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Edna Sweetlove Sep 2015
Pastor Grovell writes as follows.....

I am often asked to interpret the Ten Commandments as they seem sometimes a bit out of date and irrelevant (and hard to understand by some of the more ********
folks). So here goes with the update we use in our own godly congregation. These are my revised and corrected commandments.  The originals are in the beloved King James version but where that is unclear I quote a more modern version too to assist those of you who are more or less illiterate. In the bible, the commandments are unaccompaned by the punishments you will get if you disobey them so I have updated that too, according to STRICT biblical scholarship.

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1st Commandment: "Thou shalt have no other gods before me". This seems quite unequivocal to me but of course it was written BEFORE Jesus came to save us so here is the new version:

PG's NEW NUMBER 1: WORSHIP ONLY GOD (INCLUDING JESUS WHO IS PART OF GOD ANYWAY) & DO IT FREQUENTLY OR GOD WILL CRUSH YOU!

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2nd Commandment: "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; And shewing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments.

That seems a bit wordy to me and there is a bit of overlap with Number 1! In any case, it's a bit out of date as not many people worship idols, giant earthworms or fish these days. Perhaps a modern update would include not worshipping the TV set!

PG's NEW NUMBER 2: DO NOT WORSHIP THE TV SET OR ANYTHING SIMILAR OR GOD WILL BE VERY ANNOYED INDEED AND WILL PUNISH YOU AND ALL YOUR DESCENDANTS & THEIR DESCENDANTS TOO SO WATCH OUT ALL YOU HEATHEN COUCH POTATOES!

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3rd Commandment: "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain." Again a bit long-winded, and the vain bit will confuse some people.

PG's NEW NUMBER 3: DO NOT BLASPHEME OR GOD WILL CRUSH YOU IN AN INCREDIBLY PAINFUL WAY & SLOWLY AS WELL!

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4th Commandment: "Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work; But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates; For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it."

This is a difficult one to observe nowadays, what with Sunday opening at the shopping mall. The solution seems to be that non-Christians, Jews and Muslims can work to serve us whilst we go shopping. It shows why God created heathens and other infidels so they can sell godly people bibles, hymnals and religious artefacts on the Sabbath, even though they will probably go to Hell themselves as a result. And the bit about animals not working on Sundays seems pointless today so we'll skip that section.

PG's NEW NUMBER 4: WORK HARD FOR SIX DAYS A WEEK INCLUDING SATURDAYS AND THEN HAVE A NICE REST ON SUNDAYS BUT GET IN A LOT OF PRAYING ON SUNDAY OR YOU WILL BE PUNISHED IMMENSELY BY GOD!

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5th Commandment: "Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee."

Seems clear enough; particular the 2nd bit which people forget. This is particularly important as people live much longer nowadays and often old folks have to be put into a home which can be expensive, but God wants us to do it. Also, do not skimp on the private facilities - do you really want your old wizened parents to share a bathroom with other incontinents? No I don't think you do. Also, one must remember that a lot of people are ******* and don't have the vaguest idea who their father was. Often the mother has no idea either, filthy ****.

PG's NEW NUMBER 5: RESPECT YOUR PARENTS NO MATTER HOW MUCH IT COSTS OR GOD WILL SHORTEN YOUR OWN LIFE AS A PUNISHMENT & YOU WILL SUFFER A LOT! IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOUR PARENTS ARE, YOU ARE A ******* AND WILL GO TO HELL.

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6th Commandment: "Thou shalt not ****." This one is a real problem for so many of us! What should we do if a mugger comes and tries to rob us? What should we do if someone threatens to **** and **** our womenfolk? What if heathens attack our nation? What about the inalienable American right to bear arms and **** unarmed protesters? What about the British right to rule over inferior races and shoot rebels? I think God was insufficiently insightful here, so my version is quite a radical improvement.

PG's NEW NUMBER 6: DO NOT **** PEOPLE UNLESS IT IS NECESSARY OR IF THEY ARE BURGLING *******!

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7th Commandment: "Thou shalt not commit adultery."This is OK as far as it goes but it is totally inadequate to deal with the amount of ***-SIN which is about the place in the modern world, so I have expanded this to deal with the problem. Also remember that King James was a rampant and blatant sodomite and pervert and so maybe had this one censored in his version of the GOOD BOOK to cover his own back, so to speak.

PG's NEW NUMBER 7: DO NOT COMMIT ANY ***-SINS INCLUDING UNMARRIED FORNICATION, EXCESSIVE FRENCH KISSING, HEAVY PETTING, ******* (MUTUAL AND/OR SOLITARY), ADULTERY, *******, BUGGERY, ******, HOMOSEXUAL ACTS OF ALL TYPES INCLUDING LESBIANISM OF ANY SORT, *******-READING OR THINKING FILTHY ***-THOUGHTS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES OR YOU WILL BURN IN HELLFIRE FOR EVER AND EVER WITH THE MOST AWFUL AGONIES, AND ALSO MINIMIZE ALL LEGAL MARITAL *** TO OCCASIONS WHEN YOU WISH TO PROPAGATE AND KEEP IT BRIEF & IN THE DARK EVEN THEN!

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8th Commandment: "Thou shalt not steal." This one seems OK to me, with a bit of modernization.

PG's NEW NUMBER 8: YOU MUST NOT STEAL OR MUG OR ROB OR BURGLARIZE OR YOU WILL BE PUNISHED UTTERLY & VERY EXTENSIVELY BY GOD IN ALL HIS MIGHTY POWER!

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9th Commandment: "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour." This is a bit too narrow as I think non-neighbours and maybe even foreigners should be included as well. Also there needs to be a reminder of the dreadful punishment liars and falsifiers face.

PG's NEW NUMBER 9: DO NOT ACCUSE ANYONE AT ALL FALSELY AND DON'T TELL ANY LIES EITHER OR GOD WILL PUNISH YOU REALLY APPALLINGLY & YOU WILL SHRIEK IN AGONY FOR EVER!

