Death waits beyond the gates and stuck on pikes or up on spikes,the heads of malefactors.
Eyes ****** out by greedy beaks and tongues torn by the laughing winds,ears that hear no rivers flow or travellers as they go to and fro across the bridge.
Skulduggery and thuggery hand in hand the outlaw land across the Thames,tarts and carts and herring bones and fish wives heading off to homes beyond the liberty,where lawlessness is more or less the way things are,
and a penny a *** of gin is a lot but for twopence you get one free,
the ribald are eyeballed and marked as fair game and as the fayre starts up on the ice,
everyone gets a slice of the quince as the fey boys mince down on mincing lane and head to the borough to join in the game.
London by nature and London by name and someone to scrub the bloodstains from the hands of those who hang loose in the
outlaw lands.

It was wrong to love you,
I knew that.
Sneaking and skulduggery.
A web of lies.
Lies that tripped me up,
Lies that I believed.

Now that I think back,
I know that you wove those webs.
But I liked being caught,
I liked playing your game.
I loved you.
I thought you loved me.

We're being faked out,taken out,shaken down, by skulduggery so rife in London town,and we wait for it,salivate for it,cant get enough of it, we even pray for it.

Lubricated,down the pan and flushed away by 'the man',ending up or bending down,it's all the same to London town.

Don't try to tell me,that this is right,or we should bite the bullet and accept our lot,it's a dot on the card when life is so hard that we have to stand and fight.

The 'establishment' might not like us
but those ******* in their close knit groups,storm troop us every day and take away our pride,chide us,ride us,grind us down,remould us,reminding us how cold it is when we can't afford to pay for heat
don't let them beat you,defeat you,cheat you 'cause we'll get through
and do them down.
Life is like that,
London town,it's krap
It's going to snap
to fall apart
the streets will rise,the building's fall and down at Mansion house they'll call us ****,
well, that don't hurt a bit
Let them **** on caviar and sip sauvignon at the trough, while poor men cough their lungs up,
brung up,wrung out,strung up and finally thrown down,
why would anyone want to live and try,have children who die in
London town?

We all could have equal rights
If the world would only grant them.
We could all sing a brand-new
A truly joyous national anthem.
We could sing about at last
The words of the Constitution
Finally will match with reality
Without another revolution.

This is the tale of the autocrats
And how they got badly out of hand.
They decided they knew more about
Things they could never understand.
They decided they knew better than
The people with proper education.
So they elected their supporters to
Lay waste to their own fine nation.

This is a morality tale about greed
And what it can do to men’s minds;
That turns them to skulduggery
And makes them act as if they’re blind
To reason, decency and even honor
Taking advantage of the weakest
Who then grow weaker by the hour.

As many times in history, they promise
A shopping list of impossible dreams
And the weak think they’ll come true,
Say reality is not quite what it seems.
They think by listening to carpetbaggers
They will all get rich and supported
By each elected lying *******.
But those dreams are soon aborted.

For a while they believe the woes
Are made by their predecessors.
They’l blame the losers, the gays
The blacks and finally the electors.
They won’t question themselves
About the choices they all made.
By then the path of doom and death
Will be almost permanently laid.

Darkness.* It was as clear as daylight, and the truth was right in front of me. But my stubbornness and unwillingness to see made it as if I had hot candle wax on my eyes, while standing in a citadel of lights.

Refusal. Refusal to see, let alone act. I chose to see only my illusion and shun the reality that those who were not blind have been trying to enlighten me to.

Denial. In retrospect, it wasn’t refusal as it was an ignorant denial. I denied myself the reality that is, and lived in a world that wasn’t. I could not comprehend that I was living a lie for so long that I rejected the notion that there was even a reality besides my own.

Truth. I have lived in the dark for long enough, but now I have to be brave for myself. Slowly I’ve come to see that my entire reality was merely a fantasy. I hate the line that goes, “The truth will set you free”, because it offers no promise of rehabilitation after release, but after losing the hope that fuelled my dreams, I see now that hope was merely a drug that I was addicted to for far too long. The truth will set me free, but it’s a double edged sword. I am free from my shackles at the cost of cutting off a part of myself. I am free, but was it worth the cost?

