipating into the roars of blinded conflagration too meek to even exist on the ramshackle hillside of a barnstorm of aggression powerless to encapsulate the nexility of unspoken allegiance to destruction rather than the halidom of consecrated marriages balking at the caulked provisions of a slugabed monolith of craven capers on the recesses of abeyance in the interregnum of a time where famous people communicate with me. How can such a charismatic bravado of lurking presidency stoop to the denizens of usufruct in licentious latitudes on the outskirts of consideration even pretend anymore that the vacuum of effluvium (Gal 6:7) can be mocked and milked into the row of centuries blistering through the calenture of apprisal and heaved awakening as the zephyrs of the Occident meet temporal juncture with the coenesthesia of a hibernating trumpery formed by the turnverein of listless lethargy billowing through fumiducts of siphoned lavaderos of hypogeiody that the underground spasms of cacophony could marvel at the historic emergence of a magnate with the most powerful magnetism of God shepherding the true flock John 10:27 because he is willing to be the good shepherd and potentially die for his sheep John 10:11. Remember, whenever you hear a Queer Studies Radical Feminist bloviate on emasculated sardanapalian posture John 8:44 and even though personified as a masculine titan of bulwarks of immense otiose wilted inkburch shielding the world from true meaning, the maskirovka of the Devil is present in the dark trespasses of personal abandon among the wilderness of many marsupial jackals of martles wagtails to an invictive proclamation of invulnerable sappy sopanaceous filibusters against hefty sinew forged the bony fragments of the charnels lost to brief epitaphs never mourned in threnodies worthy of remembrance that the departed died with us and live again through us whether in Heaven as participant or on Earth as an acting battalion of the skullduggery of the mystique of shimmers of God acting on Man’s behalf 1 Col 1:15-16. That the firstborn of all creation obtains supremacy through the finalisms that I seek as the captain of trailblazing untrammeled roads we are reminded of the narrow and wide gates expanded by the explosion of thought that trespasses into the hidebound ratchet of a reasonable bleat becoming a harsh outcry of justice for Lebanon that they feel so powerless in implosion what could aggrieve potentate civilizations to the precipice of global maleficence in destruction. Swarming for alveolate hominid hominism as an outgrowth of alienation by design polarized spectral dangles at jaundice flamestun by the ordeal of oppositive barnacles to the chryselephantine habituation of a masked menace of Procrustean authority to muzzle the free license of armamentariums of a latent man keen to the kenspeckel visibilia that we might have punctuation in the poised primiparas of a hearkened unprecedented in modern history that the traipse of lapse is no longer the tenure of mindless calculation of authoritarian gabble sentries of a mobilized fleet of embodied human ignorance but a foisted sprite of whangams of apothegm that deserve in their gnomic respite from the phenakisms of a philogeant kumbaya assertive in its treony of radical compassion for those who dwell in tentpoles of revelry bound not to the covenant that sent us into light and sparkling in hidden obsolescence that the fulgurant words of Mount Horeb (Sinai) are both immaculate and without trace of sin because Acts 17:30 declares a powerful truth lost to the twinges of time that issued peremptory governance of my theology but through remission I admit the grievances of septiferous blockades of ponderous plodding nescience haunting the spectral aubades of paeans to a high-flown sun darting through galactic space apace of the velivolant sails of divine wind that come in the spree of recompense authored by the vines to which all roots belong rhizogenic and immutable because the demarches of time forget the marches against the cauterized grime of new-world suspicions of aleatory fickle gubernatorial proclamations that issue reverb more than sprinkle flanged atrocity in the sight of the holy ramparts of an active double-edged God who reminds us of our many witnesses but provides not a single latchkey of escapism resident to many hapless homes of the drunken sing-song rhapsody nullifying the psychotaxis of the motatory miserly Draconian charades of Leviathan grasping the tridents of warp-speed revisionism in a benighted world overrun by mandarist fictions that fumigate a pasteurized control of cultural malcontent in situations of dearth infested by the concentration camps of China that remain unheralded in brumal and brutish indoctrination spared from worldwide outrage by the tribunes that are complicit more in malfeasance than they are celebrated for the herald of heinous bletcherous crimes of abecedarian abligurition anointed in waste rather than refined like unquenched slakes of eternal water so that no man can thirst hungry for the daily bread without returning to the providence of God awakened. Recalcitrant by the impudent quislings of repugnasket flarmeys of advenient flummoxed besieged clairvoyance I bask and beaze on the light that never fades because of the brackish whisk of a barnstorm of allegiance that is contumely to a bromide society listless in inferiority of intellect to my former streaks beyond jejune reiteration of the Jehu mentality against the canine fate of Jezebel and her faltered ministry of ewnastique waged as battalion gore of a trifling musket of an aboriginal swim through the oceanic gaze of peerless eternity squirming because of flagging resolution among the spandrels of incommunicable largesse lolloped extravagantly not just for the spoils of hyped pedigree but also a chamade to Heaven to enlist the purblind vestiges of a crambazzled Earth rejuvenated in adolescent esprit rather than callow eclat against the outrecuidance of whimpered miserly conscientiousness that exists in a shorter frame of reference than the provident dashes through a furlough of time and ancestry to cobble together a lapidary bristling excoriation of the tumescent squabbles of mystique brave enough to rarefy the humid pasteurization of a mannequin kenspeckel still-frame jilt of jostled infamy brusque in its curt envies borne of still-born promenades of a whasper between the youthful ligony and the intrepid soul of a collective warrior debased by the adscititious participant to elegant effronteries of the newfangled intellectual vogue that is the grombang of the tralleyripped hamshackle of ostentation meeting mirrored paralysis in sheepish ewnastique creations meddlesome in their ironic frizz of recursion as I lounge on the habits of creation by intelligent lurches of design that appointed the demarcations of all creatures and the mysterious bridge between the missing links that remain elusive to the flombricks of the misery of epigenetic rhizogenic imparlance of desuetude cringing at foresight littered with the disaster of ravished hindsight blushing at the limpid degeneration of the vapid varnish of benighted ligony rather than heroic strides of stoic-epicurean compromise in the apolaustic pursuit of the one eternal God present in rebellion but never the temptress of mendacity and mendaciloquence because the tug I have on speed is ratifying a cauterized casualty in the spumid betrothed wicked snuffs of extinguished furor for a time beyond barnstormed racloir rugged origination and faulty phenogenesis that escorts mythos into actionable litanies of the awakened breed scoffing at the inkburch of “Electrolytes”-wernaggle that besets the queer fascinations of a warped generation. The pytherian swank of artrench embodied in the recocted rendevation of hypetrophy in hubris swaddled by the reductive dranger polluting the realm of compliant complicant complaints of the ashowel of albatross astroud in the hibernaculum of langlauf rather than the ultramontane fiduciary tether to the estrockentch rather than the laureates of plevisable courage found in truest shades of vinsky not the subhastation of a gaslighted galvanization of purebred classy swivels of opportunism nor the ravenous incubus appetite for usufruct in subversion belongs to the behest of an insular nesiote flexing the flux of subversion as the candid posies of saccharine immodesty become relegated figments of the everlasting age of promised propriety rather than rigid stultimathy of hackencrude virtues of virtuosos that marvel at troudasque wonders occluded by the girlcott of Team Biden and his militarized soldiers of desiccation of trumpery and the faucets unbounded by swanky concealed epithets of regaled rentgourge by a hapless objection of the runic destruction of apothecary leniency becoming of the betokened emblazonry of scrimshank in every perfuncturation but embodiment of character shouldered by every chasm of power erected in demolition of the warped egintoch radicalism of the submerged wernaggles of the hopeless minority swimming with autodimplage few have to bear but the truest flock of God heeds my voice and has the sapience to spare themselves of contumely and invective to hearsay of invictive triumph beyond radioglare swirk to renege the musical providence of the chamades to the asterongue I often take for granted by immunifacient degrees of the foretold encroaching upon the crux of a pivotal and pivoted destiny not distant from cordial providence. The sweedle of epigones for the risctender of obligation to subvert the coryphaeus with the rigmarole of gentincture borrowed from the Gates’ formulaic effleck of perverse warbles of collectivized contrition for abetted cultural pederasty limpid in its achieved objective of the crudenzy borrowed from a lacking impediment to arentrum belonging to the knowledgeable happenstance of the glorified dengonin is a denostram that forestalls the agelasts behind porsters of culture rather than legitimate mainlined contamination of wellsprings of fliction of paranoiac enthusiasm might swim in kinkativy blinkered blind piebald girouettism but never dauntless in sematic entrenchment of robust dilettantism as the swaddled corrugation of time into centripetal ****** against centrifugal modernism that alienates propriety while estranging by vacuous vacuums the outspoken progeny of the surviving age beyond the Jay and Silent Bob travesty that manifests as a glower of menacing Bushian invention to tarnish with ****** mythos the drapes of a defenestrated realism of the flinkers of sheepish indignation against many drakstings of intonorous sclerotic mandibles of crackjaw chockablock annihilation of core precepts and institutions indelible from the face of a quixotic entreaty of a ragged intrusion of ageotropic monoideism above the secular-clerical fidelity of honest witness borne of triumph and tribulation festooning the nativist hyperbole into a useless effigy of mountebank imposture silly in precision and purblind to gallantry. Yet I must kisswonk rather than truckle under such ponderous pretense because of a sertivine certainty in the thickets of prudence rather than the tomfoolery of humgruffin impudence scaffolds me to a post-modern ****** that shanks through prisons of guilt and burrows an interrogation of reality supreme over all complaint that the virtuosity of the Gifted (the elect flock that comprehends my volcanic diatribes against mandarism and stomachs them without sardonic pastorauling insults of passerby vicissitude) will spare many nations of awakened perjury against human instinct in the fitness of nations to denigrate the populist squalor of lurid and livid ewnastique wernaggles of the listless buttress against my formal modesty encouraged in all affairs even in aggrieved humility belonging to intimidation rather than spawned jostles through the rumpus of shunamitism that might rankle a later age.  