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10th Commandment: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ***, nor any thing that is thy neighbour's." This one really is totally out-of-date and inadequate. It should apply to everyone and not just neighbours. Also, how many people can afford servants or keep oxen? And the "***" bit is open to obscene ***-SIN misinterpretation and blasphemous sneering by wicked ***-SINNERS. So this needs a complete re-write to bring it into the 21st century and to guide godly people into the way of righteousness. And some of the modern translations of the Bible are even worse, e.g. "Do not desire another man's house; do not desire his wife, his slaves, his cattle, his donkeys, or anything else that he owns." How about if you wish to sell your own house and move to a nicer one - what is wrong with that? How about if you wish to sell your low-grade animals and buy better ones? What is this ******* obsession with donkeys and ***** - sheep can be equally tempting to s degenerate ******* ***-SINNER. So I go for a nice simple revision which covers most eventualities:

PG's NEW NUMBER 10: DON'T BE JEALOUS OF OTHER PEOPLE'S BETTER FORTUNE, MAYBE THEY DESERVE IT & YOU ARE INFERIOR; STICK WITH WHAT YOU HAVE NO MATTER HOW GROTTY IT IS OR GOD WILL PUNISH YOU MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE! AND KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF THE LIVESTOCK OR YOU WILL SUFFER APPALLINGLY IN DEEPEST HELL WITH RED HOT POKERS UP YOUR ****** FOR ETERNITY.

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So there you have it: Pastor Peter Grovell's recommendations for a life without sin. But remember to pray every single day to Jesus and under no circumstances confuse the wooden images of Jesus which the Catholics use with the real living invisible Jesus. If you fail to do what God wants, he will be left with no option but to condemn you to eternal Hellfire.

And a final point: God did not hand down to Moses any instructions about alcohol. Did He say, "Thou shalt not have a pint of beer!" NO! Did He say, "Thou shalt not have a bottle of wine!" NO! Did He even rule out a shot or two of gin, whisky, ***, brandy or any other alcoholic refreshments? NO He did not! He even transformed water into wine on several occasions, which shows he liked a glass or two down his local Jewish "pub". So there is no harm in drinking alcohol but only if it does not lead you to do ***-SIN, ******, ****, THEFT, BUGGERY, ***-COVETING or IDOL-WORSHIP!

Pastor Peter Grovell D.D., C.S.M.F.,
Founder, Ultra-Strict Reformed Church of Jesus.
Haley Rome Jan 2014
1.  Sit down and cry. Cry until you have no more tears and don’t even remember the reason for your sadness. Realize that nothing, not even misery, is permanent.

2. Close your eyes and imagine your dream home. Don’t skimp on anything, not even the tiniest details like the doorknob or the lampshade pattern. Keep it always so that whenever you are somewhere heartless and cruel, you have a retreat.

3. Discover a song you love. Listen to it as loud as possible, listen to it as softly as possible. Listen to it backwards, forewords, sideways, and upside down. Extract from it all the truth and magic you can until you’re sick of it. Repeat.

4. Try and realize who your real friends are. Not the ones who will smile at your jokes and laugh at their own, but the ones who will walk with you even in the darkest of nights and never have to reassure you that they’re there.

5. Cut your hair. Cut it as short as you can without making your mother cry. Recognize that when someone says they don’t like it, what they’re really saying is that your appearance is for their pleasure. Know that it is not.

6. Choose a day just to watch. Watch the wind whispering to the trees, the grass reaching for the sky, the clouds hanging on by a thread. Make eye-contact with the moon and see that everything is watching you back. They’re rooting for you.

7. Learn how to make your favorite food. Learn how to make it exactly like your mother does. And every time you taste those familiar flavors, know that home is wherever you are.

8. Draw yourself. Don’t look in a mirror while you do this, draw yourself as you truly think you are. When you’re finished, take a photo of yourself. Compare the two. Realize that how you perceive you and how the world sees you will always be different.
Steve Page Nov 2018
Fa-la, la-la, *******-la!
Deck your halls, don't skimp on the holly.
It's the season to be jolly -
Shelve you woes, wrap up your ills,
use your credit, put off the bills.
Follow us for merry pleasure,
you know we're all in this together.
It's just started, it's one long trial,
but we'll get through it, just fix that smile.
Not an easy season for many, but still the expectation to be jolly.
Julian Nov 2016
Palimpset prowling on the husk of beleaguered Rome
Aflame from Nero’s tenuous but tenable throne
Swiftly spoken with a singed hourglass and whispered sand
Crafty spacecraft are majestic more than 100 grand
Morpheus enlists the denuded Agent Smith
To swarm the battalions of celebrities that possess and trip
Upon the threaded needle of threadbare convention of betokened appreciation
Every rapport and every fleet dives beneath plumbable detection
So neutered brain damage became a rummaged adage
That too many whack-a-moles are sutured beyond the crisp package
Whet the craven set and propagate waves of earthquakes that strut
The mother of nature is ******* when profligate danger is a defamed ****
So in amphigory and honesty I have become the omphalos of sincerity
I arm myself with brandished personage and speak openly with great integrity
But to brag of how much witchcraft and wizardry exists in this green village
Is to invite a locust swarm of bad mascots and misnomers readily pillaged
So warm with the dawning sun, writhe with the diurnal pun
Cloister the Kloosters and Clooneys with dreaded Harry Dunne
But to relapse into the purview of insanity seems beyond the most lame duck profanity
Because reality conflated with virtual presence is a tantamount inanity
I emerge strong and gilded with every fluttered birds chavish splurge
As magnates that magnetize wealth and glitz are present and observed
But yet they are disbelieved by the concealment of truth and the obfuscation of beleaguered doubt
Swank and squalor rarely combine but when they do they obliviate all winning streaks in a route
A route that spans the gamut between stimulants and stimulations
A career path that looks upward at gainsay and gained elations
The sprawl of profiteers like me will be requited with the passage of years
The forced segregation is the totality of malfeasance and the sum of none of any fears
Only the rebarbative consequence of the giant tortoise and its Vuvuzela cheers
In a degraded state of annoyance that ESP conquers doubt with bionic ears
Lisp on the curb, wretched on the stomp, racism is nothing but masqueraded insecurity poised as self-doubt
Debited to each creation on a variegated piebald wrinkle on an extended litany of lies
Crips and Bloods become Croods and Oilers that are so U.N.-refined as an expedient for wise demise
To scourge the requisite harm of religions endangered by a patchwork of State Farm
To rinse the sour sins of aboriginal boomerangs that switch a bit patchy but always charm
To the knowledge of good and evil we have found again a permissible fruit in an opportune time
That erasure of the reverse course of sin to righteousness finds sublime
But Judah and Israel rebelled on principles and principals
Idolatry in schools is expulsion of nothing other than the voguish dismissible
We recrudesce in this time to an aborning erratum on a parchment of time
That claims hypocrisy in its stodgy restriction of suburban muses crooning originality on wine
Serendipity floods the proud with the avarice of bricolage clamor excessively loud
It extorts the simpleton to belief without understanding or disbelief without doubt
Return to the Jedi of the nomadic tribe of weathered clout
Clippers that sail and sprint through time where stragglers pout
For in every endeavor of this corporate oligarchy our choices are constrained
Our voices are transmuted into simplicities that own our narratives of a raillery train
And every squeal of rustbelt friction is voiced on simplistic fiction
And every majesty is unheard because of the pollution of abrasive friction
So I speak with the scourge of fish and the novelty of clones
I teach and desist sometimes because my eyes were never affixed to any throne
But I am reminded that a rap sheet is Wrigley and Chicago is Piccadilly
Your guess is as good as mine about where a Grand Elect Knight begins really
So to the insurrection of idolatry of a scarred past we have a supplanted Friday blacker that **** and smog until we need gas masks
Such a salesmanship is required to penetrate the desired, even when Iron Man and I are simultaneously wired
On the Iron in the Front Seat that derelicts the panache of the proud intellect because of languor fired
Women titillate themselves on the jeers of hollowed husks of conformity
They intrude with persnickety restive restriction because of arrogated authority
Such a negative bear must mean a positive bull, but **** is easy and blips are cool
That RADAR’s WHIP detection scrawls a deadened earth deracinated from considerations of thinness and girth
The Dickens of Charlie Brown is worth more than just a single smirk
So to those women that skimp on my exultant smile and my delicate words
Lady Gaga has written too many songs about your personal rejection which is patently absurd
Rays of thespian cordiality winnow the borderline between flicks and literary finds
Directors and directives sort an assortment of philosophies in the alcoves to which many are blind
But if to hear the chatter of a fresh tomato never spattered
Pallor and weight, thickness and cheddar grate, inconsequential when you are elite and of a winning fate
So finally ditch your zany attempt to maroon me as a victim of puritanism’s puny ideals easiest to conflate
I have the winning brand and proper package to balance the Libra Scale weight and wait
To those dismissive urchins of passive standards it is finally time to consider and deliver on that luscious date
rolanda Dec 2013
True Friends
A long time ago in China there were two friends, one who played the harp skilfully and one who listen skillfully.
When the one played or sang about a mountain, the other would say: "I can see the mountain before us."
When the one played about water, the listener would exclaim: "Here is the running stream!"
But the listener fell sick and died. The first friend cut the strings of his harp and never played again. Since that time the cutting of harp strings has always been a sign of intimate friendship.

                                                               ­                                  From „ Zen flesh, Zen bones“*


the gallery of your luscious qualities
do indeed killing me
there is no one scolding you
like they doing on me
for such nonsenseal guilt, that
i sometimes  use imaginary
but alas it happens far seldom
usually i am indeed just infinitely
diminutiv towards your very boldship
the severe prose of life dont
let write astute  fantasies
yet my punk *** is vernacular towards
your upperclassed way to speak
its like dog's bark near
your charming chant of melodies
to be befriended with you
yet listen your compliments
I am getting perplexed
cuz i see you stiff giggling on me
you would better doubt me for my narrow horizon
where i type only about hopelessely of resistance
yet about that love is dead
how bore!!
it trully not what may enterntain!

Better I would dont coment and dont write anymore
Better I would skimp this beggarly text
instead only  picking nose behind of barricade
and let you hear nix beside my
Perro Semihundido's
WOOF!WOOF!WOOF!

….but, I wrote this lolololong locomotive,
since its obviously my pretty fun to ******* myself
bye
Hank Helman Dec 2015
She served him red ripe cherry pie at dawn,
Oven warm,
With a skimp of cheddar cheese,
Curled up and asleep on the side of the plate.

He captured the first whiff while strutting through  
The maze,
Of a last minute dream.
On stage, lead guitar, **** Jagger, Brown Sugar.

She held a fork full of promise near his nose,
And smiled.
He woke humming, strumming, *****, and confused.
What more pleasure could desire be.
Christoúgenna parable: “from the third tusk that remained behind the underside of the Bedouin of the seventh dream, Mariah's nativity path is touched, hearing in the sieve ears of the dried fruit of the Achenium in the hemlock, near her mother Hanna who always tease the bird visions feeding Mariah's fertility. Hanna's progenitor slipped into the third parchment, being a fruit of infertile destiny not being a dried fruit, but rather of his lord that in a female a male will be born and that he will resurrect healing adjacent patients in the neo-testamentary and in his biblical canon, in seventy-three keys of the old testament that will be used to open a new crown ”. The Bedouin wrote with the drops of the sea that exuded from the compendium of Stella Maris, while this nomad brought them closer to a son in their fellow men and in the plurality of individuals, expanding on the announcement of an unborn son acclaimed Jesus.

They ran the lines of the nativity and in it would rest the arms of his father of Mariah; Yhoyaqim in memory of predecessor Imram as Hanna's father. He had wine for two in their wineskins, and in the nuptiality of carnality, for more siblings of a betrothal and of only one unpolluted and not carnal, full of Gratia Plena, as a factual verb in the Vulgate or Hebrew Bible for the purpose of whom He writes like Jerome of Stridon or just like a Bedouin with the tooth of a viper in a holy narrative of the matzo and its annunciation in its sixth month.