Freedom. Now I once again walk in the warmth of the light, and see the deceit, skulduggery, and empty promises that was my fantasy. An old man once told me, *If I let go of someone who did not love me, it is not a loss. The loss is theirs, because I lost someone who didn’t love me, but they lost someone who loved them.

Love. I am empty now after giving it my all, but fret not, there is the certainty that people will come into my life, who will fill up what I’ve lost, and then when the time comes, I’ll give all I’ve got to that special person who’ll give me all they've got.

Time can heal the wounds, but it can’t hide the scars.

It pains me to say that chicanery reigns in the palaces that we once admired,
bought off by some toff that sits in the tower and showers down false accusations.

They may wear fancy clothes to the function, but skulduggery rules and in or around Clapham Junction the rooks have a feast.

Anyway
news from the hunt will soon be front page,

they shoot elephants you know and I know
that's a sideshow



the real killing goes on behind
closed doors.

Loan me a pyramid
Methinks I’ll create a desert
And a few things laid to waste
Hamlet’s now been discredited
His girlfriend went to his head
And the bald bard is now dead
Put that in your jest good fellow
And play with it until’ it’s finite
Cos’ I’ve got a life of my own
Dramatists an’ their princes
I ask you; who needs any of 'em?
This skull will paint the town
An' the treachery of Elsinore
A deep and blood soaked red
Life's much better red and dead
At last this poor, poor Yorrick
Wants his rich an' cold revenge
The pink champagne's on ice
An Ophelia's really quite nice
Twice a maiden for half the price
Chaining daisies for her prince
Will she jump or shall I shove
It’s jolly difficult to determine
If she’s coming or if she’s going
With half her bunnery to a nunnery
Or all her nakery to a bakery
It’s all really quite *******
I must mismatch that doxy later
She's such a lovely little mover
An’ quite the mountain shaker
She’s wasted on that lunatic
Besotted with his hollow crown
And everyone loves the mad prince
The odd fellow’s such an infinite pest
And an absolute calamity of error
Now the loser’s love will love  
This fool who looks and acts
Like me, a prince with brains
That's my own unkind of justice
Laced with the sweetest contempt
Her father was a broken pawn
Shop keeping’s in his blood
He had madness in his method
But his ambition was quite flawed
Shallow depth betrayed his thought
He could’ve have been a contender
Not just a two bit part of a player
Upstaged by a curtain. How tragic!
Death by drapery; don’t you just love it?
His son is now a polished footman
And such an excellent head waiter
He spends his life in glass mirrors
Reflecting on his boney features
As I make sure he waits forever
So much better never than Laertes
That’s my motto for another day
He may count himself so fortunate
He was such a snappy dresser
(Do take me to your tailor
I'll deal with your leader later)
‘Tis a pity he was such an idiot
If brains were more his fashion
And skulduggery were his judge
He might have fared much better
Of characters faithful to a grudge
He could’ve lived much longer
I'll make him beg and borrow
At my very own convenience
Then dispatch him to his father
That eternally serial draper
Ashes to ashes and curtains to curtains
There’s a poetic justice in that
And it’s ever so sweetly prosaic
I might even copyright that
It’s so great to be (sic) on the up
And watch the shallow pale cast
And all their precious thought
Come tumbling, tumbling down
Life’s just great for a vicious close
Horatio; a name to conjure with              
Is now my personal skull dresser
His life is in his hand held mirror
And vanity was his saving feature
But not enough to save the creature
Vanished in the puff of a hairspray
Mist and then tragically unspoken
By all outside his fractured image
Hair today and bald tomorrow
More in boredom than in sorrow
That’s the way life goes in Elsinore
A place of lunacy and ditch fillers
Bedevilled by ghosts and spectres
Wearied by the mortality of trespass
But lovely for their dramatic effect
With dreary words in opaque coats
Whose only life was useless death
Haunted by their unbroken breath
Killing the living is as easy as pie
Deceasing the dead takes real talent
But some how I know I’ll manage
Burying them is a different matter
Perfect for the professional digger
Such simple souls with nice shovels
To gouge their own infernal trench
'Neath the crust of an all receiving earth
Their trade is part of my obsession
And their undertake is imminent
I’ll ditch them with an eternal trowel
And let them shovel hell as well
Isn’t that so me, generous to a fault
I’ll let them share a double vault
Two messengers and a message
Arrived in time for their departure
Later’s so much better than sooner
When your life’s the dying business
Overtime’s a bonus. Die one get one free!
Who’d resist such a generous bargain?
Certainly not a haggling fool like me
Most consanguineous with his deed
The King and Queen were in their dream
Before they met their nightmare      
Now they’re gone to match their deeds
And the kingdom is quite empty
There’s nothing left in their possession
A perfect state for my accession
The hollow hat suits this skull
At a jaunty and a rakish angle
And Ophelia will look great on me
Do bring that doxy closer to her maker
She can bring her chain of flowers
They’re perfect for the occasion
Tonight’s the night for her accession
Tomorrows the date of her departure
She can take her mad, mad prince
To that too, too solid earth
That gladly awaits their tenure
And I’ll be king of the castle
It’s so true; nobility fits me like a glove
And power is my one true love
Down the below and up the above
But alas and alack it came to an end
The doxy brought her princely friend
Who wasn’t quite full round the bend
Neither was he my best friend
With a daisy chain in every hand
And designs upon my scrawny neck
He stretched it ‘til it made that sound
Which left me crumpled on the ground
Rattling bones and kicking legs
Gasping for that sweet fresh air
Which forsooth was never there
And thus it was I met my fate
Both outrageous and unfortunate
The shallow earth consumed my flesh
And stole my ****** hollow bones
More in vengeance than in sorrow
They let me rot for all tomorrow
Perished by their flowery garotte
The precocious pair claimed the lot
Castles, kingdoms and a ****** moat
And all that rots in old Denmark              
All by the method of their madness
And I their puppet on a string
I do believe they planned it thus
To leave me squirming in the dirt
To take the blame and feel the hurt
A cat’s paw for the embrace of death
By the doxy and the scheming heir
My my, my, what a precious pair
Death by daisy chain, how pathetic
A comedy more tragic than divine
I’ll never be able to live it down
And they will never dredge it up
Alas, this last poor Yorrick’s gone
And all their ***** doings are done
Less in grandeur than in greed
The beggars planned the ****** deed
And all I got was this floral ****
Oh what a foolish fool dies in me
And oh what a pity rules in Elsinore
A greedy prince an’ a scarlet *****
That’s their lot, there’s nothing more
Except this one true final score
The bald bard knew the old trap door
Concealed a fall in the rakish floor
Is everything wormwood, wormwood?
That’s the question, and there’s the scrub.

lurks within the outer limits of cyberspace,
where dark shadows eclipse edge of night
indistinguishable from the twilight zone.

Within the Internet binary size weavers loom
shuttlecock whizzes (analogous to a bad mitten)
at speed of greased lightning warp speed
weaving courtesy electronic webbed wide world
snaring and snagging
poor schlemiel or schlimazel,
videlicet snazzy convincing culprit,
who gets figuratively sucker punched
courtesy malevolent scoundrels
(devoid of moral scruples)
to mimic legitimacy
subsequently scam without misgivings
(but exude untrammeled glee)
preying upon vulnerable particular populations
such as the elderly and infirm.

Victim services of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
helped me recoup one hundred Benjamins,
whereas gofundme page
(I jimmied up for myself)
wrought nary a handy dandy blues clues
restitution, and passage of time
failed to help me shake off loss
financial windfall garnered
from shifty eyed weasley wiseacres,
who managed to usurp without a hitch
manifold times more than a ***** dozen
designated dollar denomination
with President Grover Cleveland's face

and yours truly (me) continues to chide himself
for significant sucker punches
to solar plexus of mine
still smarting when analogous hackers
tricked the writer of these words
into zombified, hypnotized, bamboozled...
approximately seventeen plus months ago
when venal hucksters
hacked into Macbook Pro laptop,
an older model before purchasing current
MacBook Pro (Retina, 15-inch, Mid 2015)
and left absolute zero trace of their whereabouts
a fly by night scampering posse if thieves.

I think back to that diabolical
hectoring kafkaesque purgatory,
and replay the mental tape
before yours truly (me)
blindsided (even while wearing eyeglasses
that offered 20/20 insight),
nevertheless acting as if controlled remotely

behavior of mine at the mercy of one
who called himself Harvey Specter
(invariably he touted other pseudonyms
to avoid identification)
while he coached one after another
of his brainwashed subject
cursed like an automaton.

Argh! I decry being a "Dummkopf"
and stupidly followed gentle commands
to drive to the nearest ATM,
(which happens to be an MP gas station
located at 125 Gravel Pike,
Collegeville, PA 19426),
wherein I converted nearly
every last red cent
from Citizens Bank accounts
into  a kind of digital payment,
or cryptocurrency namely;

Bitcoin (the first decentralized cryptocurrency.

Nodes in the peer-to-peer bitcoin network verify transactions through cryptography and record them in a public distributed ledger, called a blockchain, without central oversight.

Consensus between nodes is achieved using a computationally intensive process based on proof of work, called mining, that secures the bitcoin blockchain. Mining consumes large quantities of electricity and has been criticized for its environmental impact.

After buzzfeeding
one large denominational bill after another
into the maw of the mute cash
banking my virtual wallet
also known as a digital wallet
bulged at the seams,
which constitutes software-based system
that stores payment information and allows users
to make purchases without physical cards or cash)
signed, sealed and delivered
to aforementioned scoundrel.

Nest egg of mine
(mostly lifetime monetary accumulation
of birthday or holiday gifts
scrupulously saved for dotage
of me and the missus)
mere chump change
of a crack (drug) dealer,
but never enough remaining years,
thus mein kampf forever
an impossible mission
to feel free and clear of penury,
cuz social security disability the saving grace
allowing, enabling and providing
fiscal ways and means
to avoid being homeless.

cast me curmudgeons and frissons
of thousands of subliminal tokens askew
hailing from chalky isles and cloudy heads
where in sunken histoire Ordinances of one and three
afore one and one in the bespoke thiefdom of glass-eyes
and impeached rulers in colourless robes as does carpe diem(s)

The hue of night is deem unworthy
in beastly form the robed conjured and concurred
in dud recognition of ethical grace culture or heritage
not of rule or dignity shall we find charcoal mined from pits
yet in blazing brilliance diamonds of priceless lustre digs from black
eons of looters rapists and harbingers of scorched earth reek divisives

In Millileum archaic paths trod impudently
obtuse ignorance courts voguish moral decay et ideologue
voicing Artificial Intelligence and Levi's over robes et pointed hats
the poachers turn game-keepers at your service and equality is game
as of then so is now reprobate alchemists twisting truths to delusions
the snake oil merchant selling anti-monarchist lotions to cure laziness



Hide not your shame in skulduggery
aromantizing Robin Hood and perverse politicking stinks
these days Robin would be head of a Major Crime Syndicate
and if not languishing in jail would be hiding and living in dread
kings queens and princesses and princes all pay taxes legitimately
perchance you cannot work there're Social Assistance aplenty to help

This is the twenty-first century
work for a fairer just and peaceful society for all regardless
everybody has a cross they bear each in whatever way they can
stealing from your neighbour or another is not socially acceptable
even more reprehensible is blaming discrediting and ruining the victims
the truth will always out sooner or later even for princes with hues
you hate

The Political class

The problem with politicians is we need
someone to represent us and they do for a reward
the power and prestige.
Delegates speak fluently give promises they have
no intention of keeping and a prone to corruption
and will always do the bidding of the haves.
In the corridors of power, they strike deals which
are hidden for us and when called out they lies
and we are often too willing to believe them.
Of course, we have democracy and elect someone else
who say what we like to hear, but they the new brooms
somehow blend in with the rest of their class
and many run their own businesses that, they say, is
because they work hard, I call it skulduggery.
President Macron of France is a good example, silver-tongued
and charming he pretends to want a just society
when the truth is he only represents big business
and doesn't bother to talk to the lower classes except
for platitudes and when we discover the truth, it is too late
a politician who has no ideology is only in for this
for control and when they fail feel no shame just
go back making money elsewhere.

