"roundup" poems
GMO foods punch holes in cells
permeate the gut, creating gaps in guts
Leading to food floating in bloodstreams, rivers of pain
Food allergies, ulcers, IBS .... these are the milder troubles
I won't speak of IBD, Cancer and Crohns disease
Babies born now allergic to foods, children allergic more than ever
They said, though the BT injected crops killed bugs, bursting their bellies
that they were still safe for humans....They were wrong!
Now these GMO crops are causing a myriad of gastro problems in people!
Food crops are now Roundup ready in the
Killing Fields.
Videos to watch:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FS72J9bDvPM&feature;=relmfu
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6D3TUk-XX1o&feature;=relmfu
TOP FOODS TO AVOID (unless labeled organic)
Corn
Soy
Potatoes
Canola, Cottonseed Oils
Sugar, fructose, corn syrup
Dairy - except organic
Tomatoes - except organic
Papaya/Hawaiian
Helpful links:
www.naturalnews.com/035734_GMOs_foods_dangers.html
http://truefoodnow.org/
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
I moved a few years ago
To the upper state of Vermont
Although the place is beautiful
At times it can be one great big yawn
That's when we put our heads together
Me and my best friend Shawn
And came up with the great idea
To start a Hippie Farm
Our noggins were a knocking
Not sure how this could be done
Do Hippies come from packs of seeds
Or like flowers, in a bunch
And can you start them off by grafting
Like they do on Apple Farms
Where you get rows and rows of Hippies
From just a single one
That's when Shawn remembered this mail order magazine
That we took out and took a look inside
It came with an assortment of Hippies
From Raw to Roasted to Highly Deep Fried
So we sat and weighed all of our options
And ordered a bushel of Hippies alive
Then we set out cultivating the fields
Till the day our Hippies arrived
The package arrived a few days later
In an old beat up VW Bus
With psychedelic smoke pouring from the windows
Pretty sure they all came buzzed
Of course Hippies don't come with instructions
Only bell bottom jeans and old Jefferson Airplane tapes
Can't tell you how many Hippies we went through
Before we learned from our mistakes
Like don't plant a Hippie face first in the dirt
They need a bit of air to breath
And they don't like to be over watered
Just dust them off when you feel the need
Now that the farm is up and running
We seem to have come into our own
We've even come up with a way of branding
Some of the Hippies that we've grown
We started selling them in flavors
Like Ben and Jerry's down the street
From our Abbie Hoffman Radical Cherry
To our Hendrix Hazy Purple Berry Treat
But it's our Groovy Rainbow Roundup Hippie
Whose sales have never let us down
In fact I'd put that Hippie up against
Anybody else's Hippie in town
I've never been much of one to brag
But we're known on the East coast, up and down
We've had people as far away as Florida
Come and buy our Hippies by the pound
So next time your up in Vermont
Stop in and take a tour and watch us grow
Don't forget to stop by our gift shop
And purchase your very own Hippie to take home
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
We are a team, That have a dream…
We don’t stop, no not even when we drop.
other teams are lame , cause we got game.
Sprint, pass, shoot, dribble, assist, defense
Thats our life as we thrive. This is our house
And the game is our spouse.
We grieve every loss, cause we hate losing
more than we love winning. But the next game
We go up down, down up back at it with the roundup
We get hungry to get revenge, on the team that
Can’t avenge but we don’t rest til we’re the best.
We’ll be on top one day and they’ll pop.
We steal like thief’s in the night,
We wont lose without a fight,
We have the pace, and we keep up with the race.
There are setbacks, slumps, bumps,
But that only makes us stronger
And it makes us last longer.
We fall as one , rise as one,
That’s what makes us family
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.
I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
The one who made me loves me,
He loves me unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that, he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****
Invasive that shows up in the cracks,
Of your frequent well-beaten paths of hatred.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by my God who loves me.
Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
Them that failed to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness, I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
Like a flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness, that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.
Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will this enslaved and captive soul fly free?
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
I should’ve had a hedonistic summer, a roundup of long, sun-kissed days and even longer, undulant, kissing nights.
There are no riviera pics this year - set against the blow-out backdrop of Saint Tropez or Heraclee - with their sunlit-deliriums, cracked plaster beach bars, aromatic trailing Jasmine, lavender, umbrella pines and baking Socca.