The Bedouin continues: “Mariah was born to engender the grace that nothing disturbs in the majesty of her heart…, it will take me a while to reach your nativity, but here I have to be before the reactions of going where my desires that cut through the impulsiveness of arriving now more than ever to Mariah's birth of the only child. Here in the foggy Judean night with the fathoms of the bush and stone substitutes, clay with mother-metal on the vegetable fibers that I carry in my donkeys. I will come to finish and rub the planks and crossbars that will support our new home in conifers of cypress and fir, up to the beams and balustrades of his coming. Cedar antisepsis and its aromatics will fill you up on arrival with cypress resin to caulk the Capernaum vessels that will ship you by the Aramaic word. Do not die waiting for me with the door open, where I will wash your feet with the gold of Ophir, which on the laden ***** of my donkeys I will carry natron to whiten the fabrics of its dressing, among any scented and refined lyes of light. With beryl, topaz, and ruby I will also seal the footsteps that reach her as far as her mother Hanna, I will continue to happen among the mystery of Simún that includes me in her life project, I am Imram, Hanna's father, and grandfather of this precious gem, who between acts they stand in the concession of his body-soul and mother-son as a venerable spirit, as anticipation more than a life of pain, joy, and martyrdom, piercing the soul to whoever disintegrates the desert of silica with blood in the prophecies of Simeon "

While the immaculate is adorned with flowers and oracles of ovation, Imram's shepherding bequeaths us in the vicinity of Nazareth, in all things that have their order and more than others must be prescribed for the births of those who fly the spiritual cities, which in itself brings us with its placenta. Mariah in her nature constitutes the first fractal of light of the One-Dimensional Beams, where she is born doubly into a body of peace and a prized winged spirit. Knowing that her sacred breaths do not become full or in twentieth dawn of the topaz nor less of the ruby, in which no sunset dies of all the venerable benefits that are born with God, nor before the visit to her cousin Elizabeth and in her Magnificat, nor less in a resentment in twelve years of his son already put on a tree, from the very dialogues of a son with a father, leaving them as patriarchs, before the convenience of engaging in the tasks of his father, being the son of his chosen Mariah, and that in the womb of his mother Hanna there was no one to whom it would not be, not even when his son Jesus told him in units of his father that he did not understand, in the naivety of the flesh made of the divine verb and in the existence of the mediate mystery.

The Bedouin continues: “as gospel, I have transcended my paternity beyond the ministry of the relief of virginity of the maternal conscience of a divine son, but of resolution of the word from mother to son, still not understanding him…, but speaking for generations that they will never remove the word of God and his mystery from my soul. I will always be a Bedouin of Galilee, as in the amount of Simún and in the values of the disciples who are also my children of the fertility of a woman in all living beings, as a family line that is born from the ruins of Eve, to be reborn in the beginning of the clamorous genesis of Mariah "

Imram, visibly exhausted, traveled in the row of Simún, which was endowed with a being that creator of everything, as a spirit that engenders family love to reunite them at the nativity of his descendant, always with the existence that embodies the infinite ***** of the star. that skewed and guided him, taking out the entrails of the universe that did not fit in the world, to lead them in the exploits of an orthodox nihilism, to protect with their heralds and sustain them from such motherhood, in the de facto conception and mother-granddaughter, preceded by the archangels who guard everything until their appendages are lost in the confines that have no consummation. Before the holy dormancy of the fire of love, ramshackle yielded by the rosary and the Simun, where promontory praises are noticed about the good adventure of a perennial nativity, from those hours that continue to be subjects for the times of time as the immortal reign of the centuries, and the apostolates sponsoring their worthy catechesis in their filial course, from reverend mother in evident assumption taking him away from his sufferings.

Imram continues: “Wine for servants and kings, in a chalice for one, in a family that does not skimp on glasses to include, for more brothers to offer to have them closer than writing with other literary legions warned, rather alive in canon lines from the bible, in perpetuity as an existential ****** of an advent community, which is nothing more than a Christmas sermon, for it came in two being born into a mother and child, in the seventh dream and in its Christmas tirade. I will run closer to where I will be able to fall outside the walls of his holy house, to bring him all my offerings, for a very purified mother, who smells of roses and lilies adorning herself with cousin gifts from God, in the dispute of venerating him without time or saves opportune works of formerly bad deeds, but because of an urgent visit that I compensate at the end of intention and murmur, like his Messiah, only twelve years old, rising from the cliffs and also from the Apsid, avoiding the discursive center in the masses of his assumption, lining traces and returns from a crown like a dying star king, with a fearful stain in the vicinity of perihelion and as proximity to its orbital of Faith. "

His aphelion is more distant from a greater lost lot, always luminous in the night to reach the lap of the nativity of Nazareth, in an eternal dream that makes us be welcomed and transfigured by Mariah, in cosmopolitan frequency, in the liberations from herself. apotheosis, and those that deprivatize the internal idylls of a son and his wasted mother, only leaving us in the middle of a desert and their gifts separated, between points where it is intended to arrive by offering the doctrine in its sacramental figure, and manifesting its supernatural presence in melted nascent sheets and eternity that flees down from its equivalent marquee, becoming carved from the One-dimensional Beams..., being first-born, mother and multi-believer in the same hope and in the halo of Holiness of John within his wood and within his Nazarene halo.
Christoúgenna Parable
Lori McGaw Jul 2010
Without you
I no longer fight.
Without you
I no longer stand straight.
Without you
I no longer do what's right.
I find I fade while you're away,
Becoming less of myself,
More like I was.

Without you
I wander about.
Without you
I drift free.
Without you
I have doubts.
I sit in my unpreferred solitude
Reliving cherished memories
Through a veil of pain.

Without you
there is no light.
Without you
there is no silver sound.
Without you
there is no day
or night.
The orchids will not bloom,
The owls do not hoot
And the stars skimp
On their twinkling light.

2010
anastasiad Dec 2016
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Nely Mar 2020
Making stops from the sun to the moon
Who'd say i'd fall in love with you.
I'll land my feet on its dusky grey surface
Tell em Haze sent me,
Message you that i need better communication,
More assertion, more voice.
I'll skimp through 900 degrees,
I need the feminine energy to suffocate me
& i'll assert my drive across the reds
I'll write love letters to demos & phobos,
While i hang from the rings.
I'll take responsibility for falling in love with the stars, the moon and everything about you.
Elizabeth Oct 2017
In such a way I love myself, that his life does not skimp
Until the end he gave himself and to death was because the master
In such a way I love myself and there is no way I can pay
The price of your great love but my whole soul I want to give.


For your love I will live, of your love, I will sing
With my Jesus, I will walk because I love myself
For your love I will live, of your love, I will sing
With my Jesus, I will walk because he died for me
I will follow.

In such a way I love that his life does not skimp
Until the end he gave himself and to death was because the master
In such a way I love myself and there is no way I can pay
The price of your great love but all my soul I want to give.
nivek Sep 2016
Do not skimp on your compassion,
" But for the grace of God go I "
is no forlorn truth of freedom.
Chris Aug 2015
we just grew apart
i was never enough for her
she will tell me how wrong i am
that i filled her cracks with cement
in reality i was a thin plastic
on a bridge that demands steel
demands a good unselfish man
the cracks in my plastic snapped
underneath the pressure of desire
you and i are not the same
we tried
we tried
in the end she wanted a love from me
too powerful for me
too emotional for me
a love she gave and hoped for in return
hopefully she waited a year
and the more she fell in love
the more i drifted apart
i could only give a skimp excuse
it really is not her fault it is mine
she believed in me put her faith inside
and i never returned the favor
she wanted a real love
passionate
fulfilling
enduring
i am none but a false sense
i am the eye of the hurricane
you will not hear me roar until
i am gone
love
this trip
homeward bound,
riding the Q (subway) train
from the messy grime of a
never fully repossessed
cesspool misnamed as
Times Square,

to our apartment
near but yet far,
a poem short & sweet was
born complete, on an 8 minute
fast track victory lap to periodic
successful urban planning,

that even and
even though
with and/of
which
no speedy highly
disrespectful witch
on a broomstick,
nor a midnight traffickless
auto trip,
could ever hope
to compete
<>
roses red, violets blue,
all the passengers, revelry tired,
both becostumed & be plained,
Hallowed eve festivities
again, lesser than expected,
life be, eager awaited
legal moment of crazy-
-inness-inward-permissed,
never quiet or as good
as hoped,

we tired riders
all look worn from the
aggregated
infidelities of a
a hoped-for
missing-out happier life

nearing midnight,
the new immigrants,
in subway platform
patrolling,
offer us candy for sale,
their toddler children,
beside them
at this midnight hour,
to drive home
the desperate willingness to

survive in a city oft hostile

no longer eager to be
beacon beckoning
to the world, we rethink
to our minded selves,
our Statue of Liberty
engraved invite:

"Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, / The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. / Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, / I lift my lamp beside the golden door”
<>
we exit the underground rout(e)
and the walk from subway to front door
is another 8 minute travelogue segment,
we cover the quarter mile on foot,
covering a skimp of distance that
our urban transport  
of many mileage covered
in the same units of minutes
in flyer miles

<>
late at night,
we walk fast, with eyes wide,
our lives to hide,
from the risks of the
unpredictable
when the street parade
of stragglers
gives not the comfort of a
rowdy crowdy,
and the existence of crime
is not
entirely fabricated

<Did>
I offer short and sweet,

Oh well I only misled,
the trip 16 minutes
and the poem
in my head,
complete emerged
with minutiae attending
et. al.,
in far far less mini~minutes,
for it was
a product of
silent back labor,
from first staggering
screaming pain
to
successful unexpected birth
that can take maybe
minutes five,
to mentally survive
plus,
physically complete the birth,
introduce this poem to life.
when the photos of my mined mind
make images from negatives
into words,:

collect, sort and report the
output picturesque
now in colors black & white,
of a trip from a Broadway theater
through to a high rise building
astride the river
which gives me
a theoretical cleaner space to breathe
<>
rather than short and sweet?
I really reseed,
redeed it as/is:
not too long and a tad
bittersweet


a night in the life of
the mixture of successes and
failures of our troubled world
in
living technicolor,
a few seconds of film
of which one could fairly,
and in fairness
bless/write/curse/
each sight
twice,
uttering:

”mine eyes have seen the glories,
as all come to look for America”
a composite of many trips, that took ten
minutes to type with my left foot thumb
between 1:23 ~1:33AM
to spee,, review, pay its overdue
minefield fine
and send forth into the atmosphere ionic

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/83/Emmalazarusengraving.jpg/800px-Emmalazarusengraving.jpg
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
so, i was waiting for this one for several
days,
   dribbling - if that's the best
to express: anticipation...

            and...
                   thank **** i brought with me
some left-over ***,
and some whiskey...
  because... if those weren't handy...
i would start thinking:

  this is a horror movie...
or an art gallery?

         in question? the neon demon...
sure, sure,
i've hear snippets from the critics,
i've heard the soundtrack,
what could be bad about
a movie with such a hypnotic
soundtrack?

   oh... right... the movie itself...
ten minutes later,
after i have watched it...
and...
             where was the horror...
you know, the stereotypical
horror of a zombie-esque
male 6ft+ protagonist,
hooded, walking alone
in either the woods
or the out-suburbs...

         oh, right...
that's me day to day,
day to night...
          
    i've seen the face of being
astouded by horror...
me, turning into a walk
down
a low lit alley,
and an old man...
200 metres away,
spotting me, and cowering,
to give me a pass so that
both our bulks of flesh
would fit into the conscrition
of a pathway...

      200 metres away,
and the ****** still saw me...
let me tell you,
it would have been
twice as creepier
if i just bowed
and implied: you first,
kind sir...

the neon demon... hmm...
fun film...
but is it really worth being
labelled horror, by genre,
and nothing short of:
     "risque"...
     i mean...
          art nouveau...
****... what's the other term
for it?
      (tick-tock-tick-tock): ah!
avant-garde
  albeit mingling with still-life
painting...
   sure, sure,
  i loved all the angles...
and the... colours...
  but... maybe it was the last
remaing dosage of ***,
or the extra whiskey that came
later...
       i'd prefer horror
to be in allingement to
1970s slasher movies...
  where i'd... panic! and no disco...

once again,
a movie that... became overpowered
by the soundtrack...
           come on...
julian winding with the song...
the demon dance...
and the poverty's worth
of a the meagre scraps of the movie...
hey... ooh... ooh...
look at me... listening
to the song in full, solo...

and... what a circus of thoughts
i have to accompany me with...
like...
this example...
   i must be living in some
alternative universe...

just today,
i was walking to my Iraqi Pirate
shopkeeper "fwend"...
listening to some cheap-***
babylonian bongo-bongo
music...

           and just ahead of me...
5 starlings...
which basically implies
5 english girls geared up,
and ready to hit the small town,
with dreams of L.A....
   pristine figures...
cat-walk models...
don't you ever find that
cat-walk models can implant
in you a thought-virus
making you overtly conscious
of how you walk?

   anyway... what time and day
and month is it?
oh...
                 half-term...
    so what i wtinessed was...
a bunch of 16 year olds
(hopefully)
   walking to the bus-stop
from a pre-drinks session
in their council houses...

          i'm too awkward...
big frame, easily spotted...
    and that's prior to watching
the movie...
   hmm...

  you know the one thought
running through my 'ed
when watching the neon demon...
now i love animals...
but seeing what people do
to other people?
    can someone, please(!)
give me an apron and send me
to the slaughterhouse?!
  the whole affair
just took my mind off
(if ever) advocating for
veganism...
              
           all that "excess" furr...
perfected pork chops...
***** of beef...
          and... the fashion industry's
underbelly...
heavenly standards
it would seem:
the fatter the pig...
        the prettier the inverted
Blakean painting
of the great dragon
and the woman dressed in
the sun...
   as... made a fetish from...
by?
                   ralph feans: toothfairy.

one ******* month spent
visiting my grandparents
in Poland,
and here i am,
a month later, upon my return,
just... so, so, so so eager
to welcome back this
cluster-**** of vestern
modernity!

     but those girls?
            those essex girls...
it's... late... february...
and they're out there, tonight,
wearing nothing but
skimp clothing,
   yeah... back in the 1960s...
mid-winter...
   the mini-skirts were
all but rave...
   i'm huddling in a polysterene
hoodie...
gloves...
and they're "out-there"
             donning raw flesh...

like i said, alternative universe...
i think i was told this
was going to be a horror movie...
dunno...
   i look at myself in
the mirror and i see a horror movie...
the hell did i just watch?

  it wasn't horror...
       in the classical concept
of a horror movie...
there are instances in a film...
where you hush the noise
down...
         because the images
are less scary
than the sound beneath them...
this ******* movie?
every time some music
became prominent
i decided to reign the volume
up...

         rare, but it happens...
when a movie is overpowered
by a soundtrack...
        n'ah... this wasn't horror...
it was art...
i give you that...
    that someone being
the director must have really
studied
        edward hopper
     and david hockney...
someone fused them together...
dimmed the colour in david hockney
and made emphasis of angle
           in edward hopper...
of the former and both the latter...
i just love the quote:
  'i just like to capture light...'
first ******* painter to say so...
by any standards of a stretched
imagination...

         me? critic?
              yeah... by way of:
             music was over-powering...
dialogue was... scraps...
         and... compared
to a latex mask...
     those californian models
are supposed to scare me
with their: to become generic
beauty standards equivalent to e.t.?
yeah... i was petrified...

                it's like those people
in tech are trying to avert
    interacting with...
                less robot, more flesh...
but more robot in the end...
  i.e.
        no flesh, all robot...
      but more human in the end...

oi oi chaps! hopes this helps
your algorithms studying
   whatever this will end being...
necrophilia of a desairologist..
seriously?
   that's the zenith?

        i heard that the one from
the city i was born in...
used to play poker with them!

  ah... because nothing that's
human can ever be alien to us...
can it?
                if that's not the case...
then no wonder...
all those poor eleanor rigby
types...
        suffocating in
    a beauty that's no more than
a labyrinth
              of assembled shards
that could never resemble
  the mild discomfort of, ugly,
sedated by the feeling of
an armchair...
             of all the prostitutes
i've ever been with:
   armchair beauties...
       middle-aged... chub...
but beauty that could be made...
mandible;

to add:
     reciproated responsibility...
condoms were in full play...
     not like this russian teenager...
she the cage, me the ******* sparrow...
just because:
that's how you translate emotions...
to a reciprocated zenith...
        no no, no thank you...
i'm better off with a *******
for an hour...
than with a starved russian teen
who thinks it best
to lie about contraception...
   i already mentioned this before...
year later...
   so... her grandmother was
her mother...
   her mother was her sister...
her father was her mother's boyfriend...
and her uncle was her brother...

