Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mick Feb 2020
Writing music is the sweet pear dream
I plucked from a choir in springling years.
Back then I also dreamt of mermaid kisses
and reality television.
Why would a beast wish me music now?
A quick thing about how it is pursuing childhood dreams.
Panoply of mystical elements of holly day style
breathe prez sense frostily exaled aired
per millennia athwart
(this terrestrial spaceship planet Earth)

two plus seventeen carousel rides resonated
veritable pantheon of pagan rituals
and quirky superstitions lit
(akin to a lit Christmass tree)
starry eyed imagination

as catalyst viz **** Sapiens
furrowed stern brow of forehead
aft stemmed whilst Santa oft puzzling
(allocating suitable gifts)

inducing him to tug thought generating beard
pondering, whence agents provocateurs
receive just desserts
fueled hodge podge, mished mashed, helter skelter

eclectic December twenty fifth
encompassing tens of thousands previous generations
bred despacito fixtures via paganism,
Manicheaism, Jainism, et cetera
ancient brutish credos, ethos, faiths

brewed nebulous concoction
within mindset of early mankind
loose confection, confederation, conglomeration
indiscriminately torquing, vetting, whetting
disparate constituent beliefs

contagion wrought spirit paradigm
inculcating oral tradition Madonna and child
occupying high chair
whereat superstitions birthed patchwork
comprising divergent ensemble heralding

tender petsmart impact, where world wide web populated
with sacrificial pacification sans deity
via oblation, immolation, flagellation appeasing *******
borrow wing, vis a vis amalgamated viz Roman sol invictus
wrought fiery brimstone tempting those who dared
assert contrary fledgling jambalaya outlook
provoking regally supreme sacerdotal wiseman

punishing opposing incorporating
novel modus operandi explaining sacrilegious worship
such heretics pitched headlong
into fiendish frothing furnace
forcing obeisance toward primitive popular
identified, honored, glorified father figure
expressing devotion re:
decking the halls of the moutain king,

whence boughs of Juniper sprigs contriving wreaths
sanctifying twisted brambles via springling angel dust
(actually cremated remains of malefactors
stripped of habiliments) during bleak winter

unwittingly interweaving nascent (futuristic)
formally codified bona fied religions
unknowingly, tacitly, silently rendering
quintessential premises obliging
layperson to foreswear locally rooted secular treatises

trounced, trumpeted unction voided
wishy washy antithetical blind faith coalescing edicts
over course of time became established
Greco-Roman imposed group think
disallowing cynics,

diametrically emerging fanatics, skeptics
who (if he/she did not recant
recalcitrant reccommended recourse
faced torture amidst throng of madding crowd

as entertainment and forewarning gall
asper those who held steadfast dissimilar views
taught since birth, when citizenry reared
as just a little drummer boy/ girl pipsqueak

taught to stay the course (sans straight and true)
bound without freedom to express contrary aspects
of ways and whyfores, which controlled each green day
and silent night, wherefore unimaginable ogres

lined straying hip cats
eventually ensnared within warpath,
whence law of the land lend scimitar to smite
any mortal man, woman or child with flaming torches
licking the heretical body electric,
while defiant individuals
left to burn into decimated
charcoal blackened, ashen corpse.
Karan Jul 2015
I've been breaking knuckles all my life,
Watching people riding on their bikes
Humming tunes and praising jack n jill,
Wandering about cos i got time to ****

Keeping pace and learning what you taught,
Springling machines and automatic bots
Trying to find sunshine in your eyes,
Oh Wait! I lost my shadow in my primes

Riding high on glories of my past,
Feeling like an actor in your cast
Canowing through white light on the road,
I jump to different places like a toad

Closed my eyes and swallowed in my dreams,
Searching for truth in what you call your teens
Got stung by the flying love bug,
Found happiness in life without no drug

Watering gardens like hoses in the pipe,
Waiting to sell my fruits when they're ripe
Running below the naked blue sky,
I got no time to kiss and say goodbye

For things I beg or borrow or  steel,
I've been fighting for all my freakin meals,
Climbing upon the southern facing hill,
I die now and  I got no time to ****
Notes (optional)

— The End —