No nights of dense, optimistic nihilism on neon-painted open-air dancefloors, or gritty, underground raves, in dark, brick-clad, light-strobed basements.
And no timeless, sun-drenched, beachside early mornings, with their moments of stillness, beauty and reprieve.
Summer feels can’t be vicarious - you have to get out there and get ***** hmm, sandy anyway. Are there ethical implications to basking under a climate-crisis sun? Maybe, but if so, do we care?
Let’s wax poetic..
Summertime often sees us jetting off to different places.
*If I could travel anywhere
let it be outer-space
not floating in darkness,
for years and years
let’s find a better way.
I’ve traveled to the moon
- on a little friction -
that isn’t even science fiction.
I’ve traveled simply by turning pages.
It didn’t take fuel and it didn’t take ages.
That was travel at the speed of thought,
but better yet, let’s travel at the speed of sight
- that’s faster than light.*
.
.
Songs for this:
Relationships by HAIM
Summer Sun by Koop
Summer Girl (Bonus Track) by HAIM
Aug 25, 2025
Aug 25, 2025 at 10:57 AM UTC
hapax legomenon “Texas Women”
**(hapax legomenon: a term of which only one instance of use is ever recorded)
(Texas Women: a term of which only one instance of use is ever recorded)**
for
ꏳJ LꂦVꏂ & Cne’
once again, they sweet sweep me off my feet,
carry me to the Court of Finger Wagging,
to be accused of hating and/or loving Texas Women
simultaneously, diffidently, consequentially, unclearly differentially
this is no flower picking exercise, shaking of the head,
“he loves me, he loves me not,” rinse and repeat,
a northern trick to confuse the plano truth,
warns the Judicial Triumvirate
your Honors, I swears,
never wrote those conjunctive words,
Texas, Women,
never ever, until just now,
a genuine hapax legomenon
akin to taking god’s name in vain,
if one dare ever utter these words, and
blows the opportunity,
well, shotgun, if you know what I mean,
one gets only
one chance
so cut me quick to the chase’s conclusion
let’s go to my defense single & singularly:
true, of women I have written, and
“too much,”
is a mere theortical constriction
I love to love women,
and a 57 variety pak is a-ok by me
an inordinate number of poems may have referenced
females hailing from a certain great state,
but never together, side by side, have I ever employed
that phrase, for my imaginations
are more than sufficient
have loved women from many places, too many faces,
some beyond measure, now a forever,
a hoarded memoir unpublishable treasure,
some, it’s true, possessed jeans and a cowboy hat,
and dangerous boots, which one admired from a
goodly distance
they brook no con, tilting their heads quizzically,
there is no maybe with women from this place,
maybe you love us, maybe not, but either way,
there ain’t no maybe in our emotional lexicology!
ok.
the only woman I ever hated is dead and buried,
and yes, I shot her dead for being ornery cactus mean,
so by this roundabout roundup summation,
you may put your head on pillow tonight,
smiling confident thinking that your hapax legomenon,
is deep in the heart of a grown boy hailing from nyc,
still a crazy straight shooter
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.
I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
I am loved by the one who made me,
Loved unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****
Invasive, that shows up in the cracks,
Of your well beaten paths.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by God who loves me.
Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
For failing to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
In its flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.
Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will the enslaved and captive soul fly free,
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.
I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
I am loved by the one who made me,
Loved unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****
Invasive, that shows up in the cracks,
Of your well beaten paths.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by God who loves me.
Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
For failing to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
Like a flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.
Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will the enslaved and captive soul fly free,
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.
I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
The one who made me loves me,
He loves me unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that, he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****
Invasive that shows up in the cracks,
Of the well-beaten paths of hatred, you frequent.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by my God who loves me.
Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
Them that failed to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness, I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
Like a flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness, that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.
Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will this enslaved and captive soul fly free?
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
I know this girl from Texas
Who rustles up smiles for free
Feels like home on the range
With lasso in hand
Pretty as you please
Warm and comfortable as a campfire
Wild as a coyotes howl
God was right in his choice
Giving her an angels voice
Mixed in with a Southern draw
There's a mischievousness to her roundup
Like that of a rouge rodeo
Playing life's full hand
From sunrise to sunset
This girl from Texas that I know
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
The papers are wet with ink.
Russia is losing it's war.
North Korea is swamped with the Covid.
Tucker is backpedaling his replacement theory.
Finland and Sweden are enrolling.
Armament shipments are making a difference.
The Pope is apologizing.
That needs repeating: The Pope is apologizing.
(But why stop with the Aboriginals. Consider the Jews and Irish).
Fossil fuels are on the decline.
(plastic microchips are in our fat)
I can still buy Roundup.
Tobacco is banned in most public places here.
*** is not.
There are more drunks, and more behind bars, and in front.
We have safe injection sites.
I have robots asking me if I'm a robot.
There are more tv stations selections.
TV is not worth watching.
LPs are making a comeback.
Right to Life is Wrong for Many.
... and on... and on
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 8:59 AM UTC
I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.
I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
The one who made me loves me,
He loves me unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that, he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****
Invasive that shows up in the cracks,
Of the well-beaten paths of hatred, you frequent.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by my God who loves me.
Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
Them that failed to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness, I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
Like a flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness, that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.
Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will this enslaved and captive soul fly free?
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
I am the **** in your pristine garden,
Hidden between the Hollyhocks and Petunias,
Unwanted, I lift my head high,
Invasive, pervasive, you hate me.
You spray me with emotional roundup.
You wish I would simply go away
Crushed under your foot yesterday,
I wilted under your hate.
Resurrected by the creators love,
In joy I dance to his music,
That floats on the wind.
I am a rose of Sharon,
Planted firmly in the dirt.
Hated by you for just being,
The one who made me loves me,
He loves me unconditionally.
Planted in the wilderness,
Where he walks in search
Of those who seek his name.
If you see me know that, he is near.
Yet you hate me for being the ****
Invasive that shows up in the cracks,
Of your frequent well-beaten paths of hatred.
You stomp on me, mangled I lie still.
Revived by my God who loves me.
Someday he will do justice,
Someday he will show them mercy,
Them that failed to love his creation.
He animates me an earthen vessel,
With emotions triggered by fluid actions,
His loving smile, His tender touch,
In his love and goodness, I find joy.
The joy that effuses and rises to my brain,
Like a flooding sea of contentment,
Knowing that in him I have rest, I am secure and calm.
From your bitterness, that floods my feet,
He produces exquisite flowers and sweetest fruits.
Freely I give the love I receive,
As fragrance it wafts on the breeze,
Used to the smell of death and dying,
The Tanner smelling the fragrance of Love and Life faints.
They revive him with curing leather from the tannery.
Someday the tanner will appreciate fragrance,
Someday the night shift miner appreciate the light,
Someday those that cry for war will love peace,
Someday those that hate others learn to love.
Someday those that clang pots and pans in raucous cacophony,
Will find peace and quiet in his sweet rhapsodies and quiet melodies.
And the promoters of the ugliest of ugliness,
Love the beauty of God's creation.
Some day will this enslaved and captive soul fly free?
Forever free in the plains of Eternity.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS …
by Alice Connally Fisk
Majestic Monarch butterflies
spectacular in flight.
Vast population plunging.
Endangered now their plight
Monsanto’s toxic glyphosate
drives down the Monarchs number.
Giant wielders of clout driven by greed
count on the public to slumber.
Toxic **** killers **** butterfly beauties
as they drop from the blue one-by-one.
Roundup Ready concoctions of cold profiteers
cause our Monarch’s extinction be done…
So rally to end sweet butterfly’s fate
and bring back our Monarchs before it’s too late!
© 2015 Alice Connally Fisk
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS
"To make a wish come true, whisper it to a Butterfly. Upon these wings it will be taken to heaven and granted, for they are the messengers of the Great Spirit." ~ Native American Legend
Alice Connally Fisk, 11 Pineview Place, Melrose, NY 12121
77-year-old great-grandmother, lifelong poet
Kindred spirits will be given permission to add music to my lyrics and sing the song - [email protected]
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS …
by Alice Connally Fisk
Majestic Monarch butterflies
spectacular in flight.
Vast population plunging.