     see what being dipped
in a lake of naivety does to you?
me... in america...
ha ha... ha ha ha ha!
it's one thing to have visited
russia...
          that pile of croissants?
no thank you...
   it's enough to have to deal
with whittle miss morbid England.
mikev Jul 2016
Serving birds
Got me walking on egg shells
If I don't skimp
Night class, I might last
I bike back - alone
To build this nest
To leave this place in the past
To see you smile
I'd wish away, the world -
Got a fortune
Zip locked in a locked locker
This is torture
Making love, I just watch her
Smile.
taylor Dec 2019
that ramshackled wax house situated in the lonely ‘Sticks,
where flocks of muddle-minded sheep would whimper,
this obscure grove you attempted escaping to for it only to retreat infinitely further,
birds shrill that knee-knocking prayers were not to heal your sickness,
leaden dirt kicked up in the driveway by his stuttering pick-up truck,
    his hefty-booted footsteps cracking warnings,
two folks roosting there,
    they skimp along on scanty paychecks,
    when’s the last time you spruced up?
hushed deeds done behind doors, back porches, piddling sheep ranching, 9-to-5 waitressing,
a domestic trophy, coaxing you to product with a simper or an act on her knees,
a bride of winsome nineteen
from a limited nuclear family yet disowned as an unfaithful *****  for hobnobbing with the riff raff,
traded names to be a ‘Cherry’, unbecoming displays of skin, hootin’-hollerin’, shake her fist to the Heavens and toss her mane, sneering and bad-mouthing, rebellious attitudes of subsisting on the ‘wild’ aspect of life,
did you think you could your persist youthful life negligently forever?
psychotically ‘steadfast’ to her brutish man,
RIDE OR DIE!                    hard whiskey, cigarettes, and phone calls,
he narrates her stories, she sings delusioned hymns,
their day comprising of blackberry kisses and black coffee grippings,
of bitten bottom lips and benign bruises,
    violet caressing her inner thighs, unbuckled passion to the eye,
                        pose on his knee, crooked grins
dancing for him in wiry linen lingeries, to strut her lithe yielding legs,
                          straddle her in-between those hush sheets,
                                    one hot breath,
does he flinch when she first handles him unexpectedly? does he gaze into distances far and mumbles abstractedly?
       “No one will love you like I do.”
    spoiled excess wool in wicker baskets,
                         does she stash a packed suitcase beneath the bed?
                         red lipstick,
                                        polished pistol,
                                       hotdishes,
to you, the lamb of which she stalked,
    what transfixed you? was it her beggar puppy eyes or the muscled haunches? some boyish fantasy for a mature woman who you observed sunbathing on her lawnside?
                he had that lean meat where his sighings exhibiting his ribs,
                that fond, innocent sense desiring a mother-figure,
you met her under the hollowing light of the street lamp,
what meager knowledge of each other did they know? she cannot fulfill her promise to whisk you away to coasts free,
        soaking the laid-towels in fields, a rhythmic guidance for the inexperienced,
did she think of him instead, preferred? and a warm bed?                                         preoccupied,
caught! in the act of entanglement,
did they hear the din? his baleful bark? your blanched bleat?
springing in defense, muddied soles as tangible sins,
his flash-fire eyes, pulsing veins with an envious rage,
a preaching of her ****, his fractured heart, love so sacred one can NEVER betray the boundaries,
did he clench his hands around her throat? oh!
his demands that he pronounced! **** you with the pistol he brandished zealously,
MANDATORY!
          Moon as my witness,
                            who was your Savior in that moment? where was your merited divine intervention?
but slow of action, faint of heart, grasping her hands he forced the weapon, he plyed her finger to pull the trigger,
             the lamb’s final shallow breath, the hounds smacking their ****** gums,
one cold breath,
The snow must have felt blistering,
how frightened she became, alter her standpoint,
but she could flee as she thirsted! the yank! the ******! to the ground,
                    the punishing baseball bat to ******* her legs,
dousing, saltish tears, rouge lips gasping, sporadically whimpering between bitter laughter,
his hand on her neck skimming gradually, gracefully, between her blades, warm,
gingerly cradling her, splintering voice, apologies like flurries,
            that day summer’s day when they first married in front of the grove,
         she remembers her billowing linen dress, the way they waltzed in lush grass,
                                would the world chasm off beyond?
        he would kiss her again in precisely the same manner as once before,
fall desperately in love with him, firm, truely steadfast, unpacking her suitcase,  
mosey back towards that lit house of wax, that far-flung street lamp and the dispersed sheep,
“Take me home.”        
                                “No one will love you like I do.”
Vessels  and Wine menus of the archaic formulas seemed from the new Universe that was approaching them vertiginously, concelebrating the unitary form of the union of the pilasters of the Opistódomos with Hellas , which was constituted as an inter-dimensional state, for two strategists universal and immortal that provided the beginning of a new Christic language, based on the relationship of the unified polis but with an infinite calendar perspective. The courage to start an end with a beginning full of excitement and celebration where clearly the dances would be from beginning to end to treasure the influences of endless complacency, and that would hold commemorative celebrations of station processes, being established fiercely in the treasuries of Metroon ; as a duplicated and bilocated agoras on Patmos, besieging all the documents of the glorious past of Mythology towards the new preservation of Submitology, where the people of heroes and anti-heroes of all the Pleiades come to life from the Vernarth transcript, as a multidimensional memorial archive housing in all the concerns of eternity written, and preserved tangible and intangible that would transport them to the annals of a sanctuary that would agree with the repositories of everything that was and will be of this Myth annex beyond a fantastic reality, going back to the Hellenisms that they will compose next to the Beit Hamikdash Temple, as a sacred mansion where the ceiling and the floor would rest in total communion. The dimensions will be given in the own open foot that will standardize the buttresses that would make up the access chambers to the privileged place of Rea, with dimensions that could be displayed in the confines of the inflection of Orion, naturally illuminating the vault of Greece in the head of the Agora and from there to Theoskéspasti, to then be triangulated with the Doric and Ionic colonnades specifying the Vernarth chamber, which will have its quantum progression and multidimensional link throughout the Archaic Hellas to all of Judea that will re-sanctify the possibilities that the heroes will parade eternally for the waters and lands that are proper to inertia, where Athena and Nike will make the pots with mead in the rejection of more miracles that will flow from Galilee to Patmos. The etymology would be of Hellenic customary avant-garde, evidencing realities where every day the peasants sharpened their sickles, as a feast that celebrated the first-rate courts with the first-grade olive oil with the Almazara or oil press that will bring the fruits of the table. The flapping of the pelicans would tie laudable sounds from the Thuellai worshiping the phonograms that were emitted from the Metroon, attracting the classical periods of the conformation of Greece when it was only Chaos and Seas in conflict. From this mythological proposition, everything was a reality where the lack of custom proved as a cultural character, it was the vertical cultural basting coined in the gloss of the signifier, rather than the meaning, leading everything to these festivities of edibles and drinkable towards the Panhellenic that it would bring new vigor of expansive territorial function, towards Macedonia and Delphi as a holiday that could celestially have more than twelve lunar months.

Meanwhile Vernarth was hugging a rattle more than two meters high and one in diameter, this resonance implied the inaugural sound of the Symposium of the Athletic Agon that together with the Almazara would run rials of oilseeds, to anoint the attendees as all Sacred of the jubilee of the Opistódomos and the Hamikdash, towards the new Submitological Era Duoversal between the events that will delight everything that concerns accompanying the pairings of liquids and solids in this competitive challenge, so that the mythical hero becomes the credible hero stationed in the ninth laurels that would make up the foundation and inauguration of the games, after the victory of those who never threw the victor's crown. The votive offerings and monuments joined the agonal journey that referred from the perspective of a soul that wanted to compete with its existential soul, and then reluctantly redirected itself through the unusual temples that seemed to vanish amid the crowds, making this festive ritual the greatest expression. of all the votive festivals in Patmia. In practice, the meals would once again be rewards for the support of the sky by the Matakis, as a snowy reflection in the pouch that does not display any icon other than a numismatist that sniffs the pieces of bronze that were surrounded by the other derivatives of the terminal of saturation of Zeus, seeming to identify that Matzoh would fall from the sky, and Manah that will highlight the laurel artifice when the conceptual of the sages give the beginning of the activities with a meta-praxis that will stand out from the full stomachs, and the bladders supplemented with oenological colors, eradicating physical competitions for those of the allegory of Dionysian pleasure that suggests a human and mythological hybridism, Submitological-supernatural. Everyone became restless and ran along the golden trails of the iridescent nimbus creating capacities to unfold the time of Kairos and at the same time re-inaugurating the feat of noble bread and the skills of collecting the green fords, where Persephone refrained from an illegitimate pressure by leaving the intellectual bulwarks for the destiny of the force that subtracts the will, but if it defines the feminine character that caresses the tongues of the soulless and they call us with the features of competing prostrate to a Goddess who worships the eternal shine of the wheat field that refers, and what makes the ibidem in the conferences of a hero who smacks the features of all the sculptures that will follow the cause of reason of the allegorical agoras and the competition where the meek will only toast when nobody sees them face inhibition itself of what is and is not.