Glad for birth write to express views
aware cunning linguists
will apply figurative screws  
in an effort at blatant mud slinging ruse
exercised courtesy mail in ballots,
or electorates standing in queues
who the previous Sunday
possibly fervently prayed within pews
a mixture of Republican and Democratic

gentiles (relating to or indicating
a nation or clan, especially a gens)
and orthodox or reformed Jews,
although dissimilar viewpoint you may choose,
perhaps feeling exuberant
crying tears of joy
with red eye to boot
unlike myself (a common Joe)
biden his time until 2028
until then experiencing moody blues.

The following mostly written
November 6th, 2018,
nevertheless, I copy and paste
bulk of previously crafted poem
applicable to 2024 presidential election
nearly six years to date
from forty fifth elected
meddling,  scheming, and yawping
commander in chief.

Das Don Auld (can hardly tank
tucker - son of Carl, and leave
landscape barren) calling out
rigged ken tuckered hoarfrost race,
viz demolition derby presaging
death to White Anglo Saxon
democracy DOMS (delayed
onset muscle soreness)
minions decry diplomacy,
crass denunciation of
Stacey Abrams

liberally Apple eyeing jingoistic rhetoric
declare defamation directly
upon disparate grass roots
hegemony, hectoring, heckling,
and harassing humble hobby (lobby) horse
sense, asper progressive
democrats hurrahing, holstering, hitching
visa vis disc hovering rays in the sky,
no fault in our stars,
harnessing healthy,

honesty, humility plowing,
sowing, and tilling political
terrain at expense tubby
execrably, damnably, cruelly,
brutally, nagged, branded,
and whipped malevolently,
mercilessly, and mischievously
lambasted by fourth grade
vocabulary level former commander
in chief exuding: haughtiness,
doughy bully pronouncing

prescriptions provisioning
one percent pampered
population attending one
born at Jamaica Hospital in Queens,
New York City hobnobbing,
galavanting, fawning...
at ego inflating functions
exploiting downtrodden
under most class "dirt poor"
bilked proletariat segment.

Pinnacle (topping Taj Mahal),
now owns Birds eye
bourgeoisie view, which
informs hawkish word
smiths, onlookers with
powerfully pointed outlook
excellent access, sans zealous,
vociferous, uxorious, and traitorous
tyrannical reigning Rex
less lee pugnacious noxious

loose xenophobic,
jabberwocky, demagoguery
laced jargon surly *******,
quizzically, pugilistic-allied,
outrageously punching
imaginary nemesis, linkedin
with instagram, snapchat
twittering skulking arch
conservative enemies
clandestinely undermining

(bone a fide skulduggery)
ambitions to turn back
figurative clock, applauding,
cobbling, counting crowdsource
to elect forty seventh
commander in chief
to reboot, remake, and retry
to restore American (post
world war II) hit parade
soundtrack resonating

with ardent blatant
bigotry, colored blinders,
devilish foo fighting
patriotism, nepotism, localism,
gerrymandered, jury rigged
Russian hijacked pollster
precincts, nativism milking
titillating conspiracy theorists,
denouncing radical ambidextrous
righteous leftists, silencing

second amendment agent
challenges provocateurs,
lake wobegon raconteurs,
and saboteurs infiltrating
highest echelons with spooky
intelligent poseurs, and green
lighting one man plutocrat
steamrolling aborted blackened
civil disobedience (Thoreau Lee)
walled in reproductive rights.