Endangered now their plight
Monsanto’s toxic glyphosate
drives down the Monarchs number.
Giant wielders of clout driven by greed
count on the public to slumber.
Toxic **** killers **** butterfly beauties
as they drop from the blue one-by-one.
Roundup Ready concoctions of cold profiteers
cause our Monarch’s extinction be done…
So rally to end sweet butterfly’s fate
and bring back our Monarchs before it’s too late!
© 2015 Alice Connally Fisk
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS
"To make a wish come true, whisper it to a Butterfly. Upon these wings it will be taken to heaven and granted, for they are the messengers of the Great Spirit." ~ Native American Legend
Alice Connally Fisk, 11 Pineview Place, Melrose, NY 12121
77-year-old great-grandmother, lifelong poet
Kindred spirits will be given permission to add music to my lyrics and sing the song - [email protected]
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
(alternately titled: ah me go march'n home on derange)
I'll play the devil's advocate, yet
prepare a stance with pitchfork
against misinterpreted faux attempt
to describe, how whet
d'ya column re: immigration officials coe vet
patrol, police, and poison tranquil casa blanca
where killer attack dogs fiendishly pin set
ting sharp fangs at jugular vein of respectful,
dutiful, and blissful (or at least
prior to being sniffed out) innocent
long time laborer on American soil now get
ting Das Boot to their unfamiliar Motherland
(despite living social
as law abiding righteous folks) fret
full, cuz unfairly punished, and
cruelly deported, dispirited, doomed
pained visage non verbally articulates
at un war rented deportation you bet!
with just a flick of the wrist
and alien hated, pigheaded,
and xenophobic ventriloquist
bring back the Alien and Sedition Acts
with a Trumpeting Latina, Hispanic,
and for good measure Mulatto twist,
where original writ (signed into law
by President John Adams in 1798),
historical footnote, aye cannot resist
spooking (like a ghost), those *** pill
born south of the border pooped and ******
in potties of this proud country, sans free and brave
now frightfully get flushed out
glad to feign dis guise
as one among select Geronimo cadre
we henchman lubricate
wheels of injustice myst
tuff hie hiding dark shadows
(along the edge of night)
thence paddy wagon comes
to screeching halt nabbing
an "illegal alien" name on hit list
code word "bag dad" (biggest quarry)
and score a win
for Barren Trump Tah Mahal Incorporated
impossible mission special ops sentry slithers as trained
fearless to shackle ******* ranked big hest
catch also including ***** prize,
as you correctly guessed.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
I AWOKE THIS MORNING WITH A VERSE IN MY MIND , AND THIS IS WHAT BECAME OF IT.
CHRIST – THE LAST ROUNDUP
He was on his last roundup; all his followers were brought in
About to be crucified to wipe away man s sins
They laid him on a cross with a thorn crown upon his head
Then he was nailed to it, and would be left until he was dead.
His cries would echo out from on top of that hill
Even the ROMAN guards had sensed a chill.
As the skies became as dark as night, and the son of GOD
Would lose this fight.
The thunder and lightning was heard and seen
As he let out his final scream.
The strongest of men would pass out from the pain
That he would endure as the ROMAN said:
“He truly was the son of GOD “!
And from this world, he would depart.
He was taken down from the cross and the nails
Taken out from his hands and feet and his
Body cleansed for his LORD to meet.
The rabbi‘s feared that his body may be removed
They put guards at his tomb.
On the third day when the early morning came
The stone had been moved away.
The roman guards in total awe could not believe what they saw.
How was the stone moved without sight or sound?
As the guards stood all around.
His reappearing to his followers would be the
Last miracle they would see!
The rest you know is history.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
Monsanto's roundup
never failed to **** the weeds
Monsanto's roundup
being known for deadly deeds
of late a court case
has hit the headlines
on behalf of a grounds man
who'd sprayed roundup
over rambling vines
he'd ingested the product's
residual mist
whereupon his body became
sick from its whist
other plaintiffs are gearing
up for a trial date
which will mean the suing
of Monsanto won't abate
hefty cash payout
can but damage the company's
profitable reputation
on lawyers presenting
evidence of the **** killer's
lethal saturation
and people in countries
off shore will obtain a chance
in litigation against the corporate entity's
expenditure advance
Monsanto's roundup
never failed to **** the weeds
Monsanto's roundup
being known for deadly deeds
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
dreamed that Current studio hired me
to design
a walkthrough of a ceiling-high,
openly grinning, paper mache pig's head:
the stable's entrance to tiny pens
packed with caged (paid)
human children
who passed out tiny buttons
enscribed with varying notes:
Please Help
They Did Not Ask Me
I Don't Want To Die
Can You Find My Mom?
