"saracens" poems
spot the door through which
i walked many a times,
an elevated version of Kant
about what sort of man you
are, beside animals,
i can't be a vegetarian in this
department -
let's just say with one i experienced
the trade exhaustion and we just
lay there and i kissed her closed
eyelids -
with another i talked and looked
at the pictures of her daughter -
with another i jumped into a cold
shower while she masturbated herself
because she was so **** hot
and the cold water felt so refreshing,
with another i paid her extra £10
to perform oral *** on her -
and with one...
the epitome of climbing a mountain...
'that's only the second time it
happened to me...'
yeah, an ****** on the job;
and of course with another the sacred sin
of the trade committed, a kiss on the lips;
but of course one had to be prone to
kleptomania and steal my debit card...
i just lied that i lost the card in the park
while taking a **** wiping my *** with
wet grass;
one also took my saracens (rugby team) beanie
after i got it off two saracens fans buying
them a pint each in a liverpool st. pub.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
take money out of the equation, and sack all the waiters and return to tribalism, the former statement of non-intellectual socialism, the sort of inherent: in us there is a togetherness, no more service from strangers in the hierarchy of enriching a piece of metal or a wavy rectangle of paper with “necessary” symbolism of authority of the status quo... but that’s not going to happen... the pickpocket picts are no more... the normalising normans glared at the hastings pinnacle and integrated with the saxon women... the saracens became surnames in poland... actually that last one is very true... a branch of my family has the surname saracen.
so i’m reading this article
and i’m hardly debasing myself,
it’s not that i’m referring
to sartre’s negation of certain things
whether animate and essential or
inanimate and existential... in that formula:
i deny therefore i am... because i can’t deny my existence...
and 2000 years down the line i’ll be pitchfork
argument in an atheist’s mouth anyway (nothing is certain in the realm of cognition, hence the cartesian invocation of doubt),
it's not like i'm referring to inappropriate pronoun usage...
so **** a doodle do... twang the strings on the mandolin...
i’m referring to this classical reference of the shy literary figure
unable to spark conversation with strangers...
god, i really love strangers, and talking to them!
why? there is no personal history, there’s no past,
there are no reference points... it’s just the moment and nothing else,
the perfect anonymity project...
not the matrix philosophy (easily invoked because
it has a flimsy plot-line and loads of images...
just what the doctor ordered for the english speaking masses
with a very naked orthography - i.e. if it’s on the internet
it’s not “real life...” as is this computer i’m using
it’s not even here!)
of using the deep web to join the rats and etc.;
i love talking to strangers, i can forget myself
and enter the realm of discretion about how within randomisation
of eggshell, yoke and cockroach there’s also the randomisation
of the interactants to balance out the need for a theological unit, god...
it’s great... it’s like... it’s like... life.
defining the genre of biography proper? never backtrack...
always sidetrack... i can’t be bothered living a life with cocktail parties
and romps and romantic comedies to look forward to
once all the animalism becomes domesticated and a
gym-session complaints column in a newspaper.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
This is not the beginning of my story
Nor will it be the end,
Hasten or not, it must be told
In my undying grief I can no longer go on without His strength
I am Sir Thomas de Charney, of the Order of the Knights Templar
Born in the Year of Our Lord 1270, now a man, 20 years old
My Father is William de Charney, Grand Master of the Order
He is currently headquartered at Acre, I Master at Gaza
Our lineage dates back to 1119, with the nine original Knights
The Order and my Ancestors names will live on forever
Until I was 18 I was unaware of the outside world
That story is for another time
At present the Christians control most of the Holy Land
However, the Muslims, or Saracens, continued to wreak havoc
They pillaged and plundered the villages outside our fortifications
The infidels accomplished this madness using vagabonds or tribesman
This story is about my love, Dagung; ne’er was a woman as beautiful
I was Master of the City of Gaza the first time I laid eyes on her face
While our garrison remained strong, proximal towns were under attack
Rakish strikes by Muslim non-essential forces made them dangerous
This we knew was the first line of assault by the Saracens
At the moment they were just toying with our minds in ludic form
Bearing assault on our townspeople like poltroons I took umbrage
Therefore I dispatched my men accordingly to make well the trouble
On this particular engagement I decided to join my men.
___________________________________________________
To be continued
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC
too circumspect to genuflect
a snide rebuttal of rituals
the dope on the rope says the mob has no hope
yet he feeds on the blood of heathens
stomped to death beneath the cross
convert and confess
the templars and the saracens
and all the ****** rest...
pass the plate, write it off your taxes
don't sweat the big things
the confessional swings axes
forget your past, you are made anew
in the box with Big-daddy
the room with the puny view
oh blessed forgiveness
for a select few
*And call no man your father upon the earth,
for one is your Father, which is in heaven.
the catechism didn't catch that one
convenient truths abba
take the queers, gypsies, the disfigured and jews
for strewth! it'll help us win WW2
fewer mouths to feed, and oh so unclean
those unconverted pagans
to the concentrated ovens unseen
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
The Christians came
Our God sent us!
Were on a crusade just killing stuff
If you don't have a Christian cross
You will have to have your head cut off
The Pope you see he ruled the world
So he thought till Jerusalem.
The Kingdom of Heaven here upon earth
Soaked in blood where Muslims fell
A holy war they said it was
****** kids so they don't grow up
All things cycle all things change
It was Allah's time once again
Saracens, butchers barbarians too
The names they gave Saladins troops
Though when the city fell to him
He gave passage to all to leave in peace
He afforded a gift no Christian did
Love and life to practice your faith
If history teaches one good thing
The hearts of men are everything
All a soul can ever be
Is deep inside you and me
The crusaders brought a holy war
To a peaceful state for a bigoted cause
A Pope who wanted lands and wealth
Nothing more nothing less
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
it’s the old Schengen Theory in psychology,
casually utilise vowels as pronouns,
but then theorise ancient pronouns
as theory based non-vowels: the self (germanic / invading)
and the ego (latin / origins of still using a - z)...
then apply the ditto membrane concern for space,
which will provide you with all the time in the world
to go back from the practical into theoretical that’s
free from having empirical theory interacting with the empirical practice
known as the sedative of life: mistake: life: en route death: life: some
other mistake:
life: don’t know: life: maybe tomorrow: life: maybe never: life:
i wish: life: well at least my saturday is occupied with movies;
they did the trick of of theorising you wearing a suit and doing it
commando in the missing underwear by structuring
an impetus to pause with stating: i said
äußern sjalrf
id scribo;
it’s still a contest... heavyweight champ rom apex jr.
is fighting alarik orca schrei - with the former fighting to get rid
of ‘ from e, and the latter to attach : to u to make ü:
oddly enough the saracens in sicily were
slavs who wrote ę and ą... otherwise it's all geographically
adequate to push rome down from the top,
with the majority of accents coming above the a, b, c... zee...
although the western slavs were an oddity in that respect...
but then a part of my family is said to have been
hungarian or czech... with surnames like batuk and not
batóg... and the cousin of some cousin
marrying my great-grandfather's sister ending up
with the surname saracen... it's a shame i can't
join in the festivities of the 21st century humanity
because of jealousy that didn't mature to the extent
i wished it had... and the god that suddenly appeared
from the ashen tabernacle of the holocaust in the night:
antichrist to satan... guess what, milton was completely wrong...
i went in there to steal the blood of the messiah
signposted wine... and i came back with blackcurrant juice!
can you believe it?
satan to the antichrist: well thank **** that you didn't
choose the bread... i came back with the apple of eden
and it turned to ash... god knows what the bread of the
messiah would have turned into.
anti-buddha: hallucinogenic mushrooms...
(insert laughter among duck noises).
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Saint Garden Gnome
An obscure barefoot friar in Italy
Long labored in the Perugian sun,
Heaped rocks upon rocks, and then other rocks,
Up to a wavery roof of broken tiles,
Repairing with his bleeding hands God’s church
Then, better known – it wasn’t his fault – this friar,
With others in love with Lady Poverty,
In hope and penance trudged to far-off Rome
To offer there his modest Rule of life,
Repairing with his mindful words God’s Church
Along the delta of the steaming Nile
He waved away the worried pickets, crossed
Into the camp of the Saracens
Preaching Christ to merciful Al-Kamil,
Offering with a martyr’s heart God’s Faith
Saint Francis is depicted in fine art
In great museums and in modest homes -
And you can find him too, down at Wal-Mart,
Between the plastic frogs and concrete gnomes.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC