"slav" poems
If you want to be a true influencer
you should put in some actual work
****** the Archduke of Austria and his wife
The Duchess of Hohenberg
Gavrilo Princip did not have many followers
He did not have any discount codes for his online store
He had a simple dream to break off Austria-Hungary's South Slav provinces so they could be combined into a Yugoslavia, and instead he started a world war
If you want to influence society
for centuries to come
Stop being a coward posting vacation pics online
Go out and get yourself a gun
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 7:02 PM UTC
It's unfortunate that Parisians
Are very hard to bear,
In terms of flash obsequiousity,
They drive me to despair!
And patience is an attribute
I don't profess to have
To mercifully administer
When accents veer to Slav.
Baltics look like jellyfish,
The Germans are obscene
And loud and overbearing
But the Swiss are very clean.
Italians are a swarthy lot
Who gourmandize on food
And sacrifice their suavity
By being impudently crude.
The Spanish are no better,
In fact they are probably worse,
For obsessing in the blood sports
I actually rate them in reverse.
Starchiness is British
They're convoluted to the core,
The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen
Aspirants flock to it no more.
The Yanks are looking slightly crass
Whilst fighting foreign wars,
Their pinky held up squeaky clean
To call "foul" to China's flaws.
China sits inscrutably
Holding all the cards
Waiting for the moment
To strike beneath the guards.
India and Pakistan
Are squabbling like kids
The uproar over Kashmir
Rates them lower than the Yids.
The Yids are walking tightropes
With Iran's nuclear ******
Whilst currying Yank approval,
Eventual bombing is a must.
The Dutch behave so anally
They're always proven right
When faced with rigid negatives
They blanch with haunches tight.
But not the Argentineans
They love to dance and flirt,
To chase the senorita
Cavorting in the scarlet skirt.
The South Pacific's wallowing
They're adrift from World affairs
Oz's self preoccupation
Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares.
Africa's way past comment
Lost to heat and dust,
Warfare, **** and pillage
And the rest decayed by rust.
Eskimos are OK
Clean living on the ice
The population static,
Zer-O pollution's nice!
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
14 April 2009
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
HE lived on the wings of storm.
The ashes are in Chihuahua.
Out of Ludlow and coal towns in Colorado
Sprang a vengeance of Slav miners, Italians, Scots, Cornishmen, Yanks.
Killings ran under the spoken commands of this boy
With eighty men and rifles on a hogback mountain.
They killed swearing to remember
The shot and charred wives and children
In the burnt camp of Ludlow,
And Louis Tikas, the laughing Greek,
Plugged with a bullet, clubbed with a gun ****
As a home war
It held the nation a week
And one or two million men stood together
And swore by the retribution of steel.
It was all accidental.
He lived flecking lint off coat lapels
Of men he talked with.
He kissed the miners' babies
And wrote a Denver paper
Of picket silhouettes on a mountain line.
He had no mother but Mother Jones
Crying from a jail window of Trinidad:
"All I want is room enough to stand
And shake my fist at the enemies of the human race."
Named by a grand jury as a murderer
He went to Chihuahua, forgot his old Scotch name,
Smoked cheroots with Pancho Villa
And wrote letters of Villa as a rock of the people.
How can I tell how Don Magregor went?
Three riders emptied lead into him.
He lay on the main street of an inland town.
A boy sat near all day throwing stones
To keep pigs away.
The Villa men buried him in a pit
With twenty Carranzistas.
There is drama in that point...
...the boy and the pigs.
Griffith would make a movie of it to fetch sobs.
Victor Herbert would have the drums whirr
In a weave with a high fiddle-string's single clamor.
"And the muchacho sat there all day throwing stones
To keep the pigs away," wrote Gibbons to the Tribune.
Somewhere in Chihuahua or Colorado
Is a leather bag of poems and short stories.
2.8k
only because northern ireland was originally liverpool.
yeah... i’m an anglo-slav,
he’s an afro-saxon and that guy is a fairy
with clover petals for wings -
watch him fluster and flatter cheeks turning green into pink!
well, nothing really educational in essex,
just a barge of the usual escapees from middle class opinions,
esp. escaping opinions as if onion tears
of the integrating migrants who flawed the first rule:
your father purposively forgot your mother’s tongue
(but your mother kept it for the earth
and her hope for you to till it),
you’re ******** with a body and no soul:
the irish fairy countered interrupting me -
i kept my gaelic in speaking english drunk, **** you!
that’s a trinity that i see.
and i saw it, spoken across new england and washington state
(hey, price up the ***** liquor of thieving a sympathy,
i wasn’t going to be nice writing poetry,
still me, the remnant of the masculine root liking rugby
and the diminishing psychologies of the players
of the losing team - watch them applaud loss
rather than sing victory prior without listening to
a wwe fake warrior entry music they boggled up with dr. dre’s venture
into # therearenomotivationalspeakersinthenationalanthem).
i kept my masculinity watchings the sports
just so i could write poetry and not womanise -
now the escorts and arias i hear you claim?
no... finding nemo, frozen, brave,
no arias and escorts, just enough morals for enough of
horn inches and cartoon coloured shoes.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
*enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a ********* or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ****** i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.*
i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into f*ck.... ah ****
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
hard to play the idiot; likened to Mr. Bean
taking the role from
Angus Daily into a Blackadder
hurrah who? ha, ha, ha!
my eyes never
left me baffled - or washington prone:
*** to a stirrup - furthermore,
or Rushmore:
Atilla with an entourage
worthy of Genghis: of prone gravitas -
i too santa's little helper
and sinatra's
five p.m. flamingo strut's
worth of martini -
when said slavic eye then lessened
germanic white-boy fisheyed to boot...
i mean less binocular and more concentrate...
but
there's me as a fifth of Nevada in Siberia
that's always the: **** we sold Alaska!
Nicolai! oh Nicolai! Alaska! **** or
of what was the Crimea, of what is the Kremlin:
k, c, k, c, s, c, k, c, k, c, Vlad, s, t, u, v, k, c, s,
Rasputin, k, c, k, c, Boney M....
i'm still fidgety about the third ethnicity in
europe... i have to gather them attune to being
southern slav, or pseudo-turkish,
Finns, Latvians and Greeks... sounds like
falafel: all guidance to the subsequent reprimands
of necessarily tongue-tied whiplash -
gravitas with the kink and jeopardy of a gimp
fetish on the loose.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
i'll let you on a little secret... spaniards are gigolos to the slavs... cheap-shit, chinese rolex beauties, which is why the english are prone to vacate there: oiling up to get a quicker suntan than an essex lass turning orange-brown in the space of a weekend's session at a u.v. parlour.
westerners define western slav as cleaner material,
if not simply the plumbers and electricians,
got a blocked toilet? get a pole
to unblock it. but you see... the thing is...
the slavs see the spaniards as
euro-trash... cheap-shit-cancerous-suntan...
spaniards are cheap **** to the slavs...
western european nations (excluding
the germans) invokes a sense of self-worth
that, like a tapeworm feeds of the slavs migrating
without colonising... when the western
powers migrated and colonised,
never really preparing themselves for jihadis,
st. john the decapitating tyrant spoke to st. george's
dragon with a cockney accent:
oi bruv bruv up up mate! score us an eight's worth
of 20 quid!
so while the high tier of europe speaking deutsche anglican
rather than deutsche swiss keep time and
penny flip: carnal heterosexual or just plain ****
the slavs mock the same tier with a choice
of holiday resorts exploited... next to the fake suntan...
because spaniards are like albanians for the slavs...
oiled up cheap-shit material for even cheaper literature
of the handsome, blue eyed, dark haired (well oiled)
stranger... selling pomegranates... that a fair maiden
might succumb to... selling her virginity the fiftieth time.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,
Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' enthrall'd
From exile, public sale, and slav'ry's chain.
Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd,
Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain!
Thou hast achiev'd a part; hast gain'd the ear
Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause;
Hope smiles, joy springs, and tho' cold caution pause
And weave delay, the better hour is near,
That shall remunerate thy toils severe
By peace for Afric, fenc'd with British laws.
Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love
From all the just on earth, and all the blest above!