I Can Do Math In My Head
Eat More Monkeys
Please Save Us
I Don't Want To Die
But it was an unpopular exhibit
The Oklahoman would not report it
The Gazette managed a story on page 9
Yet advertised Cane's Chicken on page 5
Rattlesnake Roundup is just a few weeks
away
And I have no clue how I could possibly
convey
The value of wild
life.
The degree of their
strife.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:52 PM UTC
You said I made the best mint parfaits,
was part of the cutest couple
wearing my urban cowboy duds
with the sous chef.
We'd immerse ourselves in the suds
at the ritual roundup,
stick amyl nitrate inhalers
up our noises & wait for the rush
to take hold.
I was never bold enough
to cross over the line,
enter never never land
& besides,
it really wasn't my style.
But I'm told
those were the days,
the days when we'd smile
wider than the universe.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
boardroom doors,
circuits open
grey matter hallways
where skeletons
made of lightning
fricassee my synapses
jackboots roundup
****** dahlias deflowered,
their wilted smiles
rainbow
the grass below
with shadows
cowardly dandelions
roar no more,
taken to see the wizard
on yellow brick roads
paved with the
carcasses of braver kin.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
I walk down the misty streets
Trying to find me something,
Sometimes I feel like a hit and miss
I go back home
I seat near the lit fireplace
It’s near midnight
It’s getting late
My bones are crumbling
The only sound I hear is the fire crackling.
It’s near 2 o’clock
I want to eat
However, my legs are weak and I cannot get up
Turn on the television
News roundup
The type of stuff I never pick up
“The crime was a setup”
Oh god, where has humanity ended up?
It’s near 3 o’clock
My patience is out of stock
Now that I started this…
I'm locked down
Trying to resist
Not everything can be resolved with fists
I could try to make myself a list
Nevertheless, there is a twist
I cannot coexist
With me.
It’s 4 o’clock
Should I get a drink?
There is some near the sink
I drag my sleepless body to the kitchen
Oh god this place stinks
Stinks of cheapness, shoddy
I could drink it all in a blink
I embody the alcoholic.
It’s 5 o’clock
I am neurotic,
Psychotic,
Idiotic...
I always hated this behaviour
Quite so hypnotic
I have been told I was a failure
Now I taste the flavour
Of misbehaviour
Of which I savour
I am no saviour.
It’s morning
I have work
I have this quirk
And I don’t know why now I smirk
I guess I avoid it
But the thought still lurks
Now I sit here destroyed
Maybe now,
Unemployed.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
I remember the first time I killed a girl. She loved me. I loved her.
I would hand her Xanax and cigarettes. One time she handed me her heart on a silver platter and seductively smirked whilst saying, "Dig in."
She then, unfortunately, was burdened with my child. We decided to purge my family tree. We did so faster than a gallon of Roundup kills a single dandelion. I had no desire to let my family tree grow, it is a horrid thing.
Soon after she was filled with grief. So then I killed her. I used my divine nonexistent influence to perform a task that she was oh so familiar with. I teleported from Albany to Long Island in a matter of seconds and hand fed her all her medications, then her mother heart medications along with all my own stock pile of pills I used for recreation. Her heart rate began to slow. She died. I laughed.
I now have two tear drops tattooed on my face.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC
Herbicide rich farm lands..
Pesticides on every lawn..
Long live the American dream!
Capitalism is a long lost song..
Roundup sprayed ski slopes and golf course turfs!
Bucket list of old rich folks dying of cancers..
City water that stinks..
The ink of our receipts..
Testosterone levels,
rapidly deplete..
Year’s of no regulation,
Aluminum in the sky..
They obviously want to make sure…
No one gets out alive!!
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 1:31 PM UTC