What the languages uttered became shouted to sit near the inns and tables with dairy products and wines from which they all stood up with a cantiga in unison, ***** in the joy of being called to the Hellenic invitation to compete, to make dynamics and refer to physical skills assiduously to the constellations that made them awaken the intellectuals. The attributes of each one were a trigger to celebrate and laugh before the divinity of the new Age, along with the solemnity of Himation. This lasted twenty-eight days exchanging the full moons that would bring the shooting stars with boiled genetics that were forged from the Souvlaki prototype, and flashes that would take them to the symposium where the feasts were dimensions that surpassed the entire width of the galaxies, to praise and cheer the crowded Pleiad of assistants fully compete in the intelligentsia, before the various rituals and spells that were prepared with the consecration of the Symposium that would bring together Alpha and Omega, as a Semitic language that filtered through the iridescence nets that manifested from the Nimbus where they remained the vaporous entity of the Mashiach.

Vernarth imbibed, above all, a segment of space that allowed him to look without being distracted towards the height of the Nimbus, creating in the tract of languages that they wandered between Aramaic, Greek, and Hebrew, after that the extra-biblical witness Marzeah would designate in the liturgy of celebration of the Symposium, always noting that the allusive rhetorical conversations at the side of the Symposium meeting, understanding that they would become a brotherhood of tasters of the ethyl elixir, which would flow from the iridescent tract between seven iridescence that would translate into bittersweet solid foods and rolls with thyme from Kalymnos. The ingestion in two portions was lived from arm to arm in the jars of hand, reciprocal in the distractions that Vernarth made looking at the Nimbus, and offered him with his Khaire, promoting distraction and jumping over the dark clouds that were tinged with purple tones of the ethyl elixir, creating dance forms that revived the altruism of euphonic auditions that divined that the world could be all Wine and Matzoh, which was lavished on those who would not be excluded from the drinking of the sky that flowed as food from the fermented Hydor, alongside some concave stones with toasted chickpeas, fresh fruit, and Lepanto beans. Saint John blessed food considering that Eurydice, Circe, Medea, Hecate, and Walekiria would be incorporated into the festive Andron, although the feminine essence should be reserved for other stages of the solemn festival. The expositions of contentment were to have the vessels permanently facing the sky of the Nimbus, because from there holistic ethyl liquids would constantly fall that would shine with their deferred colors, sensitizing what the ear wanted to hear more than their collisions of Epichisis and Enócoes to pour and serve. in geometric ciboriums from Laconia. Vernarth would walk around the Profitis with Askos full of the essence of the Mashiach wine, which served them with the seven cosmic thoughts, thus frequenting the distractions for those who did not skimp on Apollo's delirium of dipsomania, distracted in Vernarth with the dancers of music by Hetera. Vernarth filled the glasses of all those who carried Guttus and Lecitos who relaxed and brought their Cretan flavors in the chirps of their pharynxes coming out from their mouths with verses that seemed the same as those of the Heterias, which the soldiers of the phalanx influenced the Small groups in a circle to applaud the gift and virtue of celebrating with improvised cheers, which in the bedrooms invited even the dissuasive shadows of their own evil that wanted to seep into the symposium. The afternoon was reinvented from the agora and the proscenium that attended for all from all the borders that would bring the storms of the ethyl nimbus, inviting new tides from the Aegean that would add to re-condense in the parasites that swarmed deserts with the rhythm of one night in all the borders and optics of the world, being able to be seen clearly and precisely to be reissued. The comedy of Dyonisius was present with all his court of Syracuse, and Dionisio was reiterated with Thespis and his supports that spelled ruffian verses between bitten, one being King the other being a God, sticking to his origin as a demigod in the feminine inheritance of a mortal, to come to serve in Cantharos to Dyonisius, where they roar in his mortal consciousness. The parasites bustled through the floodgates of intoxication that could be textualized and verbalized in the shrinking of colic, or perhaps boldly sitting on a tripod to imitate the Sybillas if they were to be supported by the effluvium of Alcyoneus, covering with snakes that they would carry potions in the wine glasses when representing the banquets that would falsify to be scenes of a feast, with the criterion of an over-relief.
Opistódomos Symposium
I used to fly high before
Anchored to bruises and scars
We just jump and skimp about.
Michael Kusi Feb 2018
They want to arm teachers.
I would rather pay teachers
But they replied they would pay teachers to carry arms.
But I sneered that they would ignore teachers who come with open arms
To receive pay.
You cannot convince me that a teacher should only be paid more
If they take up arms.
And if teachers are to play  police
To police our children
Does that mean the role of children in the classroom changes too?
Would teachers be more instructors or security guards?
I don't know how anyone would be able to do both equally well.
It would be like someone being both judge and baliff.

The sad part is if they ask for a pay raise for any other reason
Such as I need to keep up a standard of living
They say we can’t afford it.
But we can’t afford to skimp on education.
They risk their lives every day
To do what is most essential for our society
Teach our kids.
We have people who can protect them.
The teacher's role is uniquely bestowed.
But you add guns to the equation
It makes it more of a battle.
And not one thats adds up.
The violence might multiply
Because more guns cross the divide between teacher and student.
It is said that the teacher’s unions are the problem.
If there was no teacher union there would not be advocates at all.
Because if these people complaining did not talk out of both sides of their mouth
They really would not be able to talk at all.
Whit Howland Jan 2020
Mostly

I'm about  the simple
image

or idiom

like two slices
of split top bread
with

butter spread
across each face

taking care I don't
skimp or
cut corners

not too thick

but never
never

too thin

Whit Howland © 2020
Abstract word painting.

— The End —