"rulers" poems
dedicated to all the better poets here...
don't know much about a quatrain
don't know how to write a refrain,
surely could not compose a
courtyard elegy
maybe after
and still untilled,
I been buried,
'n checked out
the neighborhood competition...
as for limerick,
that is Dr. Seuss
and Ogden Nash's shtick
with whom, eye,
a believed descendant,
cannot compete...
Oh dear me,
no ode node-ed within,
as for a pastoral,
kinda hard to feat,
where I live,
a pastoral is grass cracks
surviving under,
breaking through to the other side
of concrete and blacktop rulers
Maybe one of you
will haiku,
send us a senryu,
send off, see ya!
the doc once diagnosed
a severe case of inflamed iambic pentametery,
with antibiotics and a diet of Hamletery,
was cured most satisfactorily
this silly pen-man-sinking-ship
ain't capable of dat,
boy how 'bout
an epitaph
for a graveyard stone,
should be plenty of room...
as it will be plenty short...
all eye see and all eye know
is vignettes that birth in me
walking down the street,
that's my bread and butter,
my soul's delicacies...
and moments that recorded
here, for a posteriored posterity,
as noted in my all my living
testaments,
drinking and spilling the vin,
from the uninvented igniting vignettes
that consecrate and connect our
knowing each other though odds are
we will never meet...we can yet
drink together
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Don't know much about the French I took.
But I do know that I love you,
And I know that if you love me, too,
What a wonderful world this would be."
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
There came a time in the history of Nigeria when she dreamed for independence,
There came a moment in the history of Nigeria when she groaned to gain freedom from the British;
There came a season in the history of Nigeria when she desired to obtain independence from her rulers.
The moment when she groaned for independence,
The season when she was ready to groam freedom;
The moment when she desired to be independent as a country.
The moment when she seeked her elites to stand up and fight for independence,
The season when she awaited the voice and appearance of her freedom fighters;
The moment whe she believed that independence was ready to answer the call of nature in her country.
The moment when she believed to find freedom and independence which as that missing part of her that made her a complete country,
The season when she trusted and believed in the treasure called independence;
The moment when she hoped and desired to be called an independent and sovereign nation in the history of the world.
The moment when she was expectantant of the mother called independence,
The season when nothing meant anything to her except for the father called freedom;
The moment when she still believe to be an independent country despite foreign exploitations,
with the understanding that she could still stand up on her feet as an independent country.
She believed that someone who understands her tears and passion for freedom and independence,
will arise and fight for her freedom knowing that he will never bear to see her travail in birth for independence.
The elites she knew not but believed was out some where fortiing and preparing themselves for independence and fight for freedom.
Independence she waited for like an expectand mother of a child,
Each step she took was believed to bring her closer to freedom and independence.
She believed in freedom and independence for her country and it's occupants, and not
colonisation and exploitation from the British colony.
She believed in fighting for freedom and independence than dying a coward,
She believed in her elites efforts to obtain her independence and sovereignty.
She expected her elites to stand up and rage for independence to freedom and sovereignty,
which they did when the opportunity and strategy came for them to uphold.
She believed that destiny will bring her independence and freedom,
when the hour of liberation from exploitation comes.
She believed that her pains and heart beat was felt and understood by her elites.
The name independence she was passionate about and the fame freedom she was desperate about.
The memories of colonisation she groaned to erase and the histories of exploitation she desired to filtrate.
The name independence she struggled to uphold and the gain freedom she strived to unfold.
Before her moment of independence,
she strived to make full proof of her countrie's ambitions,
she sort self asset and not self liability.
She seeked and desired independence and freedom from exploitaion which she got.
Her dignity and hour as a country was restored on that fateful day of October 1, 1960 whe she gained and famed her independence and freedom.
She believed in independence and freedom which she got.
The death of her elites and freedom fighters was never in vain.
This is Nigeria At 53 and she is still a sovereign and independent country.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
Why would it be bad
To have cake and also eat it?
Why is that a metaphor of greed?
What else should I do with cake?