Yentrified morality is a personal flapdoon against the promiscuous pederasty of freewheeling ophelimity and the lurking narquiddity of the traindeque of donnist hedonism to hijack my psychedelic tolerance into an unwarranted and inadvisable sanction into the netherworld of the frinterans of cultural modality that curdact religion into a cosmetic cosmogony rather than a soldiered infamy becoming a beacon on a towering hill growing in solidarity with the pleonasm of existence itself which surpasses crude formulas that already abide by the riches of decorum too much to be admired as trigger-happy fools run the asylum of domesticated irony and the librettos to downfall rather than the wassails of “The Man” becoming more masculine in featured charisma rather than defiled against Leviticus among others who preach belonging to nuclear creed without fission but for true rapprochement to the fusion of the treony with legitimate gripes of unsung complaint among the masculine minority. The traindeque of a baseline complaint aggrieved by the kilmarge carapace of stiltanimity for the hackencrude resentment of the inkburch of illiteracy is a profligate degeneracy lurid in hyped enmity that the envied entreaty becomes the despotic shadow masquerading in shadows blossoming into the full wisdom of the mature sophrosyne heart eager to pour out blessings upon a conservation of recycled epitaphs becoming hearsay in a rebarbative convolution of redacted rigmarole incendiary to whittled henpecks of political engineering but never vapid in their flagging insistence upon an ecumenical toleration of the brooks of modernity and compromise upon which much felicity is aggrandized and permuted against the spoilsport frinterans who encage a dodgy moralism in wilted etiolated jaunty pedigree that espouses the maudlin grievous and ghastly ghouls and sprites that haunt the fictional hobgoblins of the Potemkin Village that finds usury convenient and perjury even more facile for the glib facetious engineers of modalities of hatred unsung by the ribald witwanton “I got a Solution...You’re a ****…South Carolina What’s Up” crowd that never marvels at ingenuity or rarely attempts it in the summit of the climacteric jaundice of hidebound whemmles of ridicule sparring against spartan flagitious wiseacres of genocide of ideation for the revelry of armed missives denatured by raw promotion of the questionable ethics of a flavork of needed slakes of unquenchable desire swarming us with daily temptresses not of wayward women but the disarmed pretense of a lapidary rejoinder to a long expatiation or harangue against hackencrude curdles of rowboat injustice masquerading as sentinel savory destruction of the towering edifice of proclamation. There is great menace in the casuistry of sophist philogeant philocubists dicey with destiny for mincemeat puppetry against sciamachy for the gallionic rise of gammadions in the craven lore of baseline pasquinade rallied to the insuperable causes of tribal shibboleth anointed by secular totemisms of fracture and fricative hisses of lineage that amount to pleonasms of brassage rather than mystagogical mystique of the prestige of human fraternity that shatters paradigms of creed and invites an honest vestige of Noble Savages to roam the Earth yet again unencumbered by lugubrious welters of misnomer and malapropism wagered by artifices of guileless supremacy that is cursory prima facie neglect of even the sororal duties not of sophomoric glib facetious cowardice of backbited backlash of venom militarized for the desuetude of entertained visagists sculpting *****-nilly their version or verdict of decisive apartheid when we should all rally behind the united frontier of the chosen flock in the chosen generation to truckle beneath the pews not of ignorance aggravated by the polluted kilmarge egintoch puritan barbs against publicity choices I now regret (as an emolument to an incredibly euphoric track with a poor miserly message to the enchanted flock inoculated from such diversions) because alighted upon the quenched thirst of salvation I will be judged more harshly as a teacher James 3:1 than the rest of my flock but gifted with the gratuitous salvation carved from the chiselers of ribald infamy capering around with dacoitage and ladronism of the bomans of unsuspecting quixotic caprice I must reckon with the burden of ghoulish shadows on the spectral imprint of my eternal soul relishing in vicarious splendor yet bereaved of quintessential love 1 Cor 13:4 that is necessary for the nuclear conclamation of vibrant hues of resplendent and refulgent providence necessary not from a dynastic perspective but from an aimed providence that alerts dynamism rather than chides with mimes of useless schadenfreude carved from the prestidigitation of the wicked condemned in Galatians 6:7 for the mockers of sanctanimity accorded upon me as gratuity that no man can boast my elite ears and my astute wonderworks of imagination qualified me for prophecy and among the most mesmerizing prophecies registered to fulfillment that the world has ever yet witnessed because the watershed isn’t a bridgewater for the chavish of ignoramus hatred congealed into thrombosis but the narrowed gate enlarges to encompass the swath of man amenable to the flocks that escort me into permanence rather than regale the tridents of a hedonism that elected me clairvoyant at a cost of immaculate splendor registered to the holy clergy of the Sacred Catholic Church and the broader Ecumenical Endeavor that tries to be a seamstress and bridge elemental divides inherent to divided approaches to liturgy which flex their strengths in times of robust fortitude rather than become a subhastation to the vestiges of the pilgrimage to false tabernacles erected by people cozened into charlatan endeavors by the pernicious and persnickety whiplash of Least Common Denominator subversion of widely heralded sentience and sapience enriching the lot of human ambition rather than stoking useless conflagrations of refracturism accorded to the swallock of primposition of the hackneyed hackencrude that swivels with the odious ornery pretense of overtures not to apertures and lychgates of the true abiding Heaven felt on Earth by many Christians whether in sobriety or not without the evil maleficence of a misguided donnism of narquiddity for the grambazzles of aged recklessness aborning on vacant responsibility that is rickety in its magnanimity of absolution because of the ulterior chase for bottom-line top-dollar oligochrome foisted by the cartels that blind true spiritual insight from ever reaching the magnitude of ambition required to shape mountains of revolution among the tertiary squabbles of a conversant Earth open to the troudasque gallop into yield and cloveryield for repcrevel reforms the paludism of the swamp remains skittish about conforming to because objectivism is a renegade of perspicuous light blinkering in hubris and gourmandizing the hinderbaggle of cosmetic pollutions aggravated by the plevisable articles of envy and TLDR politics to “Electrolyte” logic that is a sad recursive wernaggle of the useless buffoonery of humgruffins of tatterdemalion spate rollicking in the magpiety of a timid consentient faltering myth of unanimity among the beleaguered rainbows of many lugubrious tears showering bickering blasphemy upon the mockery of God for the pleasantry of self-aware sheepish resignation that professes only that any form of meritocracy is existentially unfounded only because the beehive elected its progeny the scepter of the ironclad kingdom that wages war against idolatry and serenades heaven with luxury simultaneously. We are all shepherds of providence and there is power enough in collective prayer that we don’t fiddle around with bodewash in mistaken identity but riddle the persnickety blemish of the fastidious critiques of biting sarcasm as a tantamount blasphemy and a criminal repartee of sardonic cloys of inanity foisted above truth. The peevish breedbates who scour my evidentiary pillar of chiseled vertebrae of unbroken bones of solidarity with oikonisus will be sorely disappointed in their truthful audits of my true perception because in every single case it exonerates me from the pulpit of menacing idiots who scrawl random gabble in attempts to sound smart while reeking of iniquity wrought by the gavels of predevoted inferiority of complexion and attitude that gravitates them to an insensate benumbed transmogrified bailiwick of an appalling atrocity of mythomaniacal myths spurned by consensus among those who prize my grandeur above the superstitions of the illiteracy of the rancid rankle of otiose stupidity writhing its own sheepish envy of arbitrary dislike motivated by feminist aggressors waging warfare on turf I already conquered by swaying the intelligentsia to beckon my cause rather than pillory me on a false scaffold of frinteran abuses of the nyejays of bernacle that junediggle in the taradiddle of the nanciful excoriation of my leaden corpse weighed down by the witchcraft of connivance trayning its own delicate myths while avoiding scrutiny for appalling contumely that deserves an audience more suited for fracklings of treony belonging to the trinkochre of the rising alienation and suicides among perverted gay indoctrination that is a scourge on the planet because it willfully denies with its portentous hibbles the regaled wisdom of the culminated age against renegades of apostasy and for the behemoths of true monumental change that sizzles in savory circles among the vanguard only to alarm the Status Quo hijack of my entire endeavors as a covert crusade to use wrecking-ball fashion tactics to cosmetically incisively and insidiously perform a harprick of surgery upon a blameless countenance only for being a thorn to wragatek wragapole slavery which wages war against universal salvation because it gripes with inkburch and circular pleonasms about the most obvious glaring lies and feasts upon the serrated edge of the capers of hatred that frolic in meadows too skittish to enter the barbarian fortress of my forested residence robust in fortitude and glowering with a menacing contempt for runaround psychobabble that obganiates the obelisk of the moribund crusade to make normative ethics effeminate and to enthrone inviolable women’s speech as supreme to any male objections like the Cristiano Ronaldo accuser that came forth 8 months after #MeToo one of the most dishonest campaigns in modern history enthroned by Hollywood elites in gammerstang insurrection against pay-gap ethics done manipulatively with the sapwood of mendaciloquence like Blasey Ford whose physiognomy reeked of maudlin pretense that was so ornery in how obvious of a maleficence the intrepid Abortion Agenda has over the minds of selfish women who prefer ecbolic second-term abortions to the servile gripes of primiparas building new life rather than tearing down the scaffolds of new generations. Hominism deserves its rise because-in increasing numbers-men are derelicted by society and coerced into vapid tallespin enslavement that ridicules itself with the perjury of soul to the soulless vanity of recursive cycles of benumbed narquiddity found in “****** Hero” among other atrocities littering the human fascination with the hinderbaggle of our