1.1k
But all i ever am is true
But all i ever said was the truth
I live with a black cat he follows me daily
I see it in his eyes
I was interrupted by the truth
The reaction of jealousy
And sometimes i beg for it
Noise is too loud
And i drink
I drink but i love it loud
My being is too intense
My power is the magnet repelled
Therefore i show myself
I deserve better
Witching hour
I wish it would snow
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
Here's a challenge for any poet out there...and a tiny bit of critique, on this site many of the poems are about the same subject, love, sadness, the blackness of life, suicide, hate for the life they are in, nature. And they are often times very general. What about something more specific, a moment, an event, a person,
Here's the challenge:
Find one of your favorite poets and pick a poem you like by them. Look at the subject matter and write a poem of your own using the same or a similar subject matter. Leave your poem in the comments section...
Here's my poet and poem i picked:
The Morning Baking
Grandma, come back, I forgot
How much lard for these rolls
Think you can put yourself in the ground
Like plain potatoes and grow in Ohio?
I am **** sick of getting fat like you
Think you can lie through your Slovak?
Tell filthy stories about the blood sausage?
Pish-pish nights at the ****** in Detroit?
I blame your raising me up for my Slav tongue
You beat me up out back, taught me to dance
I'll tell you I don't remember any kind of bread
Your wavy loaves of flesh
Stink through my sleep
The stars on your silk robes
But I'm glad I'll look when I'm old
Like a gypsy dusha hauling milk
by Carolyn Forché
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
*i wish i could ******** like a stephen king once in a while, but then my imagination sometimes gets a kick in the **** from delusional thinking, this the antidote to "a lack of imagination," this the artistic equivalence to a magician's trick, the illusionary works of sawing a woman in half; the many times i spilled some whisky on it... it happens... it happens so automatically that it's sometimes terrifying; now to find that cognitive anchor... ah, here it is: i.*
th- following l-tt-rs hav- b--om- -isabl--
**e
c
d
3 / ω**
on my k-yboar-,
h-n- th- hyph-nation.
p-rhaps to slow m- -own,
or what-v-r r-ason th-r- is to it,
-onstru-ting a n-w -nigma?
so th- r-ason w-str-n so-i-ty is
-xp-ri-n-ing
a flux of pr-matur- --m-ntia
is --u to population siz-
an- th- young on-s b-ing for---
into a -ompl-x worl-
of s-rious maths an s-rious -h-mistry:
so mu-h th-ory
an- th-n only giv-n bor--om among
banaliti-s of r-p-at r-p-at -
-ompl-x th-ori-s
to b- thrown into a worl- of -istill-ri-s
whisk-y an- vo-ka typos of
form-r -ompl-xiti-s
r-quiring p-rfum-s to say th- l-ast... -st-rs:
sw--t aromati- -h-mistry.
but from th- -r-am worl-:
1. paint s-otlan- with 3 r-- strip-s
2. paint -nglan- with 3 blu- strip-s
3. op-n a win- bottl- with a mat-hsti-k
an- fin- -arth in th- bottl-: mu--y
grit, soil.
4. ov-r h-ar talk of my -at-gorisation
of th- anglo-slav; as a -hat up lin-.
o-- thing is... it's only th- lin-
3 / £
E
D
C
t--hnophob- m-, th- oth-r 3 works though...
on th- mobil-:
7 8 9
4 5 6
1 2 3.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
O Fortitude! Strength of the wav’ring heart!
Steadfastness summoned when the blood runs cold!
When allies flee and none will take our part,
Where honor and friendship are cheaply sold,
Thine aid divine makes the trembling soul bold!
When terror would invade our feeble frame,
Thy subtle power puts the foe to shame!
O Fortitude! O encouraging voice!
When darkness attempts to blot out the sun,
And slav’ry’s law to deprive us of choice,
You brace the nerves of the poor frightened one,
Reminding that the vict’ry can be won:
If to perseverance we should hold fast,
We shall the adversaries all outlast!
O Fortitude! Come, and run in our veins,
Fire our tepidity and make us brave!
As long ages pass, ‘tis thee who remains,
Long suff’ring Patience, who never shall cave!
Come, Resolution, from all weakness save -
Where the frail man falls, and in despair lies,
You reach out your hand, and bid him to rise!
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 3:22 PM UTC
i'll carve this continent into two! by god i'll carve it into two, leaving a monochromatic economic model intact, but i'll carve the continent into two, engraved with the same ethnic concern a jew might associate with the sea of Galilee, as a Slav and Romanian with the Carpathian mountains... by god i'll carve this union into two! after all, no irishman is a swede concerning being neutral in world war ii, and subsequent arrogance.
i don't do sanity sober,
god forbid i'll ever do,
i've got women hitch-hiking
on my back, either telling
me to see a psychiatrist (
but not a neurologist)
or join the anonymous crowd,
when the pleasures of alcohol,
non-violent use of alcohol
is made to feed the leeches
of christianity: well... your god!
wine and blood... what's whiskey then?
kidney essence / liver essence /
intestine juice?!
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
tyko słowa!
tylko słowa! sowa. sowa.
zawsze to samo mówią!
jedno i to samo...
to tylko słowa!
szkoda że numery nie
mają takiego akcentu wartości
w ramach ambicii na
tłach domu z telewizorem lub czajnikiem!
czaj czaj, czas w Petersburg'u.
tak! no tak!
tylko słowa!
ale potem pytają:
czemu to nie mówi
jak młot sto razy na minute
słowo gwoźdz?
a wtedy: no kurwa!
przecież ten człowiek to nie młot!
za za za zapuźno!
to młot! i on wklucza
sentyment dodo: ten na wiginieńciu -
albo wygnaniu - Noah i no, aha, czyli tak.
wsłuchuje sie w "arrangement" apropos ę
******* Brew* mówiąc:
to ma tchu!
but seriously, listening
to Miles Davis' ******* brew*
is done more easily than any album
by the soft machine...
never understood the canteen movement
from the Archbishop's core to
make up extremism against the York
contender.
po Angielsku 's possessive and plural
or averted into ą and ę:
z sfobodą:
tylko zebra
casem sie pojawia... ze....
i.e. with ease (cz - časem że / rze \že / glyph)
ja niby ni tu ni tu, tylko tam
gdzie płodze niewinność (niewiñość) sam...
French and Slav... acute aplenty...
but the grave missing... and the inverse of
the circumflex... for the sh sz cz ch.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 7:34 PM UTC
trans-gender is so last year, ask one slav why he committed himself to trans-ethnicity, sounding a bit saxon.
insult what i eat
and you
insult more than
the ore of my pigment
disparity;
that isn't even relevant,
unless china with selfridges'
shopping bags.
basically?
**** you india, chop off ivan
i'd like you into a salad
plum tomato heads in guillotine glee!
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
well, **** me, it's like being awake
for about a week... minding a *******
ONION!
dos' doss
a'tt even qualify?!
the fuck's the rest?
a **** all peel?
come 'oney, 'ome sanctimony?
your crew?!
'ucking scouse: your m'ah-f'ah
a bitch-schoot...
your mam'aha complete ****
so y'eer mam'ah a ****
good to
know...
no i know what
to **** in public!
fucking wanker industry 'abric!
you don't get
away with slav
playing
out the **** blondine boy!
yo, *******
rat racing ********
riddle a ********
attempt at a 'ackney pristine!
piece of doit!
ever e'ten
raw onions in liver'poi
and not at eton *******
whimp-e-mister?!
m'ah
nye-i-ever...
maroccon delight!
god to love the arab incubators!
little people do
such marvels!
clean windows...
take out of garbage... talk ****
a society like
a ******* mirage!
and am i the one to fear death?
can't see it coming,
meaning:
can it come much sooner?!
white boy a shrimp feeding
factory...
sometimes the odd
toiling shed, and tool...
you ever manage to see
a cow being towed into
A SLAUGHTERHOUSE?!
no?
you haven't exactly been
born... have you?
you know what's funny...
gypsy prostitutes...
they're not sure whether to
associate with romanians
or bulgarians...
can't tell the difference...
but i have one clue
incission: blyat' suka!
pizdetz!
these women are certainly not
either romanian, nor bulgarian...
but they know
one word equivalent of using
bulgar...
jebać pizde!
in cyrillic...
becauase arabic tongue
translates back into an orthodox of
the fathom of body?
nice to know...
that a bowtie isn't tied
according to such grimace of:
expectancy...
or anticipating
a welcome drought...
to later attire donning a tuxedo...
but that is but a half,
and hardly a future...
and what truth is,
history regurgitates as
nought... with the nought
being a tomorrow...
and the subsequence
of history,
being a far removed yesterday...
and yesterday,
being a history,
with a tomorrow
that simply can't exist!
as neither did dinosaurs...
with crocodiles...
but then:
again...
who among arab minds this
to be more concerning,
than the perfect eyebrows of
an arab woman driving
a car....
and whatever buzzfeed
ushers out from its *******
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC
fatalism și reavăn.
reavăn și fatalism.
n-am mai scris,
n-am mai scris.
mi-a mers gura prea puțin și acum mi-e capu-n groapă.
mă soarbe Oltul ?
Rămân o cruce ortodoxă, stingheră pe marginea drumului, îndoită de mașini în depășire.
reavăn... e reavăn după ploaie și îmi intră în vene.
fatalism slav și decăderea omului, cui i-am mai dat urechile mele?
asta nu sunt eu aici,
nu eu aud, nu eu simt.
ace și mâini atinse, drumuri scurse, reavăn și fatalism.
da n-am mai scris!
nu, nu, pentru că nu ***
nu în București, nu în tramvai, nu in scaunul din dreapta, nu cu mâna lui tata strânsă pe volan, nu cu piciorul scuturându-mi în spital.
un chist pe ovar, un folicul hormonal habar n-am;tot e un reavăn tot e fatalism și eu iar n-am scris.
poate că nu mai am de ce.
viața e film destul nu mai are nevoie de scenarist, viața m-a depășit uite, e self-sustaining!
Tata a zis că i-am frânt inima când i-am zis să mă ia acasă la 2 ani, ce isteric.
Nu mai vreau să aud, nu mai vreau să simt atât de greu din cer curgându-mi la tălpi,
rămân reavăn și fatalism și nu mai scriu nimic, nimic.
reavăn sărută buzele astea - petale de iris lăsate în soare!
reavăn, reavăn sărută trupul ăsta și mintea ce duc oriunde în nicăieri!
reavăn, sărută fatalismul ăsta infantil și torturat și dă-mi înapoi tot ce a fost și poate fi eu!
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 4:47 PM UTC
it wasn't popular or ascribed as necessary because it didn't govern both crown or the crowd - it invoked a rebellion that didn't attract crowds since it didn't involve a crown.
when the Englishman uttered the word:
neanderthal - subsequently - or how are we connected
to a Chimp and not the Gorilla -
meaning the involvement of the existence of
doormen at nightclubs - the Slav said neanderthal -
and in the evolutionary rubric suggested
the cause of extinction with the words: why are they
so stupid? measuring craniums it became evident:
watching the sun for too long will not make
you see the spectrum of ultra-violet - after all,
evolutionary demands are met with keeping
common sense, these individualised explanations
will not keep you prone to exercise a stiff one -
some of use rebelled and said: god speed, but don't
include me in it - the rascal brigade in Iraq
is the same over-knowing under-sexed partition
of what needs to become extinct, like the neanderthal;
some said: amazing! others said: that's stupid!
they measured skulls - and who said the school motto
of boys: smells like an oyster (concerning female
genitalia) wasn't true - given the current economic
environment? it's either a jungle or a zoo... either
jungle or zoo, you can leave the caves a mediated in-between
or a mortgage loan - i'll probably die disgraced,
but i'll bath in laughter first - they can pay
for diesel, they can pay for knives, they can pay
for heating, precursor failings of health via insurance,
supposedly champion science with care homes,
they pay for butter, for bacon... but they end up
stealing from artists! dumb monkey dozes
right now, and ends up articulating a.m. v. f.m.
a day later - but that doesn't, cheap-thrill-thieves -
like prostitution un-masked while watching **** -
a conversation about feminism and dating conundrums
about who pays a fair share or runs out from a restaurant
altogether...
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
Let tyrants shake their iron rod,
And Slav’ry clank her galling chains,
We fear them not, we trust in God,
New England’s God forever reigns.
Howe and Burgoyne and Clinton too,
With Prescot and Cornwallis join’d,
Together plot our Overthrow,
In one Infernal league combin’d.
When God inspir’d us for the fight,
Their ranks were broke, their lines were forc’d,
Their ships were Shatter’d in our sight,
Or swiftly driven from our Coast.
The Foe comes on with haughty Stride;
Our troops advance with martial noise,
Their Vet’rans flee before our Youth,
And Gen’rals yield to beardless Boys.
What grateful Off’ring shall we bring?
What shall we render to the Lord?
Loud Halleluiahs let us Sing,
And praise his name on ev’ry Chord.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC