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"squads" poems
I hitch a ride on the Battle Bus, Everyone else jumped out, I must. I deploy my parachute below, I glide my way to Moisty Meadow. As I land I slurp some shields, Extra health and a pistol I wield. I loot the houses and **** the squads, Which would not be possible without my mods. I run from the storm throughout the game, I post on the 'Gram that I won for fame. Everyone that saw my Victory Royale, Commented below and said "Dang, Wow!" Now that I won, I'm the coolest around, I walk down the halls with a figurative crown.
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Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
Fortnite
in the hospitals and jails it's the worst in madhouses it's the worst in penthouses it's the worst in skid row flophouses it's the worst at poetry readings at rock concerts at benefits for the disabled it's the worst at funerals at weddings it's the worst at parades at skating rinks at ****** ****** it's the worst at midnight at 3 a.m. at 5:45 p.m. it's the worst falling through the sky firing squads that's the best thinking of India looking at popcorn stands watching the bull get the matador that's the best boxed lightbulbs an old dog scratching peanuts in a celluloid bag that's the best spraying roaches a clean pair of stockings natural guts defeating natural talent that's the best in front of firing squads throwing crusts to seagulls slicing tomatoes that's the best rugs with cigarette burns cracks in sidewalks waitresses still sane that's the best my hands dead my heart dead silence adagio of rocks the world ablaze that's the best for me.
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13.8k
The Worst And The Best
Heat beats down upon the street Birds too hot to fly, Blistered sand you cannot stand Drenched with sweat am I. Cows collect in shadow deep Panting sheep hang head, Goshawk flies in cobalt skies Hills of grass stand dead. Whisp of smoke, a puff of breeze Sirens scream in air, Running men in squads of ten Emerge from everywhere. Now the rising wind takes charge Runs with leaping flame Into crown of eucalypts To rage across the plain. Too late the tenders hoses pour, Too late the fireman’s shout Inferno hot has run amok And all control a rout. Generating mighty winds The fire charges forth Spiralling in furnace air To incinerate for sport. Vanquished men exhausted stand Watch with useless eyes, As raging flames consume their truck, Inside a good mate dies. A live thing in the burnished night It writhes and spirals high Across the flaring treetops Hot, red smoke fills the sky. As sudden as it starts, it stops A wind change in the air. Ravaged forest stark and black Hot ashes everywhere. Hills of cinders smoking now Stock in death’s repair, Homesteads rendered charcoal like Farmers in despair. A silence in the ravaged hills Birdless in the sky, Bushfire horror, death and smoke Enough to make you cry. Marshalg In support of my Australian brethren and their torched nation. 30 January 2013
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Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Bushfire
The same song looping over and over… The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity… Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble, Vigorously fighting these thoughts, These demons of mentality, A constant cartwheel of emotion… Always racing… Not ceasing for a mere second… Forcing the pill in my mouth, And then another, And another… The only mental painkiller is death… I feel numb, Darkness seeps into my vision… Blurring reality… The Pain is going away… I feel alive as I feel myself die… Emergency Medical Squads break the door down… I sit there, Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare, Eyes not moving, Weak, You never came. I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise… Always knowing I love you, Never doubting yourself again… I want to make love until we are one… My body and yours… Sharing the night, and day… Filling senses with pleasure and love… I want to hold you until you are weightless… A feather in my arms… Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night… I want to love you forever… I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun… I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses… I want to love you when the bell tolls, The bell does not mark the end, It will never end, I will love you always, Forever, Not stopping even for a supernova… No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting… Toxic fumes are given off, The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find… No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving, You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters… All the cuts, The closer you get the deeper the grooves… This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust… Wonderful you say… But that is just for now, Today. My past is dark, dead, rotten, Who knows if the future will be any different. Today I have a moment of peace, You, A bright blue gem shining in the darkness, So pure it becomes it’s own light-source, Echoing beauty throughout the blackness, Illuminating me, True Commitment, Warm and sweet Love, Unquestionable Trust, Seraphic Beauty, Everything I need… I sit here questioning these words… Thinking of the purest way to put them, But emotion is not pure, It’s ***** rough, and raged, But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different, It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body… The past evaporates into the air, Dispersing and losing its importance, You are my future, Not the past.
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Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
Three Five Minute Poems
The same song looping over and over… The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity… Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble, Vigorously fighting these thoughts, These demons of mentality, A constant cartwheel of emotion… Always racing… Not ceasing for a mere second… Forcing the pill in my mouth, And then another, And another… The only mental painkiller is death… I feel numb, Darkness seeps into my vision… Blurring reality… The Pain is going away… I feel alive as I feel myself die… Emergency Medical Squads break the door down… I sit there, Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare, Eyes not moving, Weak, You never came. I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise… Always knowing I love you, Never doubting yourself again… I want to make love until we are one… My body and yours… Sharing the night, and day… Filling senses with pleasure and love… I want to hold you until you are weightless… A feather in my arms… Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night… I want to love you forever… I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun… I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses… I want to love you when the bell tolls, The bell does not mark the end, It will never end, I will love you always, Forever, Not stopping even for a supernova… No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting… Toxic fumes are given off, The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find… No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving, You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters… All the cuts, The closer you get the deeper the grooves… This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust… Wonderful you say… But that is just for now, Today. My past is dark, dead, rotten, Who knows if the future will be any different. Today I have a moment of peace, You, A bright blue gem shining in the darkness, So pure it becomes it’s own light-source, Echoing beauty throughout the blackness, Illuminating me, True Commitment, Warm and sweet Love, Unquestionable Trust, Seraphic Beauty, Everything I need… I sit here questioning these words… Thinking of the purest way to put them, But emotion is not pure, It’s ***** rough, and raged, But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different, It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body… The past evaporates into the air, Dispersing and losing its importance, You are my future, Not the past.
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76
Summer Solstice "Everybody knows that the change is coming "Everybody knows that the deck is stacked" Leonard Cohen In Colorado, the Cache La Poudre is burning That's where they hid the gunpowder Has it blown yet? In the Southeast Asia Enterprise Zone The suicide nets are ready for another night's harvest Do we understand that our beautiful electric screens Are polished with blood? In Syria, the death squads are arming For another day in the abattoir Everyone is ready for the bodies I called out to you in the night I dreamed you loved me From the bottom of your soul In the morning, your e-mail address Was blocked, texts came  back forlorn The earth is crying out But Jimi is so long gone No one understands And the wind howls alone In the land of plenty We're all tucked into our corners Of the unlimited cage match Our abs are ripped Our tattoos look good But our eyes are empty. Winter is coming.
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Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
Summer Solstice
I have some universal advice to give To help with all you do It's a simple little thing you see It's as easy as one two A girl asked me out dancing This is something that I dread Then I remembered my old grandad He was talking in my head He said... Always lead with the left my boy The left's the proper one They're expecting you to use the right But, it's the left that gets things done I got drafted in the army And at marching I was sad I always got my feet mixed up Then I thought of my grandad Marching was a treat from then With my grandad in my head I'll break it down in squads for you Here's exactly what he said... He said... Always lead with the left my boy The left's the proper one They're expecting you to use the right But, it's the left that gets things done I joined the army boxing team I was skinny, quite absurd There was no way I could ever win Then I heard my grandads words I took two rounds to win my bout My master corporal was surprised I had listened to my grandads words And only got me one black eye He said... Always lead with the left my boy The left's the proper one They're expecting you to use the right But, it's the left that gets things done I met a girl while home on leave I took her home to bed And in the back I thought I heard something grandad once had said He said... Always start with the left my boy The left's the proper one They're expecting you to use the right But, it's the left that gets it done. ..
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Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
Always start with the left!
I do not know what will be my fate But I am just moving to a blind alley Whether I am worst or may be great Whatever is written I have to agree My God is my savior who saves me From all embarrassments and all odds I never mind if I am in whirlwind ,sea They don't harm if devils are in squads My God save me and protect my family We do not have any one else than you Please make us from all troubles just free Only you can save us and make us thru Col Muhammad Khalid Khan Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
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Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
God Protect Us
A term of endearment A pure bread Pedigree Imbecile The firing squad on parade on the thoroughfare The death squads are on patrol for run on sentences and chemical runoff The peer mediators tell us all to calm down The rapscallions try to push us into their get-rich-quick schemes And the shut-ins settle down with their mail ordered brides The wallflowers tell everyone to go to hell with great brio I guess I'll see them there It won't be much of an endeavor It'll be like a dog finding its way home The blood brothers perturb everyone else Telling them their open blood pact is BYOB Then starting a be-in singing Come all ye faithful and Kumbaya It all comes full circle, monkey see monkey do
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Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
"Whoa, just take it easy man"
Smiling kindhearted old man Told me stories How He burnt the butterflies How He burnt human skin Burnt villages In burning squads Of flamethrower men Fire chased Children and women Over cliffs Scares the **** out of me To know that behind that smile Is a dark hidden history
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Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
Hidden
I fear not those who fear me In bitter disgust I do as I please and aim to please you not You could hate me in chatters of matters in squads I'll sit back comfortably and applaud your abilities to judge Good Bad Right Wrong It's such a grey area Thanks for letting me know
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Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Black and White
"We all hide behind our wit," she said. (She had wanted to be Jane Austen, but wound up being Sylvia Plath instead.) She would never again trust another word. For who would trust a word? More so, a word without action to make sincere its cry? A fool; and she was not a fool. Her rib-cage, cynical, read: "Love is no longer in vogue, better left to the history books and the firing squads." It wrapped its way around her lungs, a permanent reminder never to hold her breath for anyone. Suffocation was inevitable in this day and age. Never let down your guard. Never let down your guard. Steady. Repetition. Her anthem. ... She found his existence maddening. He made her skin crawl. Made her blood rush. He made her a fool. He had taught her that falling in love and falling were more alike than different. He had shown her that broken hearts were far more painful than broken bones. She was a pond, and he was a willow. He would create ripples... She would make waves. Drowning was more of a promise than a potential. Not a matter of if, but of when. ... These days, she drowned in seas of laughter. Wit had become her constant companion. A guide to survival. She had survived him. Had surpassed him, even. Two steps ahead- always looking back. She would be the court jester; he, merely, the material for the next good joke.
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Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
the jester
The Impatience of the Nineteenth Century The impatience of the nineteenth century Left us the genocide of the twentieth With all the progressive apparatus of death: Infanticide, death camps, firing squads, gas And now unto the twenty-first – smart bombs Are flung by geosynchronous satellites Deep, deep into the imperfect souls of men Thus breaking bodies for the perfect state In victory the dying last voice will croak “At least we freed ourselves from those awful kings”
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Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
4.28.15 - I am unable to post a new poem this evening - the site - but, well, we know the new site...The Impatience of the Nineteenth Century
Roads keep on teaching us new lessons in violence, rage is the law ruling the perfectly chaotic traffic you are left to fend yourself in this murky waters where killer whales celebrate the success of  blood thirst. Men who don't properly breath are atrocious on roads behind the wheels,they jump signals, break rules as if their poor mamas made them promise to do all this! a law  to send such cases to yoga class would do good. But women with bad driving skills as their assets for life are no less, in making our lives on each journey miserable In a road where with impunity, suicide squads operate your poetic musings, will have to stop, to remain alive. Just then a police car with a roar stop in my front authority makes me weary but the cop  behind the wheels a woman, tells me the story of beauty than a cop's authority on how beauty softens heat that makes muscles go stiff She springs out of the cabin of the vehicle she is in making ripples feminine and also ease in the air. violence of the machines and the minds in controlling, speed, broken rules and the thrill of chasing criminals beauty which brings a change where it is out of place almost. As I drift in to sleep, after a long drive safe,and few stiff drinks in my dream's window she sits winking,'drive safe all through life' "Good by my good cop"I whisper "be soft and right,authority is mess"
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Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
The lady cop's armour
It is STILL THE SAME for a Vietnam combat Veteran and I am sixty-nine and it has been forty-seven years since I returned home to America after standing up for our flag and fulfilling my job which was to **** and as a highly trained Marine that is exactly what I did for 13 months, taking many lives every day and at the end of the day all that we could say is how many did we **** today? They called us grunts and side by side we fought and died fighting a war that we thought we could win and every day and night it took all our training to survive and side by side we fought for our flag as many of our friends returned home in a body bag. Seems like I write about Veterans Day every year and here in 2017 IT IS STILL THE SAME for Vietnam combat Veterans: we lived through the war, now we die at home, we are suicide soldiers who beat the odds, but we die alone without our squads, and we totally look forward to death, so we can find peace and we can get some rest. IT IS STILL THE SAME: we can never forget the eyes, the death rattling sounds that our mind seeks to drown and the labored breathing and vacant lifeless eyes of life loss that we despise as we spend a lifetime with segmented visions of memory recalling death and life in vivid color images because with death and dying you never forget the eyes, friend or foe and we still hear their cries. 2017 at home IS NOT THE SAME for there are those who refuse to stand for our flag and continue to disrespect our country and those who fought and died for it and to those who choose not to stand can just get out of my land that I stood up and fought for called America.                                           Jon York   2017                                     USMC Vietnam 69-70
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Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 1:53 PM UTC
VETERANS DAY 2017 for a COMBAT VIETNAM VETERAN
It is STILL THE SAME for a Vietnam combat Veteran and I am sixty-nine and it has been forty-seven years since I returned home to America after standing up for our flag and fulfilling my job which was to **** and as a highly trained Marine that is exactly what I did for 13 months, taking many lives every day and at the end of the day all that we could say is how many did we **** today? They called us grunts and side by side we fought and died fighting a war that we thought we could win and every day and night it took all our training to survive and side by side we fought for our flag as many of our friends returned home in a body bag. Seems like I write about Veterans Day every year and here in 2017 IT IS STILL THE SAME for Vietnam combat Veterans: we lived through the war, now we die at home, we are suicide soldiers who beat the odds, but we die alone without our squads, and we totally look forward to death, so we can find peace and we can get some rest. IT IS STILL THE SAME: we can never forget the eyes, the death rattling sounds that our mind seeks to drown and the labored breathing and vacant lifeless eyes of life loss that we despise as we spend a lifetime with segmented visions of memory recalling death and life in vivid color images because with death and dying you never forget the eyes, friend or foe and we still hear their cries. 2017 at home IS NOT THE SAME for there are those who refuse to stand for our flag and continue to disrespect our country and those who fought and died for it and to those who choose not to stand can just get out of my land that I stood up and fought for called America.                                           Jon York   2017                                     USMC Vietnam 69-70
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Thugs and tyrants tempting fate? Fallen kingdoms threatening war? Hordes of immigrants at the gate? Hang this placard on your door: good intentions cannot fail; liberal smugness must prevail ! Children ***** while cities burn? Tortured corpses, sudden blasts? Armies surge, regroup, return… your gentle snowflake counsel lasts. Smug and godless never falters; smug will save your sons and daughters. Hilarious, this global village. Flags of doom unfurled on high… throats are slit as death-squads pillage; ****** madness stains the sky. What matters most: you’re open-minded (smug beholds the world unblinded). Christian faith? You blow a fuse, babbling to your New York Times; crusades with jihads you confuse apologizing for their crimes. Hashtag snark will save our day smug, enlightened, global, gay…
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Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 6:59 AM UTC
#smugsecular
I was born with eyes glued to broken frames. I can peer through hindsight, but I only see twenty-twenty facades But this is the way I find the games that can make the head and heart unite. They always have fifty-fifty odds. So I gamble my repentance claims against my heart’s diseased knights and my mind’s fried firing squads, and I lost all my penance, forgot all their names.
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Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
Poker Face for Roulette
In my Country there's an epidemic of poor posture with no one teaching us how to hold our guts I traveled to faraway lands to learn the secret of ******* in my ***** its like walking in between two closely parked cars as a young lad I stood alongside another boy cream of the crop slick hair blonde and mine black one girl left for her choosing between us side by side Sadie Hawkins went with the other fella and I heard the adults behind me wince it taught me something about my pecking order in the meat market yet it turned out the prettiest girl at the dance still had the last choice and it was me we held each other close for a time and the music played on white gloves and shuffling black leather, thick soles Is our name a destiny? Why did Caleb advise immediately take the Land? for his faith a bounty these knights and conquering heroes conquistador cops vice squads ICE raids trade war kinderlagers borders and the shame of the human smell unwashed, ***** tired I'm not that good, I haven't washed many feet even my own are ***** sometimes because my floors collect dust and dirt from the porch that wasn't swept before I came but I'm glad to be here a chess board on the floor and a fern that might make it tomorrow we hope to be better tomorrow like a new morning looking out a bright window
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Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
reparations from a social dance scene
A new day sprays my room with colors and dust particles and light rays like underwater sleep and showers. There are chemicals to be blasted, jackhammers with holes to pound into mountainsides This house looks like you and it was built in my honor. Every time I climb the stairs, I hold your hand Every wall, every angle, every archway, every door They're all your eyes, your lungs, your veins I revere in your deep colors. Arms outstretched, a temple flattened We will make our patterns loud and our faces heard. I'd rather destroy this landmark than soil it with people And their idea of success or power or God. We are God. It's time we shout it. We may not have every planet. Or the stars Or the souls and tears of a million followers, But we have knowledge. We have wisdom. We have a healthy curiosity for more. In this, we are the kings of our own world We wear the crown of daisies and clouds Muses are alive in every forest, every fence Every field that we have wandered without sense Every breath we have taken in this gulch. When you looked at me, you didn't have to say anything. I knew you were mine. I didn't have to say it. And I wouldn't have given you the satisfaction in doing so. This is a calling for every American soul aching to be free I yearn for a revolutionary who will hold this man With this face: no fear, no guilt, no pain In the face of a billion firing squads, At the edge of the gallows With nooses around our necks. This is a calling for a patriot: "I threw that statue down the elevator shaft Because I love you."
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Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 9:25 AM UTC
Old Golden Statues
A new day sprays my room with colors and dust particles and light rays like underwater sleep and showers. There are chemicals to be blasted, jackhammers with holes to pound into mountainsides This house looks like you and it was built in my honor. Every time I climb the stairs, I hold your hand Every wall, every angle, every archway, every door They're all your eyes, your lungs, your veins I revere in your deep colors. Arms outstretched, a temple flattened We will make our patterns loud and our faces heard. I'd rather destroy this landmark than soil it with people And their idea of success or power or God. We are God. It's time we shout it. We may not have every planet. Or the stars Or the souls and tears of a million followers, But we have knowledge. We have wisdom. We have a healthy curiosity for more. In this, we are the kings of our own world We wear the crown of daisies and clouds Muses are alive in every forest, every fence Every field that we have wandered without sense Every breath we have taken in this gulch. When you looked at me, you didn't have to say anything. I knew you were mine. I didn't have to say it. And I wouldn't have given you the satisfaction in doing so. This is a calling for every American soul aching to be free I yearn for a revolutionary who will hold this man With this face: no fear, no guilt, no pain In the face of a billion firing squads, At the edge of the gallows With nooses around our necks. This is a calling for a patriot: "I threw that statue down the elevator shaft Because I love you."
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37
It's time to contemplate the twilight of post-modern idols - An Ideal can we live for one? We lay out what we stand for in simple platitudes then spend all our time defining what we're not despite all the death done in its name Protecting Freedom's just an umbrella replace "carpet bomb families" with "neutralize enemies" - who threatened our Liberty but that means sway elections away from those that reject economic puppetry Cut the cord if you want us to buy Contras Reaganomics define Drug War: Sold crack,   bought guns from Iran, fund death squads in Nicarag-Hooah! Freedom's lambs they had to die They tried to reach out against exploited workers so even Catholic priests got murked Yes, murdered but also muddied in the waters of historiography's story As in, no one studies history Today's armchair historians they just find bargains and hero worship while they channel surf Pulled by yachts they don't make waves Oceans abound but most just coast in creeks and canals No Wake Zones Think you're woke, bro? You just came up with a narrow strait thought that was simply dismissed by Heraclitus of Ephesus nearly three millennia ago Your certainty of knowing brings danger of you drowning Cause "Ever-newer waters flow on those who step into the same rivers." All I know is fire so burn a hen for Prometheus and we'll topple poser's podiums then yoga flame them back to oneness Cause after horrific mediation and barring off public relations You'll catch me drunk playing video games with butchers and their daughters
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Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC
You were Right but Couldn't Get Anyone to Listen
It's time to contemplate the twilight of post-modern idols - An Ideal can we live for one? We lay out what we stand for in simple platitudes then spend all our time defining what we're not despite all the death done in its name Protecting Freedom's just an umbrella replace "carpet bomb families" with "neutralize enemies" - who threatened our Liberty but that means sway elections away from those that reject economic puppetry Cut the cord if you want us to buy Contras Reaganomics define Drug War: Sold crack,   bought guns from Iran, fund death squads in Nicarag-Hooah! Freedom's lambs they had to die They tried to reach out against exploited workers so even Catholic priests got murked Yes, murdered but also muddied in the waters of historiography's story As in, no one studies history Today's armchair historians they just find bargains and hero worship while they channel surf Pulled by yachts they don't make waves Oceans abound but most just coast in creeks and canals No Wake Zones Think you're woke, bro? You just came up with a narrow strait thought that was simply dismissed by Heraclitus of Ephesus nearly three millennia ago Your certainty of knowing brings danger of you drowning Cause "Ever-newer waters flow on those who step into the same rivers." All I know is fire so burn a hen for Prometheus and we'll topple poser's podiums then yoga flame them back to oneness Cause after horrific mediation and barring off public relations You'll catch me drunk playing video games with butchers and their daughters
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64
Magic memories, Sweet, of you Who swam with me in oceans, blue. Swam in deep green grottos warm Where minnows, brightly painted, swarmed. We plunged down, deep, to coral beds To sway with tidal seaweed, red And conger eels’ ferocious teethed Now bared… then recoiled back to reef. Squads of barracuda dashed Around us, close, in silver flash, Threatening with long gnashing teeth Invoking stone cold fear, bequeathed. Yet hovering, in deep crystal clear Enraptured and entranced, endeared, As giant kelp in columns, swayed And stingrays in battalions, played. Long grey shark then menaced bye Ogling us with plate sized eye. Time, I thought, to swim for shore Where hot white sands… enticed us more. M. Great Barrier Reef January 1968
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Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 4:49 AM UTC
Snorkeling with my bikini Blonde
tendrils upon our shores, dastardly deeds they'll do tendrils upon our shores, dastardly deeds they'll do law authorities on the ball, cells to be monitored law authorities on the ball, cells to be monitored cells to be monitored, tendrils upon our shores dastardly deeds they'll do, law authorities on the ball their intent is to behead, any member of the public their intent is to behead, any member of the public our citizens targets, their sights on us our citizens targets, their sights on us their intent is to behead, our citizens targets their sights on us, any member of the public we're all on notice, they walk among us we're all on notice, they walk among us strikes to be foiled, police squads on guard strikes to be foiled, police squads on guard they walk among us, police squads on guard strikes to be foiled, we're all on notice cells to be monitored, police squads on guard we're all on notice, their intent is to behead any member of the public, law authorities on the ball they walk among us, our citizens targets dastardly deeds they'll do, their sights on us tendrils upon our shores, strikes to be foiled
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Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
Foiled (Paradelle Poem)
I can't seem to catch a break My luck is marred by misfortune I pass the dance squads grooving to tunes coming out of their ghetto blaster Shaved ice and snow cones Party foul! Lamps busted get an adhesive They went sightseeing Dabbling in the art of hiking More or less wandering It may sound off putting to some He is a delightful chap He's good with wingnuts and transistors Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls Cut up the buckwheat For an incomparable meal Empty out the ashtrays and spittoons The epilogues of habits Solve improper fractions You got nothing else better to do Recite the silicone soliloquy Fritter away the votes for the popularity contest Because you've spoken your mind Here comes The Pony Express Here I come looking disheveled We're all onions, peel back the layers and look for yourself Play it by ear We can hear you panting The lazy work horse With a hostile mentality And portentous attitude Go alphabetize the tiles in the bathroom "Crime is common, logic is rare" But she has defied that statement When she waltzed in, and looked for the emergency exits And found a sense of humor amongst her latchkey misery and love life tragedies As the clueless boys on blue try to fill their quota And the ones in deep thought assess situations While putting lipstick on pigs in a blanket During the inspection of a chalk line ****** scene
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Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
A Glance Into A Day In An Ordinary Day