polluted age verging on totemic blistering hegemony of a few rotten apples corrupting the vagrant ingenuity of the forgotten champion who ushered in a new era of candor in the attempted interregnum of the United States government because I Am Hollywood got the name correct considering how many memorials there are to me in the movie industry. The junediggles of sc-ha-den-freud-e which is as deliberate of a German pun as JUDEn JuDEN which shows the German language is as farsighted as you can get and why many of my neologisms have a German tinge to them. German is an elegant language with botched syntax but a peerless repertoire of vocabulary and even though I love French, the Germans are smart because their language is smart not just because of petty arguments of pedigree which are specious at best. Being dontolesque with  the zenkidu of rengall nauclatic mythos is an artful degree which accords nominal prestige to licentiates while excorifying the obvious metaphors of sunblind logic that scours the scorched Earth of internet diatribes of sophistry and dethrones the Marcie Biancos of the world “Heterosexuality is officially OVER...K Bye” with her 145 IQ and a Stanford Degree in Queer Studies (A professed atheist by her own Twitter admission) with the warped logic to equate a heterosexual relationship for a woman as ******* to patriarchy. For someone that well-studied in literature she sure is a dumb-*** and I will demolish the syntagma of those that root against me for Status Quo preservation in the official interregnum of Saturdays during the Trump Presidency. We need an official referendum on the ideas of termagant illogical anti-egalitarian poison that derives from a deracinated worldview that doesn’t contextualize how powerful language is at shaping thought because if the entire world were Anglophonic every single country on Earth virtually would see immediate dividends in terms of intellectual creativity and limber with concepts and percepts because it is no accident the most successful empire in History the United Kingdom, was favored because of its shibboleths of Shakespearean creativity draped with flairs of the irreverent while gilded by God to be a majestic commonwealth. England and France monopolized a huge majority of history by no accident because although English might be a slightly keener language the French culture of salons of freewheeling intellectual enlightenment gilded the 17th and 18th centuries into absolution despite the Panglossian epithets of Voltaire who was ironically dissuaded from religion because of the All Saints Day 1755 Lisbon Earthquake and Tsunami. We need to be vigilant against encroachments of perceived shibboleths and more keen on an affirmative meritocracy that favors the poor and blesses the meek in their poverty and inspire ambition among them to join the coteries of refinement in thought sometimes harder to achieve with crackjaw lollops in pleonasmic languages that fail to articulate with nexility or forceful wit the true abstractions that govern the pataphysics of the unknown. Language is so decisive over human thought that it is incumbent upon every language to refine its vocabulary to trayne compendious verbiage and trim the hedges of global reform to invite the curiosity of the age to favor all creeds and languages of Abraham and the diverse progeny of a variegated panoply of majestic feats common to all parlance and capacity beyond just the Anglophonic snare because the world needs not a chicanery of blustering churlish buffoonery but an Almighty respect for the consanguinity of all to God’s blessed creation that he inseminated by his deliberate hands to enrich the world with diversity rather than cleave the world with piecemeal skeumorphs of radical propaganda that opposes the modern and post-modern egalitarian streak. One wrong must be corrected, however, the underrepresentation of Hispanics in the media and in film because this grave error is much more pervasive than the ******* LGBT inclusion narrative because these days the lollygags of fashionista odalisques with Obelisks to Baal get more say over the common decorum than the marginalized bronteum of the  rich and vibrant Latino culture which is squelched by the poverty of media and Hollywood representation. Synectics showcases how a henpecked aim at the synaesthesis of culture congregated around our Almighty Father blessed among the nations who adhere to the progeny of Abraham can be more blessed when working together rather than tribal with nepotism and aristocratic in sustained affronts to the elevation of affirmative meritocracy to the forefront of discussion rather than the froward backlash of benumbed narquiddity because the synallagamatic nature of complexity needs to be devolved with industrious ambition to all cultures and the savory flair of the vogue needs not merely a wednongue fascination with an eventual terminus of crudenzy but a sustained intellectual reformation on all fronts to standardize the English language through Hollywood and the Music Industry so that the dragnets of appeal etch a permanent trace into the engraved souls of the true flock John 10:27 are consecrated in divine purpose to reverse the Babylonian Diaspora of confused and conflated purpose that stunts the raltention of humane course and the proper pataphysical syncrisis of an evolved mundane temperament that transcends the circular traps of circumlocution common to the milquetoast industrial titans who winsomely charm with toady gestures the elitism of a moribund philosophy of intellectual thought delegation to elevate the common rhetoric to reach new pinnacles in both tribune and political gamesmanship because higher standards are required even when they surpass some common understanding so that every ambition becomes a conclave for the goal of human unity solidified by the truth of the kerygma and proclaimed to all creation as the culminated synclastic reformation of the idea of indulgence and the propriety of regaled moderation that appeases the common decorum with a shared vested interest in Latin America especially which is besieged by the cultural tenets of obrogated specialization and denigrated by the common myths of warped phenogenesis which should be debunked as a wasm of hypocrisy limited because its callous tentacles lack the charismatic fulgurant equipment of future generations to bear the operose burdens of a quintessential time of harmony united by the hymns for God by God to appease the sentries in Heaven and the celestial realms that exist for our merriment more than our detriment. The sprauncy have the  frikmag to recognize the spuria of apocryphal heresies that encourage kinship above matriotism and shared fortitude for intellectual valor rather than “*** talk TLDR” hashtags abounding on the turf of the insensate wernaggle of clueless charlatans wiggling through life not because they were borne into slavery but because they choose to be Helicopter Parents of “Baby Shark” rather than token mantelpieces of enlivened culture shimmering with radiation of Gods glory as cemented in Colossians 1:15-16 because the firstborn of all creation lives in some form in the ligature of Christ 1 Cor 12:12 because there are so many talents that exist in our variegated world that the mastery of expertise in dominions of conversant fluency will abet the variegated crops of a draped humanity corrugated on its own ironies for the delicate sizzle of beatific felicity multiplying itself in centupled design over centuries to overcome hinderbaggle while realizing the fictions of some drawflark. The strigine world concedes to this upstart rooster maybe considered a parvenu of dearth but luxuriant in riches boundless to all that draw near to the kerygma of Christ and feast on his daily bread found throughout liturgy because we should listen to people like Cardinal Timothy Dolan who is exceptionally astute (perhaps an understatement) to guide us on a regenerative rather than degenerative pathway towards universal attempts at salvation that broach a new decorum bridged by aliens to select chosen emissaries to bridle the fissions of repartee reserved for the forlorn that balk at ambition rather than relish a new era of seditious determination against the determinist fallacy and for the mental health of those coping with autodimplage and sheepish regrets and persnickety articles of remorse because all the world deserves our consolation and desperate attention rather than the trumpery of the circus masquerade of marauding agitprop which congeals into thrombosis of toxicity as the vast majority of Democrats refuse to even hear Trump speak when he is discussing discursive solutions to enigmatic quagmires,for, if more people listened to Trump they would be disabused by the specious claims of his misogyny and white allegiances because his candor is brilliant and despite the prominent advocacy of Biden who has considerable prestige in my memory, we deserve a bipartisan syncretism that unites the world and unifies the country away from the swerve of salacious mythos and towards a rambunctious magpiety of solidarity against the secular humanism of a defunct piety to Marxist feminism which is a crudenzy among the awakened men around the world increasingly alienated by the hackencrude of wednongue illiteracy even trumpeted by the vanguard as panacea when it is a comestible form of poison. We need visionary unity where there was once toxic divisive balkanization of exclaves of limited foresight clashing with new wave awakening to the persecution of illumination itself for not a rigid hierarchy but a flexible structure of inclusion that adjusts to cultural expectancy and modifies the traindeque that strands many in institutionalized poverty especially in Latin America and India and obviously Africa too. The stegophilists of language should herald the aubade of the chavish of redintegration over the squawk of din of squabbles of internecine redacted revisionism beleaguering our lyceums with toxic agitprop even at the highest institutions of learning who balk often at the recycled auditorium of useful thought because their venal tilt is complicit in squelching freedom of thought and our schools should open early so that zig-zag-zoom politics around feldtrounds who are eagerly outnumbered by the patrons who police thought become agentic not with outspoken treacheries but inseminations of intimation to hint at the spectral mystagogical reality we are all members of despite hurdles that beset the hemiteries of odalisques who seek inertia rather than mobilization. The ribald underminnow of transparency is a carcinogen of the rampant siege of Status Quo coarse hypocrisy for tentative flings with cadged cloyed saturnine professions of the landmines of atrocious miscarriage as I soldier on in the causes of the poor and the forlorn to become enriched by the glory that God delivers with munificence so that all might be enriched by the emanations of the true vine and in distaste of error I rebuke the armada of belittled armamentariums of the cantonment of deep-state breedbates boiling over potboiler frikmag that exists as a transcendent obscurantism flowering in decisive times to warp the contextual footprint of a life served in the service of all the oppressed people as a kind of Moses figure raised by the elite and fighting for the criminally oppressed and the ****** of mediagenic hyperbole is dissatisfied by my glowering spectacles because they dismount from the equipoise of the righteous gallop towards ecumenical solidarity at untimely punctuations of juncture superseding the flictions of frikmag