It could be a piece of art
Something beautiful to behold
But it’s purpose is to be eaten
It’s cake
Yes, I would like my cake
And to eat it as well
I want to enjoy
The things I enjoy
Not simply to hold them in my hands
Stare at them upon a platter
Wonder what they taste like
I want to eat the cake
It was made for someone to eat
Why not me?
Too much cake
Will make me fat
The sugar and flour
Conspire together to build a gut
It is not healthy to eat cake daily
I cannot keep cake in the house
The temptation is too great
But everything in moderation
A piece of cake here and there
To be had and to be eaten
Is a nice treat
The daily grind of salads and chicken
Nuts and fish
Avocado and eggs and water
Will keep me healthy
Grounded
So when I feel like cake
I can have it
Order cake for dessert
Or to celebrate a birthday
An accomplishment
Or anniversary
No one bats an eye
But order cake for breakfast?
Might just incite a riot
There is a time and place for cake
Society has deemed it so
We are not the rulers of our own lives
(Though we could be)
Instead our culture dictates
The rules of life
Steak for breakfast or for dinner
But not lunch
Bread goes with every meal
Eggs and bacon are for the morning
But at night is a nice treat - on occasion
Beer after five
But it’s five o’clock somewhere
And somewhere
Someone is ready for dessert
So **** it
Let’s eat this cake
That I have procured
You and me, together
Let’s have our cake
And eat it too
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 6:19 AM UTC
*I was a princess.
Long before the burden of knowledge --
before the reality of life plunged itself deep into me.
Tea parties and *****
Gowns and pretty jewels,
Braids and long lashes,
We were the rulers of the kingdom.
Walls constructed of plastic kept us safe,
security from the barbarians that lurked outside.
A magic mirror that warped and bent from age,
from magic, to show your future,
which was often a short fat lady.
Thrones that swung back and forth,
so that her majesty does not bore herself.
We guarded our kingdom from the evil outside...
but we forgot to check within our walls.
At some age, we stopped guarding the plastic kingdom.
We stopped looking for the monsters outside --
realizing they were lurking inside of us...
whispering dark things.
Now Aurora is sleeping off a hangover --
that beautiful face streaked with wet mascara
maybe when she wakes up, everything will be better?
Ella is hiding from loan sharks,
wishing for a way out of the slums,
hoping a rich man will sweep her off her feet.
Ariel is running away from home
changing her identity for her new boyfriend,
desperate that no one will come between them.
Snow is sleeping with several men --
mommy issues ran her out of town,
now she's the walking herself to the abortion clinic.
Princesses we were.
Princesses we are.
Princesses we will be.*
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
The King of Victory
It was a Sunday not quite like any other. The time was near that Jesus would be handed over to the rulers of this world and be subject to them so that he might save many. On their way into the city of Jerusalem, Jesus sends two of his disciples ahead to bring him a donkey to ride in on and to say that the master has need of it. Jesus rides into the city on the back of a donkey and all around him celebrate and rejoice singing praise and giving glory. They lay their cloaks and palm branches which represent victory on the road ahead of Jesus for him to walk on. It truly is a joyous day in the city of David. No one there seems to have any idea that in one short week this parade of celebration would be no longer and many of these very same people would be parading him through these very same streets condemning him and calling for his death.
Jesus your life came full circle. Before you came into this world you entered Bethlehem outside of Jerusalem riding on the back of a donkey in your mother’s womb. A week before your death you would humble yourself once more and come ride into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey. A humble beast of burden, an animal that carries a heavy load and serves. You bore the weight of the cross and the weight of all of our sins and you served us faithfully even when we were not faithful to you. We are so much like the crowds that gathered on Palm Sunday; rejoicing, singing your praise and giving you glory one moment and the next moment we are also the ones who are calling for your death, mocking you and jeering. Still, you look upon us with endless love and mercy. You forgive us, you redeem us, and you call us quietly to return to you once again. You would suffer and die so that on the third day, we might finally see that no power on earth or hell or anything above can separate us from your love, and showing us once and for all you are the King of Victory! AMEN!
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
#Preface
This is not aimed at a single person, nor written for applause. It is a naming, a mirror, a reminder that truth spoken with accountability carries its own fire. The Witness belongs to anyone willing to bear that flame, even for a moment.
This is not accusation, but naming in clarity:
Projection is the currency.
The herd is the instrument.
Seduction is the method.
Obscurity is the shield.
And when truth enters,
it unsettles the herd.
The first defense is always the lullaby..
soft verses sung to calm the trembling,
to cradle the anxious back into sleep.
But the lullaby is no vision;
it is anesthesia, a narcotic of words.
It soothes so that no one questions
the darkness that holds them.
Yet the mantle descends where it will.
A word spoken in accountability burns like flame,
piercing the fog, shattering the spell.
Even for a moment, it breaks the hold
and shows the rulers for what they are:
*unclothed,
powerless,
undone.*
#
Sep 26, 2025
Sep 26, 2025 at 2:25 PM UTC
I love my country: India , but
I hate many of its rulers, as
they speak for the poor and
act for tycoons bellicose, and-
Diversity sighs in armed Unity;
The selfish corrupted in unity
March ahead on graves crafty.
I love my country: India , but
August fifteenth : with freedom,
opened all devilish forces
out of Hell to fell all virtues.
Grim faced Buddha smiles
Like a nuclear Phantom ,his
tears drip on tomb of Peace.
No white dove sits on dome
It bleeds in the lap of Buddha.
If birth is the cause of gloom.
who stops one from bloom?
Dearth of berth clamour for
Death of birth at the womb.
I love my country: India , but
Souls are free on lovely Earth
Lay bodies strain to survive.
A nominal word equanimity
Gushes in landslide infirmity.
Service becomes self –service,
In black ink sleeps Socialism.
Fear Neurosis like King Kamsa
Keeps Liberty behind the bars.
Healthy, wealthy Bharat Matha
Groans in labour room for Santi.
Note: 1). August fifteenth= 15 August 1947 when India became free from Briton. 2).Buddha=Gutham Buddha(Prince Sidhardha) who established Buddhism.3).Kamsa= The mythological character , uncle of Lord Krishna who chained even his sister Devaki out of the fear psychosis. 4),Bharat Matha= Indians consider Bharat/India as their Mother(Matha)-so it is Mother land not Fatherland for them .Santi/Shanti=a Sanskrit word used in Vedas and Upanishads of India which means Peace or Islam.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
We, the voice of the most oppressed,
Work in the profession remaining the most humble,
Throughout histories, as slaves our lives still remain tumble,
With our strangled necks, we are deliberately suppressed
For the centuries, our voices remain unheard,
Like a weeping fish at the sea,
We are treated zombies at the rush of a blood,
Collecting by hand, the human society’s poops & pea
Things for us got intensely worse,
We work as a group with an isolated curse,
For our livelihood, go into manholes as bare-bodies
Mostly get out as dead-bodies
From pathology to oncology,
We are treated untouchables, even by the modern technology
We are the oxygen-offering trees that remain green
Hurting ourselves, collecting excreta making this world neat &clean
With our hand-cuffs we shout and fight,
Rulers remain drunken-deafs to our plight,
Hell with your knowledge, to those who go to college
And keep pushing us to the drainage,
We remain living dead and frustrated, to get our right
When asked about work, we remain dumb and blind,
Fearing the responses to our ***** revelations,
Because humans are unemphathetic and unkind
To get our life some elevations.
Our mind said us “Please think! Please Think!”
When we revolt not to work, societies stink,
We warn, Witness your locality *****
To our sufferings, if you keep blank & empty.
We are a collective voice,
Representing inhuman humanity,
That keeps the society on a poise,
So raise your voice, with a clarity of choice
To get us work with the utmost dignity!
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
I want you to put me on your tongue and let me dissolve into you like the tiny white squares that turn those glossy hazel marbles into black holes and intense stares. I want you to kiss me and see negative colored rulers in the corner of your vision and I want you to have trouble making a decision between kissing me and observing me while I'm sitting on your chest and I want you to laugh like you did with your cherry colored lip curled over your childish grin over and over and over again and I want you to forget the conversation topic every time you close your eyes because the world inside of your mind is filled with blinking images that you can't quite explain aloud so you settle for little talks about Rosa Parks and Indian style kisses and how the ocean is the Earth's thing or the complexity of butterfly brains and whether or not they remember their caterpillar memories (they do). Describe to me the first time you saw your favorite color and what developed the affinity for it: yours, a glacier blue toy that resembled the ocean and mine, a lavender Easter dress that twirled when I spun. Tell me about your school crushes when you were four and what you got your clothespin moved to the sad face for and I'll write it all in ink on my knee caps because "God, we're such writers" and you'll check the clock in the gaps and search for tunes or lighters and I'll want time to slow down because the nights spent with you usually seem as though minutes are just a few seconds shy of sixty, which turns the little hand pretty quickly.
I want hours, weeks, decades, to analyze the freckles on your face or the pace at which you move your tongue and precisely how it tastes.
I want you to tell me that your brother would like me and about the mountains in Tennessee and maybe next time I'll try to stay awake, unless you want to listen to the way I breathe so fully when I dream.
When I close my eyes, I want to be able to see what you see.
I want you to keep burying the numb parts of you into the warm parts of me.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 4:32 AM UTC
No country’s history makes us proud.
It is mere exploitation and colonization.
the poor were suppressed and oppressed.
The rich reveled in utmost luxury
And the weak lived in extreme penury.
The kings were fond of eulogy
And the poets excelled themselves in their elegy.
In the countries like India, the money was looted
the temples were plundered, and the system was blundered
And her progress was greatly hindered
Slowly the kings and kingdoms vanished
the so called democracies and socialism flourished
the bureaucracy and plutocracy replaced autocracy
Corruption and criminality maintained their status quo
After Independence, a new class emerged in India.
They became the rulers in the name of democracy.
There have been un-imaginable scandals
Money reached the Swiss bank like pearls in the ocean
India is a poor country but the Indians are rich
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 3:59 AM UTC
The Destroyer of the division machine1
Had first to run on the Way of the Cross
To have souls over the long lived ruin.
Robben, Pollsmoor and Victor2 caused no loss
In the Staff Heritage of the Thembu3
Rulers, forever loved by their people,
From whom was learnt right fight ain’t to taboo.
Good farmers’ teeth run right through the apple;
Likely after the Hard Walk to Freedom4
The Son of Gadla and Nosekeni5,
When his Soul flies up to the Lord’s Kingdom,
Glass will keep his body, and not any
Stain will sully the Star of the Nation
Whose Light will shine for each generation.
1. The division machine: The Apartheid.
2. Robben, Pollsmoor and Victor: During twenty seven years Mandela was successively jailed at Robben Island, Pollsmoor and Victor Verster prisons.
3. Thembu: The tribe over which ruled Mandela’s ancestors.
4. Hard Walk to Freedom: In September 1953, Andrew Kunene, a co-militant of his, read out Mandela's "No Easy Walk to Freedom" speech at a Transvaal ANC meeting; the title was taken from a quote by Indian independence leader Jawaharlal Nehru, a seminal influence on Mandela's thought. The speech laid out a contingency plan for a scenario in which the ANC was banned.
5. Gadla (Henry Mphakanyiswa): Mandela’s father; Nosekeni ***** His mother.
Boniface
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC
I last saw her in Santiago
******* drunkenly in a Sub urban taverna
parading conceited pride in a twisted union
with that ******** heinous maniacal harlequin
each in vainglorious throes of their imagined septic mindfuck
Debauch celebration of collaboration of succubus and incubus
Some days she is saying Haloa in Hawaii
adorned as Sainti Maria the ***** now as Madonna
spewing words like a dove acting like a Nun in a Convent
the fiendess with two faces hiding her ****** like the ace in lace
the malignant serpent crawling in the duality of her neurosis
I last saw her in Santiago
In a sanctity of the poisoned insecures with exiguous minds
consumed with flaming fears she begs acceptance for inclusion
******* for percieved reflected glory from her fathers' jailers
The subjugated souls of chai wallah lives on in grandchildren
So when Santi Maria flirts from honey to beehive
Ready to ***** and part thighs and brain for minor pointing gun
Feel sorry for a damaged child devoid of a prime core never made
only obeisance to past rulers whose discarded cast-offs she wears
Her poems enchants but its virulent tools she takes in her body
I last saw her in Santiago
A slaved two-faced pretender who sings like a nightingale
In sub urban dives she postrates to friendly pats and gropes
Melting creeps and hot tigers begging subs for a heady drink
Brilliant yet blindsided to **** on knees as her children will too
Copyright@LaurenceA20thSept2018Allrightsreserved.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
Being wiccan is my calling it's my religion.
It is the well i drink from it quenches my souls thirst.
The god and goddess are my rulers i heed their call.
I follow the call of the elements earth, air, fire and water.
Wicca is something i can count on when i have nothing to give.
Wicca is something that gives me a sense of safety and relief.
When i know i have nothing i know i have wicca.
Blessed Be! be the the ancients for they dance with me.
The knowledge of wicca the complex magic is food for my soul.
The deities walk with me i feel their love, their protection.
No fear will tweak my soul no outer force will break my strength.
I will forever seek to learn the wiccan ways and laws,
For being wiccan is in my blood.
Written 5th July 2014 By Kelly O'Hara
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
_Under smoldering red desert skies
Earthquake-like tremors displace sand
And giant gears pulling wide treads give rise
To a towering, onyx colored machine of man.
A scientific prophecy once foretold
That the oceans and trees could be killed
And in its toxic love of black gold
Humanity granted this prophecy fulfilled.
It used to warm our bodies and minds
But now, our sun is something to fear
Our lives and colossal machines combine
And chances of survival remain unclear.
For military rule has exploited
Our natural will to fight and survive
They’ve usurped us and anointed
Themselves rulers of the inside.
What’s left of our once great society
Roams the Earth in onyx colored arcs
Scientists try to return Earth’s sobriety
As we wage war for oligarchs.
Terrorism between 3 arcs ensues
As each believes the one to solve
The problem of an Earth abused
Will become ruler by forceful resolve._
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
Hi there ,Alice.
This world is a nuisance.
The people are ruthless.
The rulers are merciless.
The animals are wild.
The weather is ********
The sun will burn you.
The moon will scar you.
The angels will guide you.
The devil will destroy you.
The good are non-existent.
The bad are overloaded.
The looks will deceive you.
The wealth will mislead you.
Love will blind you.
Satan will tempt you.
Distance will break you,
and time will end you.
20-08-13, 04.35 AM.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
It must feel good
To strike at royalty
To ****** a blade with gold
To avenge the unjust hangings and deaths
To send the 'rulers of the world' to oblivion
To make them cry instead of hundreds of people
It must feel good
To slay royalty
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
We the citizens, who live as refugees,
We keep earning & see if our life is turning,
To the price rise, we lose savings,
Still we remain rock-bottom in standard of living.
We belong to the middle class,
Whose life always a breakable thin glass.
Our life remains completely unsettle,
Every second, life tests our mettle.
Life chases us with pressure, failure and useless lecture,
We are nurtured with a fear of future,
Happiness remains just a leisure,
Live with the unsecure & unsure present for a secure future.
We keep us busy and function,
We fear, when there arrives a function,
Towards happiness, we run as a pilgrim,
For the corporates, we become a mere victim.
We run like an athlete for salary, food and target,
For this globalized world, we are just a market,
Like hungry dogs, we wait for increments,
We keep running with bitter disappointments.
We live in own house, only in our dreams,
Our hearts cry with hopeless screams,
Failures remain our tutors,
Inability has turned us the irrecoverable debtors.
Our appearance has a rich look,
We have untold hidden burdens,
That keep us shook,
Keeps us forbidden and fear-ridden.
Low class think us rich,
High class always want us to be their *****
Politically neglected by the rulers,
Economically exploited by the rich powers.
We exhaust ourself for subsistence,
We remain victorious and satisfied only in our existence,
We lose our life to sustain in competence,
We run our life with a mere persistence.
More than the high class and low class, we suffer,
Our lives never progressed as governments differ,
All see low class with empathy and sympathy,
To our difficulties, we are looked with apathy.
On rich, we are not jealous,
Towards our aim, we are zealous.
Never think we are nothing,
We truly have nothing to lose.
We take risks to make history,
Our path is nothing less than a mystery,
You never allow us to come up,
But we are not going to give up.
Hello High class,
Never pretend to live like us, to exploit us,
Gone are the days, we remained fools,
You will stand a day as the super intelligent fools.
Before, we are hungry for food,
Now, we are hungry to rule,
Before, we feared to live,
Now, we are ready to win the world.
We are nothing! We are nothing
We have nothing to lose!
We won’t stop until having nothing could do nothing to us.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC
He came,
He left,
She followed
Turquoise paintings of purple hues
Often bring about madness
4th degree burns turn blue
In sunlight
Breaking 4th wall
**** in hand
Third-leg stand
Exhaustion creeping over bones
Arthritis
Hepatitis
C
The vitamin
Makes a graduation
From the bowels of the high
Schooler
Rulers
Exact measurements
My ***** is this big
Preschool measuring
There are 3 cups of juice left over
How many ounces in a cup?
Pig pen
See men
Wafting around in filth
I.
Await for something post period
Pregnant pauses
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
new numbers came
suddenly, soon
after one.
nothing added any more,
all began to subtract,
divide, the result
algebraic
there are no rulers,
lines to divide,
the total is irrelevant
now, the
addition foremost.
i have been to the counting.
sbm.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
Come and hear the tale of a falling
This failure of a king, his story appalling
Come and hear of his last moment's calling
This man whom we once called our king.
A mad king anointed with power in mind
Crowned by desperation, crowned by the blind
A tyrannical king; No worse will you find
For this man is a servant of Hell.
He comes and he swears in God's holy name
To cater the people and lands that they tame
But it's I who knows of his little game
The political regime that he runs.
He sits on his throne and barks at his men
Demanding the whys and demanding the when
Slowly but surely he wears the string thin;
For the people may tolerate so much.
He works through the town, donning his crown
A hat that is envied by all in the town;
For the man is rich, the man is renowned!
This man whom all call their king.
Beneath him men die, but criminals don't pay
Put them to death, that's what I say!
This kings way is in no way the right way
But we the people can do naught but pray.
But good men exist, whom jail the unjust
Good men who work to earn the town's trust
And these good men speak out, shaking out the dust
And speak out against their king
The king starts to fear, his gate is now closed
And he starts to regret the options he chose
And now by good men this king is deposed
By good men this king is denied.
Now we call him a tyrant, we call him a fake
We spit on his image, his throne we forsake
We take up our arms, pitchfork and rake
And march to his door to knock.
Some killed by guards, but good men prevail
And blood rains down like late Summer hail
And in the end we hear the king wail
His death is announced the next morning.
Good men cheer and king's men glance back
Wondering what it was the mad king lacked
Though who didn't expect his castle ransacked
For was not the king of the wicked?
It matters not in the end, you will find
Good men un-knotted this terrible bind
They laugh and jest at history behind
And cast themselves to a new king.
But this ballad of history will soon be repeated
For in the halls of recurrence it is seated
This tragic comedy of rulers so heated
This tragic tale of a king.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
As far back as the middle age,
then, Europe planted for our good;
directed wisely by the sage,
that all the places these trees stood,
would be for pleasure and for food,
for friendship, love and loyalty,
that we be not misunderstood.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
The others, one tree would upstage;
brought Slovenia nationhood.
All meetings there they would engage
beneath its branches, when they could,
to benefit the neighborhood
and people came from far to see
the rulers of the public good.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
The Linden tree, it will assuage
with blossom, root and bark basswood.
Cure you with a proper dosage
so take the tea just as you should.
You'll be filled with such gratitude-
drunk on flower scent heavenly.
Come circle round this fine softwood.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
O prince let joy be understood:
Come see the way we live so free.
Come to our homes, come to our wood
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
What's wrong with you?
Who do you think you are?
Look, he thinks he's tough,
he thinks he knows everything
Seriously who does he think he is
Do you think you're Prince Regent
You think you're a hard man, yeah!
How dare you, how ****** dare you
You wanna mess with us, do you, big man
Don't you know who we are!
We the business, we're more than you
We ****** rule the ******* ****** world
We rule your *** we make and bend the law
We take and we give, we are the ****** ********
We block and you're finished, no ****** **** no life
We come from the South, East, West and ****** North
We are gangsters and we got the contacts and the contracts
When we say jump, you ask, how ****** high should I jump
Look this ****** small geezer playing with us
How dare you making us feel frustrated and stupid
We'll got all kinds of mind **** ready to do your head in
How dare you not play ball, a woman set up to wind you up
Now we're not getting inside gossip and juicy stories to use
Now all the women waiting eagerly to hear bedroom gossip
are all disappointed cause you are not following the ****** plot
We can't bend your head and frustrate you and stress you out
You ****** small man, you're not even tall and you wanna diss us.
Who are you you little ******
We spend all our valuable time taunting you
We try and depress and torment you and you laugh
What do you want, do you wanna mess with People's Power
We can make you disappear if we want, do you know that big boy
We put all kind of moves on yer and yet you struts like a king
We harass your ****** mind and try to demoralize you
Listen sunshine you better stop being such a ******* smart ***
You think you ******* know everything, making us look stupid.
You better watch out, you better watch ****** out
Cause ain't no Santa coming for you, we are the Rulers
And we hate you and your big ******* **** you ain't got *****
You are costing us ****** money, time and energy, you effin ****
Do you know some of us sit all day thinking up ways to get at you
Do you know some wait in the ****** cold to watch you all day
You think its easy having to think up nonsensical things to write
Or making up all kinds of scenarios all because of you ********
You think you are superman, Atlas and Einstein rolled into one!
Do you, George, Answer me George.....answer Me!!!
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
Walking in the midst of dark shadows,
In the silence through the meadows
I feel disconnected from reality,
Far from the world's true letality
I'm somewhere in between worlds,
A place without rules or rulers
A place without good and evil
Without any.... upheaval
It is in this place that I can be,
Be my true self, my mind set free
Thoughts run free, like horses in a meadow
In the midst of this dark shadow
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
No matter what you have been told
God is in control
Rest assured he is near
No need to fear
Hold on to Faith real tight
Know that everything is going to be alright
When God is in the midst
Defeat doesn't exist
"In all these things we are more than a conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord".
You serve a powerful God
A God who can calm the sea
A God who holds your destiny
He is your healing spring
And in his hands he brings
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
Nobility divine fills gaps of transcendence,
Soars to and from the throne heavenly,
Exalts morals near the king of ascendance,
Patrolling the good, and sons of the seventy.
A duty forgotten, replaced with dependence,
On prayers rarely heard, and logic of a herd -
Divinity is far in absence; man in attendance,
The book is a third, and teachings are blurred.
Andeliviuan corruption supposedly erased:
The creation rotten of Sariel, wanders gaily.
The holy and fallen angel’s doing embraced,
By the clay beings caressing evil like a frailly.
By God not, who from heaven him displaced.
Yet, the legacy of the wrong stands humanly,
In Thailand, America, Palestine, and all graced -
A grace of sinfulness celestial and worldly.
Religion is the poor’s only ultimate truth,
the rich’s side hustle, and the rulers’ tool;
It is the loss of power that defiles the sooth,
The one the poor has not, but does the fool.
Robbers’ servants, bread crumbs consumers,
Toothless **** dogs, emaciated lost tramps,
Little blind pawns, vultures’ puppets, tumours,
And wrenches they are, the upper hand’s lambs.
If only Raguel’s judgements fall upon man,
Raphael’s punishment beautifies this existence,
Gabriel’s wrath makes not all humans ane,
And Michael saves us, the Sarahs, in assistance.
In the heart deepened with old repression,
That mounts with plenitude of filtered feels,
Resides a universe yearning for expression,
In a meat clay who feeds on calories of meals.
Man, in the genesis, in the light, in the dark,
In prosperity, in turmoil, triumphed with vices;
vileness, abuse, wreckage is our sole mark,
On this planet whose population is in slices.
Oct 21, 2022
Oct 21, 2022 at 5:18 AM UTC