dethroning my righteous valor and provident sanctanimity to prowl like predatory wolves the fathers of the casuistry of mendaciloquence to accentuate the stridor of inopportune squalor of the selachostomous regimes of teetotaler totalitarian freebooters who prevent bootstraps from manufacture as they gradgrind the world into ergonomic insufficiency while I provide a Kamacho-like galvanization to the broader world that favors the consanguinity of all animate sentience to the aboriginal vine of the universe that plays with the toyed cadge of oppositive support but lends credence to a more evolved view than the crudity of encapsulated travesties inserted with jaundice against the lyceum of freedom of thought and the celerity of headless horseman galloping in partial interregnum to crown the strobic stridor of the stiver of the steven of contarianism engineered for walloped ringleaders of the renegades of heresiarch sedition in their odalisque oaths to Pagan dieties carved from the sapwood of gullible Illuminati naivety that professes allegiance to the worst whangam ever invented Baphomet and his faked cronies of ewnastique free-for-all diminutive crags in the renown of dawning light becoming cagey struthious structuralism embedded in sclerotic wasms of the wanhope of a nullified message becoming a sacred creed to the attentive while the lilt of the otiose drawl in serpentine convolution a ribald pleonasm of circular circumlocution that provides locomotive linearity rather than leapfrogged slogmarches into the province of the territorial alignment of kinship against the partisan hollertrap and the stigmatophilia of obsessive persnickety popinjay beadledom the last stronghold of the rickety resistence to this Saturday interregnum which presides over the better part of the intelligentsia if not the common pedestrian parlance because hortatory weights cannot be described in any other way than metagnostic flickers of Yellow Submarine vandalism of a pristine living animation of the humane spirit that prizes the plight of the poor and the blarney and blench of unjust opprobrium faced by the institutionalized bailiwick of flictions of gammadion gallionic posture when in fact they register as seismic entities engraved upon my Christian conscience that strictly welcomes the emigrants to truth from whatever consecrated virtue they originate from because all are capable of the same light and the same compassion of a beatified humanity rather than the relish of deep-state castophrenia which belies its own ribald gay mockery on live TV as not a single twinge of ****** attraction overtakes me in matriotic sardanapalian effrontery of a hollow but sadly hallowed vainglory of the hierodules that bury the coffers of patriotism in a sad LGBTQ graveyard of landmines that demonstrate a complete disregard of the nuclear family and should be decried as an outcry against redefined Christianity bolted to unshakable irrefragable beliefs in the constitution of man and women wed together in one monogamous flesh with the occasional cuddle of close tithes to the ******* of friendship as the slavery of sin in Leviticus 20:13 falls to the wayside because this patriotic lewdness is a vapid fatuous derangement that is a new low for the United States attempt to inoculate China from religious accord with the broader world and should be seen as a Chinese maskirovka worthy of the heaviest disdain and I will disavow America if it continues to bandy the tripwires of Chinese boondoggles under the American banner and pretend its pretense isn’t lagging under its own bletcherous abecedarian elementary fallacy of psychobabble oblivion of dark saturnine brusque termagants of tatterdemalion cloaks of the selfsame illusion of a desperation of China to wreck the United States economy and inseminate Florida, Arizona and Texas especially with the Coronavirus to swing the election in Biden’s favor with or without US Complicity to expedite the course of a virus which sees no resurgence in any other civilized country in the world while the heroic Russians, Germans, Israelis, French, British and true American Christians banish the barristers of bad taste as an acerbic poison on the wellsprings of a flagitious flag I would kneel for in the knells of disgrace if the pompous and completely inoculated missives of Buttigieg ******* continue to roam shepherded by deep state elitism to wreck the opportune moment of religious revival for petty reasons of chryselephantine gambit and gimcrack for institutionalized poverty which my ambition is to heal completely by sacerdotal deeds and consecrated prayers in the Lord whose peace surpasses the temporal despair of senectitude and comforts the grievances of the aggrieved because Galatians 6:7 is no more true than the fatuous display of muscular idiots waving American flags for turpitude rather than flogging very perverse Gay men in the streets which might be a more fitting outcome even though I must remove the plank in my own eyes first to see the irony of the detested. The doytin is no longer misguided by the nanciful derision of the vociferous clangor of the venal Gates mafia militia wrecking ball vaccination Bezos crew in Medina which is a mettle I can’t match when you own every citizen in the world in a few square miles of nesiote territory the denizens of conquest besieging religious sanctity with profane outbursts of corruptible linchpins on the public lynch of the strepsis of periblebsis that vitiates commonwealths of supreme sputtering regimented clairvoyant superlative alabaster wealth of the isangelous protectorate of the supreme God that supervises his careworn flock into the storge against the scourge of prosodemic stigma stained in bleeding heart liberal bathed tears of pseudoautochiria of Jim Morrison glaring in the face of the triads that Killed Him in the French Connection ******* of 71’ that outnumbered his hobohemia of loyal jewish bohemians livid in the rhapsody of nurture rather than enfeebled by the unfurled destiny of the Soul Kitchen he foresaw to his own pitiable demise at probably the hands of strangulation because no autopsy was performed. Although repetitive Transparent is a real anthem for oracular mystagogical transcendence a mandatory hymn for the ryseolagnus of the poetic verve of a new wave swooning the cordial progressive of atmospheric oneness with the primordial vine and the vintners that congregate on populated soil to feed a desolate destitution of synoecy or synaesthesis in the syncretic rhapsody of the subfocal ageotropic plenilune yet saturnine lugubrious toil of those that shovel through the albatross of ewnastique recapitulation to the same tired “Its got what plants crave, it’s got electrolytes” wernaggle of the hopelessly dismal inkburch of illiteracy crawling like a Hyacinth House on a vacant graveyard turf guarding the legionaires of rapid-fire zig-zags through a serpentine curvature of the ligaments of fabricated space warped through prismatic lenses of aperspectival time aspiring for ventriloquial enamored rapture upon Earthly parallax with tapestries of refulgent cascading wandering wonder that meditates its own lucubration with careworn tutelage against the wasms of dying oleaginous swelters of redshort opportunistic vultures swooping with Raven’s claws against the odometer of viewership surpassing records in unspeakable wisdom that crowds out the crambazzle toonardical wreffelaxity of the tiresome nuisance of ornery brawn muscled into a formidable triage in vengeance for Jim Morrison’s scripted eviction from Earth either by poisoned ****** or by  Asphyxiation by the French Connection avenging RFK and the cultural revolutions of 67’ in Haight Ashbury and the widespread percolation of treacheries fathomed to the most obvious degree in showmanship that it bristled as an affront so severe that even the patronage of Paris wasn’t immune to infiltration. His threnodies will always be sung with Triumph that the hallowed day of a monumental soul eluding the darkness of purgatory into the welcoming aborning light of the noontide progeny of eternal ataraxia awaited him in the stagecraft tub of blasphemy bellowing ratcheted warnings that not even the palatine grasp of a potentially divine being was inoculated from the deep dark chasm of nefarious skullduggery for boasting so widely and openly of his professed foresight to glamorous to be hidden as the beacon of virtuosity that galvanized a generation to flout the  futtocks of a keelhauled vision of sanitized purblind mortality that the fear of death rarely crossed the mind of the greatest fearless poet of an entire epoch that we may pray that Jim Morrison feasts in Heaven atoned for his sins and is at peace with God now. The substratose congeniality of marginalia on the outskirts of pederasty in cultural miscarriage owned by hierodules boundless in their lurid debaucheries that they might be remanded for being custodians of hostage to a prolific nescience  reaffirming their dying posture in the extinction of sardanapalian coverthrow of repcrevel camorras of ladronism and dacoitage always cauponate in imbibed throes of lewd AstroTurf outrecuidance glowering at sanctity with a bereaved psychobabble divorced from the purebred empiricism of true giants of industry that are almost insuperable in their extortion that their darkness in deeds of Kobe Bryants assassination do not go unpunished at least in Los Angeles. His untimely death as with many others registered on the Richter Scale because Come Clean perverts from Kansas City wanted San Francisco to win to clean the mops of janitorial revenge of the subturbary rickety foundations of a flailing moral compass so wicked in arbitrage that no subreption undetected would flourish among capernoited vigilantes of poached titanism and illuminism scarring the vestiges of enigmatic encroachment upon untouchables daring the frights of the Living Daylights of scurrilous rebukes so scathing in their menacing depiction of negligent bromides of token sacrilege and scarred sacrifice of a scarecrow example of how the prosodemic scourge of befuddled turgid pristine transmogrified heralds scampered away with pseudoautochiria that afflicted Jimi Hendrix suspiciously as well. My support is behind the justice warriors aggrieved by the Beirut explosion because they deserve a vindictive outcome that quells the quislings of atrocity of the popinjay beadledom of the unspeakable tremors of seismotic popples of unrest warranted in Lebanon the homeland of Keanu Reeves a saint among men for his peerless grace and agraceries of the smog of myth evanescence becoming perdurable swings of the humdingers of berated jaundice becoming the prerogative of the revenge of a city leveled to the ground by suspicious skullduggery and I am surprised they lay dormant for this long in their protracted grievance over the ghoulish frights of one of the most unheralded major events in recent memory. We need to highlight the plight of Lebanon so that world leaders are frightened even of intimidated people tranquilized by terror rather than enlivened by the propriety of redacted rejoinders that serve the ulterior mission of a Titanic bravery that never sinks beneath the sumptuary treacle of grombang grambazzle and supercherie of the supercalendar of poignant repined repose derailing an emolument to ecumenical solidarity. Lets highlight Lebanon as an inexcusable trespass worthy of some mighty reckoning if not a riveted war but at the very least a devastated twinge of outrage.
Paul Butters Nov 2017
Association Footballer Ronaldo,
The new Wizard Waldo.
Oh what a fandango,
You bet he can tango.

Paul Butters

© PB 18\11\2017.
A follow on from my "Paulo Gomes" Clerihew.
TERRY REEVES Feb 2016
I COULDN'T GO OUTSIDE IN CASE I GOT ZIKA,
BUT THERE WAS NO WAY I WAS GOING TO GET WEAKER,
I MET RONALDO, AT A FIFA PARTY AS YOU GO,
AND MESSI AND NEYMAR WHO HAD NOWHERE .. .. ,
THEY SAY THAT INDONESIA IS TO BE ATTACKED BY TERRORISTS,
BUT WE'VE HAD ENOUGH OF TORNADOES AND EXTREMISTS,
NAOMI SOCKED SOMEONE ELSE ON A BA PLANE,
AFTER DIVORCE, CHARLTON WON'T BE THE SAME AGAIN,
ENGLAND'S VOTING TO STAY WITH EUROPE OR NOT,
MOST DON'T GIVE A S.... , THEY'LL SAY THEY FORGOT,
TRUMP CONTINUES TO BORE US AND DEPLORE MOST,
DON'T LET MONEY BUY OR ENTERTAIN HIS ILLITERATE BOAST;
WE'LL GET ON WITH OUR LIVES, DON'T NEED THOSE GUYS,
THEY SHOULD REMEMBER THAT SOME THINGS ARE NOT GOVERNED BY THEIR SIZE.
Pau Kim Thang Jan 2016
There's Naruto,
And there is Sasuke,
There Is Ronaldo,
And There Is Messi,
There Is Black,
And there Is White,
There Is Long,
And There Is Short,
There Is Satan,
So There Must Be God,
There is Beginning,
And So There Is The End,
But There Is One Thing Without His Opposite,
And That Is You.
I'm Just A beginner so please forgive my unskilled so called poems.
Mel-VS-the-World Aug 2021
Kulang ka sa tulog,
Kaya 'di ka nananaginip,
Mulat ang mga mata,
Ngunit sarado ang isip,
Lumilipad sa kalawakan,
Habang humihigop ng hangin,
Mayrong puting usok,
Pumapalibot sa paligid,
May batong gumugulong,
Pinapaikot yung plastik,
tik,
tik,
tik,
Dinig mo ang pag-ikot ng kamay ng orasan,
Para bang may nagbabantay,
Andun sa dilim,
Pati yung nakaraan,
Dinadalaw ang buhay,
Takot ang sumisilip,
Ayaw kang lubayan,
Pag huminto ka saglit,
Mauubusan ka ng laman,
Gusto mo ay palaban,
Maglalaro ka ng apoy,
Kahit magka-sunugan,
Dahil matindi ang pangangailangan,
Yung tawag ng laman,
Pag nariyan sa harapan,
Hindi mo na matanggihan
David P Carroll Sep 2020
The sun is shining bright
Watching RONALDO score tonight
Cheering all night long
Juventus is my beautiful club
Juventus is who I truly love
Just listen to my heart beat
Beating Juventus, Juventus
All day long,
RONALDO scoring goals
The manager running wild
Smiling so bright
And the fans cheer along
Watching RONALDO score all night long..
Football Poem 😺
Paul Butters Nov 2015
Here is Paulo,
Always on the ball **!
He thinks he’s Ronaldo
Playing on Madeiran sand lo.

The Caistor Couple, Patricia and Paul,
They’re at *****’s to have a ball.
I’m not talking about playing sport,
More about beer and ***** and port.

Paul Butters
Just for a laugh with my drinking friends who, like me, attend the fine *****'s Pub on Cleethorpes Seafront on a Tuesday lunchtime.
SassyJ Jan 2016
Communication technology recognition

Reformation in monopoly contortions

Feel the attuned tunes from satellites

Setting light like an antenna televised

Usher prolific hologram vised in vision

Bid manipulation bye to new world neon’s

Motivation from free thought movement

Commendations cemented in another time-zone

Complement to comment for extra terrestrials

Electrical vibrations moving from wired modems  

Floating up above the skies, a heaven end  

All life become a past tense lie, come lie

A dead fantasy for the oars ain’t tacky

The most surreal reality, the stability, an ability

Congeniality, this is an alien evasion, adaptability

Figure a boxer on the ring, trenching victory

An agility the accessibility to the victorious flag

Tracing admissible tunes, planking in a cool challenge

The heroic and not hectic hologram check the angiogram

Its not a diagram, but a radiant heart an earthy soul

Am a do anything, buffing myself to do anything

Ain’t a deal rocking the crowd in crazy clouds

Breaking the underground like a Fujita F Scale tornado

Ronaldo tormenting the ball in a field with F clef societal

Social control and orders, tormenting the ****** to extraordinaire, an extradite

Streaming live make you believe like you can live for real

Stratifications, ****** classes and sewn mobility

Chasing dreams in the winds deeply wheeled in a well

Be well as we sink  so deep to seek and hold the dense

The essence of the whirlwind, it’s a seep through static

This rollercoaster an aspiration to inspire then perspire

Ever higher, from the root to crown charkra, a tantra

Annata,the ascending holographic magnetic hero

Tuning visions to dreamers and travellers

Hold my hand as we sink underneath the stratums

No sputum, just headphones.... a culture, it’s the new age soul
An alien televising from another time zone. The monopoly grounds broken by the new free thought movement, questioning all the control and social orders. Calling to break the ground of 'normality', shaking up the routine with a F scale tornado or even F clef crescendo. Humanity, need to sink deeper and rise from root to crown charka to envision the vision, to unravel the stratums and ultimately uncovering the true "human essence"... One peace!
Aniq Ahmad Aug 2018
I started watching football when I was eight

At that moment I had everything to hate



The next day I went with the squad

I played with a poor morale



Than as the time passed by

People said Ronaldo in Madrid is *****



Than as the Manuel Neur got the fame

Messi got him chipped later in the game



In June they compared Andre Gomes with James

For real? Thats just lame



Merle said "Football players are like prostitutes"



They said "Giroud comes to show off his beard"

Footballers like Yahya dont even drink beer



While some footballers go to the club when they hit the big time

Tottenham striker said "He cant remember going to a club last time"



Bayern Munich bailed out Dortmund with a loan in the past

Oil money of PSG on Neymar gave me a flabbergast..
Lefa Mzondi Aug 2018
You know my name,
My background, my roots
You know my clan name
You know my family, my culture
You know my beliefs
You know my favourite colour
My favourite food
My favourite sport
My hobbies
My favourite music
My likes and dislikes
You know my goals, my dreams
You know what makes me tick
Yet, you don't know my Soul

You know all my allergies
You know all my so called flings
All my past relationships
You know all my friends
You know my favourite beer
You know what makes me smile
You know what makes me mad
And you even know my payslip

You know I don't like my pizza with pineapple
Lol, and you know I hate Amasi with sugar
You know my favourite soccer team
And you know I prefer Messi over Ronaldo
You know between left and right I'd go right
Between up and down I'd always look up and I won't go down
And you know between you and her I'd always choose you
But, you still don't know my Soul...
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
and today i invented the sport of dribbling,
got tired of walking and philosophical thought,
an abandoned football on the street,
took it,
starting dribbling the **** out of it (approx. 2 miles),
drinking beer and smoking -
i was waiting for the heart-attack,
although teaching people to walk down
a high street and cross a country road
without bumping into bad manners and death:
walk... look at the ball... look... dribble the ball...
****, traffic... pause from dribbling...
then dribble on... i swear i sweated out half a can of beer
with that idea... oh wait, i did, here's the ball,
and i have a number of eye-witnesses...
dribbling is like jogging for those who can't give up
drinking and smoking - i know i'm not a ronaldo,
but this is a tight pavement, and not a green pitch
illuminated by floodlights and t.v. cameras,
i'm simply exercising... n'ah, this will never catch on,
it's too english, not enough american spandex in it
or kite surfing or VEGANS FOR
SAVING THE POTATO PLANET -
ah, oh well: at least i have my dog my leash on it and chores;
well no, i don't, i have two lazy pets and my lazy me.
Matthew James Apr 2016
Poem 1
A LESSON THAT I TAUGHT

I Teach!!
I taught...
Here's a lesson that I taught...
I had this lesson. It were ace in my mind!
The planning was tight, concise, well timed

Going into the room - my stage
Put on the teacher face, the act
(My phone is buzzing but I don't react)

Lights, camera, action! You're on!

"Hi guys! Come in, unpack your things!"
But I'm just thinking about why it rings

"Hi guys! Come in, take off your coats!"
For some reason now I'm thinking about goats

(Why ******* goats?
Why now?!)
I thought
(I need to teach a lesson on...
Oh crap! The whiteboards not working!) "****!!"

Right, try again...

"Excuse me Chelsea, that skirts too tight,
And too short and you aren't wearing tights.
Go down to student point and get yourself a note"

And now I'll get back to the lesson that I taught

"I ******' 'ATE SIR! HE'S ALWAYS TIGHT!!"

Class - "Totes! Hahahahaha!!!"

I think ... Look you little tots, all you're thinking about is **** ... and your tots and your shots and your tokes in her tote!
You think you're ******* clever but you're not!!

I say... "This is an amazing lesson that I've got!
Does anyone remember the last lesson that I taught?"

"No sir, we do not"
"You're boring sir"
"Are you gay sir?"

On a parallel universe, where I don't care about my career and my home and my children...

I think in my head for a bit, then I say...

"Look you little spaz, you think I'm tight?!? I've been sleeping in a mates spare room at night
because me and the mother of my kids had a fight
and everything in my life is turning *****
Because all I do is stay up all night to plan a ******* lesson for a bunch of little scrotes! Who can't even take off their coats, And sit and ******* listen to the lesson that I taught! I'm marking so much that my body's not taut and my mind spins round and round in thought (a word which you spell ******* tawt!)
Progress and differentiation!
The future of your education!
And I just hope that in some way, I might actually TEACH you something today!
But all you think about is **** and tats and texts and sexts and COD and Christiano Ronaldo and Justin '*******' Beiber AND YOU CALL ME GAY?!?
You spell thought ... T.A.W.T!! You're 18 for gods sake!!
How you gonna make a living eh?!
Totesport?!

A couple of them titter

And the rest go silent...

And I think I've won!

'Til one of them says "sir... I'm gonna get you done!"

"And you're gay"

"And you're a **** teacher"

The end
First poem I ever wrote. 14/3/2016
¿Sabes tú?
Mi vida es como un canto que nadie ha de cantar,
pues tuvo las violentas inquietudes del mar
y el espejismo de la droga hindú...

Yo anduve errante, soñador proscrito,
un año, o veinte, o quizás cien,
y medí las pirámides de Egipto
y las murallas de Jerusalén.

Yo tuve más tesoros que los Zares,
y un diamante mayor que el Gran Mogol,
y en cada uno de los siete mares
me vio náufrago el sol.

Yo visité con tembloroso paso,
como quien rinde un fúnebre tributo,
la húmeda celda de Torcuato Tasso
y el oscuro taller de Benvenuto.

Yo busqué en los jardines de Versalles
la huella leve de María Antonieta,
y lloré por Ronaldo en Roncesvalles
y por Ícaro en Creta.

Y como fin de una aventura rara,
enloquecido por un astro hostil,
fui jeque de un aduar en el Sahara
y negrero en la Costa de Marfil.

Aún guardo en el cristal de una redoma,
para unir mis creencias y mis dudas,
un pelo de la barba de Mahoma
y una hoja del árbol donde se ahorcara Judas.

Tuve un corcel de resonante casco
que florecía en la llanura seca,
y mendigué en las calles de Damasco,
y oré en una mezquita de La Meca.

Y mucho más, que huyó de mi memoria
y que quizás no ha de volver jamás:
días de amor y odio, de fracaso y de gloria;
y mucho más... y mucho más...

¿Sabes tú? Quizás nada ha sido cierto.
Acaso únicamente lo soñé...
-o sé bien si dormido o despierto;
no sé...-

Quizás la vida que he vivido ha sido
tan abrumadoramente ******,
que inventé los recuerdos por no morir de olvido,
y nunca vi de cerca el mar.

Pero si sé que he naufragado en una
lágrima de mujer:
fue un naufragio romántico, a la luz de la luna,
y me quedé en el fondo, sin querer.
leechyna Sep 2020
'''Year is 2096
Am watching the sunset with grandkids 🌇
I lie to them I was one of the freedom fighter; maumau😂😂
General chyna to be precise
Tell them about Messi and Ronaldo
They won't believe me but would show them our picture
I kissing their grandma
And just like that I would kiss them goodbye'''
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
spier*dalaj!
                                                 ha ha!
stonoga w pończochach
czy mój palec dribble dribble
i pseudo Ronaldo Caesar kiwa,
lazy wachaniem, rękopisem kćuka?
mara jakiegoś życia w rąb
epitaph; urodzony i zgon roku
dnia, mesiącem, pa pa (gest ręką,
szyfrem: do wi dze nia).
Babatunde Raimi Feb 2020
Exercise like Billy Blanks
Then punch it like Anthony Joshua
Meander like Lionel Messi
Drive it like Chrisriano Ronaldo
Play around like Neymar da Silver Santos
Swim a d swim like Michael Phelps
Whatever you do?
Never loose your mojo like Zlatan Ibrahimovic
Eyes on the ball like Serena Williams
Hit it hard like Rafael Nadal
Or do you prefer Tiger woods?
Until you hear her sing like Beyonce Giselle Knowles
Twerk like Cardi B
Don't stop cruising like Michael Shumacher
Except you are in a hurry to meet your ancestors
No need for aphrodisiacs
When you have natural smoothies
Above is how to keep her
Repeat these lines over again
And she'll love you forever
Jack May Sep 2020
It was in my mother’s father’s final days when Beckham curled it in against Greece
It should have been wrapped up months or at least minutes prior
But for the English
Football is a beautiful form of torture
Some relief in the dark and painful last of his days
It may sound dramatic from the outside
But from the inside
When you’re in on the secret
Football has always been the beautiful game for a reason
And fate was sealed that day

The infamous Zidane headbutt
It came at a time when I was realising people aren’t perfect and heroes are human
For me, not a disgrace, but a lesson
The world’s greatest are also flawed

Lampard 2010 World Cup
It was over the line
I know it
You know it
But the greatest journeys all have their ups and downs
Their misfortunes and their injustices
Our time is nigh
It’s coming home

The psychopathic work ethic of Ronaldo
The glue on the boots of Messi
The precision of the Pirlo pass
The ‘Why always me?’
The ‘You’ll never walk alone’
The wins, the losses
The joy, the heartbreak
The frustration of supporting a yo-yo that never goes all the way up
An ode to my forever unmentioned Plymouth Argyle
The screamers, the blunders
From Thierry to Titus Bramble
Alonso to Okocha
The once-club-record-signing whose name now evades you
The heroes, the villains
The naive dream that maybe one day you’ll make it
And the hope that maybe this will be our year
The diving, the referees, the relegations, the failure
The 4-0 thrashings by the rivals, the penalties and quarter finals

I don’t know why I do it to myself
But I know that I wouldn’t have it any other way
This is the beautiful game
This is football
Charles Oct 2019
There are times I like to be on my own
Not that I'm some introvert
Not that I'm a sadist
But there is a Fulfillment in the silence
The ideas flow, endless

I go deep into myself
And i crawl into my mind which has a very small door but a large world
There i am a god
There i create the animals, the memories, the happenings
In there no bad times
No heart breaks
Just love, happiness, paradise
Well why not its my world, its my book
There every movie, every song, every story is more than just words, they are life.

There I ignite the stars and connect their sparks
I own cars, bars.
I could make that lady that broke my heart mine
I could make a journey to heaven with no plane in time
I could be tell the sun to go into its shell
If that is the wish of my girl
I could tell the waters to stand
I could make the ground to land

There i could be whoever i want to be
I could sing like Rihana and rap like jay z
I could own Danerys and take Drogo with me
I could be the combination of Ronaldo and Messi
I could see whatever i want to see
I could be with those i deeply love
I could bring down heaven from above
paradise would be the name of the globe


So you see why i love to be on my own
In my world
A world of no blood
A world where i am god
But i know this world is temporary so i crawl back into earth to face reality
A place where i don't long to be
And when I'm bitter i crawl back into my world

You can make red blue
The old, new
The hot, cool
You should try it too


For he who controls the mind controls himself
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2022
title: cow borrow...
body: oranges smile.

https://www.unicode.org/L2/L2018/18323-open-four.pdfv(freeze: 444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444)

weak spot: Lao Che: Powstanie Warszawskie: the Warsaw Uprising... i tend to cry... when my heart constrict into being sized akin to a pebble... then: ah... release! tears! there: stands! a mountain! a monument of me!

i couldn't possibly give either the Hindus or the Arabs
credit for our modern numbers...
given the following rubric:

ένας: 1 - one - I - iota
δύο: 2 - two - Z - zeta
τρία: 3 - three - E - eta
τέσσερα: 4 - four - μ - mu... of h
πέντε: 5 - five - S - esse
έξι: 6 - six - b - ba-toom
επτά: 7 - seven - Γ - gamma
οκτώ: 8 - eight - B - beta
εννέα: 9 - nine - P - or rho
μηδέν: 0 - zero - O - omicron

the numbers were already here...
             "hidden" or rather... the Romans knew arithmetic
in the following fashion:

XI + IX = **
                
                  so... it was nothing new...
to have ascribed something numerical to what was
otherwise a letter -
a sound...                   hmm...

what of the Japanese?
               六 - or... ロク: which is six...

there's a reason why i won't budge on this matter...
i had one Egyptian fwend "friend" once:
what a disappointment he was...
like with most Muslim acquaintances:
the feeling of conversation soon turns into
a feeling of conversion...

               such nagging *******: always looking
for proselytes: who'd they'd treat as inferiors...
not even as Janissaries or Mamluks...
just... eh... some odd convert...

              obviously i didn't, convert...
but i'm looking into a second Islamic schism...
oh no... the Persians wouldn't bow to an invading
horde of Arabs: Muhammad was not a man
of his word... that chapter has been covered...

i'm looking for a second schism toward...
the Turks... spearheading it... with Hey-Zeus...
Isa... being... well...
        Ba'al Yatoosh... lord of mosquitos...
another day another reiteration of my conviction:
since i won't be siding with the Gnostics
when the proper **** hits the fan: proper(ly)...
i'm bailing out... on this whole history...
the Pontius Pilate stance...

            it's also called the waiting game...
my neighbour's son's wife is having a baby...
the waters broke some... oh... 48 hour ago...
but the national health service didn't intervene...
C-section phobia... ****'s sake!
get that tadpole out! imagine having a child
stuck in you for almost two days...
the waters have broken...
  where's the necessary lubricant for her to push
the baby out? why can't all births be done
via a C-section? eh?! costs too much?
what's so good with a natural birth...
by comparison to other mammals...
  we're pseudo-mammals...
you watch a birth of a gazelle... it just drops out
(the mare) like a diarrhea sludge of a serpent...
plop: and it's out...
******* "dyslexic" in its ability to stand up...
but hey presto!
                      it's blinking: so it's receptive...
but my neighbour's away... i was giving the duty
of looking after Bella... this white beau of
a heterochromia: so a Dawid Bovie type...
rebel rebel... doesn't know whether she's a meow
or a woof!
           i love my neighbour to bits...
but i walk in... first things first... my library shelf
is a mess... by my standards of cleanliness...
i walk into her house: shoom! i get the whiff!
i think i just walked into: a museum dedicated
to Ed Gein...
      i'm not even joking...
  i start looking for the cat... change the water...
add some extra dry-pebbles of food to her dish...
change the stale, dried out sachet
with two options: on the menu... some parody beef
and some parody salmon in: probably not so
parody jelly... pig brain remains gelatin...
which is good... i like being reminded...
whenever i think my life's ****** up...
someone else's is... more...
                hence the topic of jealousy disappears...
thank **** for this little...
i'll take these shoes, these socks...
   and... yes, thank you: ******* into the forest
come sunset...

because why is it, in Latin... that... letters do not
have names, akin to the Greek
"fashion" of naming A: alpha... and B: beta...
hell... I is not aye: a yes, affirmative but:
iota...

i might be drinking... i might be drunk...
but i still cycle like a madman through
the traffic... next time i give a ****...
i'll give a **** when a teenage girl breaks her shins:
folds her knees and says: i love you...
blue moon... i.e. that's never going to happen...

it has happened before: Nietzsche in the zenith
of his furore pretended to be a ******...
Polacks are the Frenchmen of the Slav...
yeah: #metoo... i sometimes forget i'm a ******...
i'm more prone to suggest myself as:
HERR SWAB! ******* schwabian!...
not the tourist elder Saxon that became the islander
Englishman... something more focused...
but i get it... i too get "confused" from time...
time... time... space...

but you can't really measure language... sounds...
not really... sure...
you can... elongate an omicron into an omega:
*** via through to pool...
that's an omicron to an omega transfer:
and... no diacritical markers were or are to be used...

as a microcosm of the totality of man...
as: but one... i.e. 0.1...
this implant in me: of the retrospective of man...
history... that... however written...
just... erases itself: because... nature...
doesn't allow for a celebrity horse...
or whatever... replica after replica...
no distinction: the authority comes from:
you will not keep an Alexander the Great for...
what nature allows... scheme... little man...
nature will soon yawn and settle the matters
into creating the replica of the vast void
above it...  the game is to replicate...
      
only now i walked around a supermarket...
whiskey: check... pepsi... check...
turkey steaks for the cats: check...
wow... such... such unremarkable people...
have passed through the membrane of time...
2 children, 3 children... most of which look:
underfed...
   oh so, well... moi..
             i tried to give a ****: once upon a time...
now? well... if i'm not getting any satisfaction...
what? marry a ******* gargoyle in the making?
she drops out two plump-plum-pig-cheeks
of babies and then what?! watch television with her
till we grow old and tired?!
oh **** no!
        make me a warm bath: i'll do the vein slitting
myself... at least when i'm alone
life remains bearable... interesting:
i get to surprise myself...
      sure... sometimes i **** prostitutes...
like a good Teutonic knight might...
                   but most the time...
spare me the ******* details... there are no details...
i stroke my beard pretending to be playing
a violin... it's not going to happen:
i have a blank canvas for company...
that's my epitome... and... probably a ******* epitaph...

but i will not, give, credit... to the Arabs... or the Hindus...
for... giving European numbers...
****'s sake! XI: 11: elven eleven!
people on this continent used to substitute letters
for: abstractions akin to: the necessity of numbers
to measure... space within space...
space counter to time...
  time and... whatever...
Meister Ronaldo Retardo: no... it's not going
to happen...
             i'm not going to allow these copper-necks
to have some up-right: we evolved prior to you:
sure... now you spend a winter in ******* Finland...
******* copper-necks...
can't call them "*******"... can't call them albinos...
those supposedly tanned people of the desert...
my my... 2000 years... you ever wonder...
why the Hebrews became so... ******* pale?!
oh sure sure... we inherited numbers...
but... with the letters we wrote...
we already had the numbers!

   let's have some... pseudo... insert burp:
something akin to the Copernican revolution
implosion...
                     ౺

      μ                           h

                   4: look left...

huh? because it can't possibly be
the 5th disengaging with the existence
of Poland...
like that... ha ha... joke... from 19th century
France...
Ubo Roi... by Alfred Jarry...
  ha ha! it's really funny now...
oh, don't mind me minding the English:
they are island dwelling folk...
half fixated on being Saxons: half fixated
on being Welsh: Celtic...
           never mind them... how England stated:
war against **** Germany!
but... but... last time i heard...
Polacks waged war on these isles...
in the spitfires...
  but what Englishman ever fought their
claims on the lands of Poland?
             mind you... it took **** Germany
combined with the effort of Soviet Russia
to conquer Poland... than it took for...
**** Germany to... conquer... France...
seriously?! France? the birthplace of Napoleon...
France wasn't conquered during the second world war:
France simply spread its legs...
it: capitulated...
the Palestinians have a term for throwing
children against grenades...
the same... the French: just throw easy *****
against anything that wriggles!

because it's funny now... the joke had to ferment...
all the way back from the 19th century...
i needed to feed my neighbour's cat...
walk into a... a... a... a ******* Ed Gein museum...
seriously... i spent the rest of the afternoon
pretending to be drunk... sitting it the garden
admiring the moon...
getting drunk on: how i ordered my household...
i'm drunk... on how... erratic... guillotine... prone...
some people are... sort of like:
   vlad: land-zurückgefordert!
but the Alfred Jarry joke is joke, right: proper...
did it age? really?
oh: the Polacks are king King John of England:
lackland hipsters...
the lesser Hebrews...
        now... oh now...
   hmm... France... post-colonialism...
the "history": how's that working with you?
if it's necessary: tear Ukraine into two!
i don't care... i'll be more than welcoming this:
Russophile attititude!
       it was a good joke... in the 19th century...
but... given France... and the 21st century...
post-colonial realities...
eh... i smirk...i'm trying ol find someone
under 5ft4... who's... greedy with canons!
Elba?! nice... pretty little island...
want to repeat history?!
          Alfred Jarry: ha ha!
who runs Paris, these days?
oh, wait... ******'s dead...
              i want to live in Tel Aviv....
or... like a lot of the Beatnik poets...
in... hubris...via: Tangiers...
                         funny joke... the French, though...
huddling... into shadows...
there's nothing to laugh about at...
is, there?
            
bewildering:
we have names for numbers...
but we don't have names for letters...
undifferentiated:
nouns conrta consonants...
1 is indivisible...
2 is...
   well... 1 is divisible by 0:
ergo 0.1...
            moons and monkeys and money...

time to pretend to have hair
and comb it...
such that is history that is France:
that is post-colonialism...
and... whatever the hell is allows...
let it... 100 years later... some variation of
a Reconquista?!
             great joke... the Polacks having
no land...
           like: you have a history or just:
the ******* architecture?
    it's not nice... seeing you being *****...
Charlemagne is... twisting... turning
in his grave... shouting via death:
death to all that live!
              ROT... and by now: rot is best.

no! nein! nie! niet!
numbers didn't arrive from India... via the Arabs!
we already had the numbers!
within the confines of letters!
*******... take your pride back to the camel jockeys
you were originally bound to be:
******* sand people!
  i can't fall asleep lovely bound to the temp.
of the equator... check me... come...
hmm... the northern bound... height...
come... the darkness and the silence...
and the coldness of Siberia! *******: Baghdadi:
ummah: chasm of wants... *******...

******* luxury of temp.: ******* inbreds:
me too... i'd love to **** my cousins!
i'd love to be a cousin ******.
Babatunde Raimi Mar 2020
There is no fixture yet
Because I am afraid of loosing  
Even if I applied VAR
It is still susceptible to error
So I'll remain on the bench

Say goodbye to local leagues
We are made for the championship
No time for trials
Because no time to check time
If you know, you know

I've got to position properly
Like the moon to the sun
If I want to enjoy the season
When it finally kicks off
Before transfer window opens

Over time I have issued cards
Fourteen red cards and two yellows
I am done, like done
No loan deals, outright  purchase desired
Terms and conditions apply

Even when I succumbed to pre-season
It almost resulted to penalties
I'm afraid of loosing out completely
Especially as my biological clock ticks
If you know you know

To all you monitoring spirits
With your evil analysis and assumptions
Tell me; who can cover the glory of the sun?
Analysts forming  deputy Jesus
That day, I'll see you in the stands
For it will surely come to pass

I refuse to be relegated
I might not have the skills of Messi
The strenght of Ronaldo
The dexterity of Dijk
Or the grace of Pele
But my time will come

I might be on the bench now
Studying, waiting and learning
But that's how stars are made
Until they are called to action
Backed by the grace of the Backer

And when all is done
Blazing through trials and  temptations
With joy and gladness in our heart
Together we shall chorus
And it's a gooooooal!!!
Hang on! You are very close!
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
The Odd Sock.

At last the phenomenon can
be explained, scientifically.

For example, only 1% of the
population are ambidextrous.

Therefore, if socks, like shoes
had a definite left and right,

the incidence of errant socks
would be a virtual unknown.

Why?

If we always wore socks on
the correct feet as we do shoes,

the wear factor would be
of a noticeable similarity.

Interchanging socks from left
to right is what causes the problem.

To put this theory into perspective,
one needs to look at gloves.

The odd glove is not near as common as
the odd sock, because of a left and right.

Therefore, 99% of the worlds population
are prone to getting socked.

Zidane and Cristiano Ronaldo, both Pede-
Dexterous, never lost a sock in their lives.
Babatunde Raimi Jun 2020
You love heading!
Head it like Ronaldo
Clean it like Messi
Swim in like Phleps

Chow it like Yokozuna
Wag your tongue like Pinky
We'll all be here
Behold, your time cometh

Genital warts, ****** and chlamydia loading
You can **** like Pussycat
Cancer of the lungs loading
Afterall, Doctors must "wak"

After ******* genital fluids
Plus discharge and faeces
You still lift your "Holy Voice"
To the throne of Grace
My generation, worse than Soddom

You can get to her ******
Without heading her down below
And spitting won't save you
My advise, cultivate righteously
You have been advised...
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!
Ryan O'Leary Jan 2019
He scored, got the dough,
why pay tax, relax, pax,
to all means of good will.

We are all sinners, avoidance
has a common denominator,
it is called a ratio, given the
opportunity all our debts would
be equal in the eyes of God.

Dominus Vobiscum, Patrius
et Filius Sanctus, Kyrie Elision
Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro,
Elision, AhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhMen!
Dada Olowo Eyo Oct 2018
Menopause.
*******.
Tyson. Weinstein.
Cosby. Ronaldo.
leechyna Nov 2020
Close the shears
the ears
Everything you fear
Or hear
Coz tomorrow i will be with you
Watching dyaballa score one or two
Deciding Ronaldo or who??
I will be drunk
But hope you will be back
Ryan O'Leary Mar 2020
Despite all the news
all the lockdowns,
all the scare talk, I
am still in total denial.

I don't know anyone
that's been diagnosed
or died, I don't know
anyone who knows
anyone who has been
diagnosed or died
and the people who
are being used by the
Covid marketting agency
such as Tom Hanks,
Ronaldo, Wife of Canada's
president etc all manage to
survive. So, one has to ask

    Is It True Though?

Ps

All a scam
leechyna Sep 2023
Am home
Ts 2002
Kibaki just got elected
Few cry out of not getting moi milk anymore
Here am
7 year old kid

I only wanted my belly full
A ronaldo haircut
And a praise from my crush
philosophy: the slow-burn of experience... in one's last recollection: existentialism: out of every instance: an insistence: a preservation of the Hellenic PRO VIVO and not this morphed Roman: PRE VITRO: by sand: from dune to dune: by sea of dryness to the sea of: insurgent hills: boulders of salt: salt like chalk a rock given: enough time... i wonder why i find myself to seclusive and adamant only: by scorn and tear and moan of woman and the tenderness of a cat's lair... o harp and grunt and gurgle around the edges: torture my past last seen: of me, as me: and someone please have my I to switch me on and off on off on off i have sleep on my mind but dreams walking about and around them i place my campfire: rest: assist... auxiliary
that's:
             since the spelling mistakes: redone like a make-up video
with woman:            XI
                                 L
                                LI
                            ­          and that's a-u-X
                                      u-x-I
               ­                     10
                                       1
                                     1 1
                                    50
                        ­                                       51...

that's something special: like the devil's dozen:
matthew, luke, judas, simon peter,
nathaniel,
            mateusz konrad
mateusz konrad
                timothy uzeer
       john
                           Barthamalomew
Bart...
       Barthamoylew: loo! loo! boo! boo!

Q'y'i'y'e

                       and Kye:       Qatohha:
Kevin: *******:
must... sneeze: mustard?! Knaves! Chives!
Chimneys! Open Fields of Poppycock!

WWI: bis (2-chloroethyl) sulfide
in the fields: mustard a **** killer gas:

WWII: diatomaceous earth
             hydrogen cyanide...
Zyklon B: U-boats: Beethoven:
               Panzer: brigadier: BRZĘCZYSZCZYKIEWICZ
                                             ­   ж     ч  ы      Щ ы             ч
sgn: ЦAP


the game of football evolved:
not before my eyes
but when you're sitting watching
snippets of the Sandman
with your mother
with the skull of three mouths
and that's the Holy "the Corinthian"
Spirit to me:
Christianity can be scary
like all the Turkic furor in
Leipzig:
               with the Austrian scorer
and then the game
was on for the last 20min:
  
                 a proper football match:
Edie i love you
but i also love my father
and i also love my mother
and i know Reyla is an oprhan
but i also write
and i know it doesn't give me money
but it gives those around
me the chance to see a spectacle
of one: enamored by life
and finding pleasure in thinking
and abstracting emotions: rather than
using or feeding off of them...
emotions have pronouns
and sometimes they venture
into our minds
without brains like schizoid ghosts
of freezing winds...

Austria vs Turkey:

   not like Portugal vs Slovakia:
a beautiful match

but 0 - 0
probably the most tactical
of matches
with Prima Madonna of Ronaldo
i could comment
on the sport commentary on t.v.
i.e. perhaps Bruno Fernandez will
have a chance to get a kick
at a free-kick?

   point being: football evolved:
from a
4-4-2 or a 4-3-3
or a 5-3-2
               getting the ratios looser:

M. Gregoritsch: sign of the cross
because he was playing against a Muslim:
ahem: Turks are not Arabs
are secular bandits too

modern football formation:
two strikers is so weird: apparently:
as told by tacticians
so much so that even women
got involved and started playing
weird: 144 caps...
10 years: how many officiated games
are these women having
when men are proudest having
capped 100 international games...

like wow...

       3-2-4-1
       3-4-2-1
    
and now my own:

   2-2-3-3
                 2-4-2-1-1

  but there are some weird ones:
point being:
in the old days
you had games
where

4-4-2 clashed with a 2-4-4
game of football was chiral:
and no chiral too:

you did have 4-4-2 vs 3-3-4
and that was given to us "fans"
who played football on t.v.
and still do...
because the game can evolve
and now you have
these weird formations:

new: Portugal:
old: Slovakia:
almost the Cold War reignited...

then Turkey and Austria:
point being there's a siege
at the goal:
that never used to happen:
set-pieces and sieges of "confused"
formation no longer being so rigid
not fuseball fusball fastball:
not snooker or cripples...

obviously tomorrow
i will have to get my father an AC/DC
t-shirt and think about
an ever expanding family
i missed father's day with a present
but socks
and whiskey and sunglasses:

i just remembered that i've been
scribbling for well over a decade
and i have a trip to Hawaii to thank
me for seeking out the vampire
darkest ego and triad
but football has changed
and it's in the formation
and how games are also analysed
and should be noted of:
should their functioning in a recurrent
investment of interest fade:
so becoming deductive de facto: defunct:

blood sports of the Coliseum
football matches and concerts
of the Stadiums...
little Greece in Soho and the West End...
there's always a little Greece
and a little China
wherever Rome still remains: a whiff
of sewage and fresh air
and oranges and bay leaves...
well: no wonder Rome didn't invade
the Slavic peoples
while invaded what is the British Isles
a Germanic and Celtic and Wend
to Pict: conglomeration an Alice in Wunderbra...

the game has changed:
capacity of Madison Sq Garden: 18,000...
if i won't be able to stop
and one but one of my poems
gravitates to the capacity of Wembley:

just to love sport and be sober about
it: i can't imagine
being savage at a sporting event
having to invest in *******
like this is war
war of what? disparaging colors
of shirts?
flags: being burned?

            i have to be sober and critical
and fair and judgemental
whenever watching a sporting event
it's not a managerial investment
to the alternative to playing golf and
making deals and friends and profits...

to appreciate sport is to escape
the hellhole of bedroom antics
of video gaming:
yes: unlike those turtles of the toilet
literature 15min constipation over Proust:
but live sports is what gets you
away from video gaming...
you get to be a play-along judge:
critique: honing in on the Ethic:
the laughter at the devil with:

well i do know right from wrong!
you just worded it differently!
i spoke with the fox:
and he told me: double-sly
against you: being a mammal and all
and probably one of your lesser cousins:
i do know right from wrong:
but you said:
and you will have knowledge
of the difference between good and evil!

simple! math! grammar!
i do know right from wrong!
but if you serpent old peacock:
survived the dinosaurs: ha ha:
crocodile my Mammon and Moloch
with Beelzebub a bird beak pecking...
since: old serpents became
      hmm...

           confused woodland pigeons:
sometimes i see a confused male
unable to call to tell apart
the sexes
with the males less convinced about
flying away to safety:
no greater spectacle than the abandonment
of a pregnant woman...

it should be Shakespearean
but then those old social norms
would have had
two families waging wars against
each other...

            now so lazily: clamoring
to mean anything at all:
best confronted by the friendship of dogs
and it's just as sad to write
anything about these times: at all.

— The End —