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ryn Jun 2016
"Yet you feed us lies from the tablecloth"
- B.Y.O.B. by System of a Down*

We sat across the table
as we feasted on misguided notions.
Our integrity tenderised,
thoughts manipulated,
traded with unconditional compassion.

Twisted ideals,
served upon the finest china.
Delectable treats,
laced with shards of
such distorted agenda.

Multi-faceted truths,
all lobbied for self-centred gains.
We're the ones who'd worry
and cower under tattered brollies...
To anticipate for when it would rain.

Between us still sat the table.
We'd still be served age-old (t)ale
while the room stank of rancid broth.
But I have lost my appetite
the moment we were fed lies...
Offered on the most extravagant tablecloth.
Pagan Paul Jan 2017
.
Do you feel the right connection?
Pulling at the space between us.
Evaporating our barricades
and redefining those hazy borders.
My hand on your *** brings shivers,
your hand on mine evokes promises,
a kiss as the connection is made
and time stands still in awe.
Two connect with a static charge,
exploding in a chaos of lightning,
sensitive tongues of mute pleasure
dance lightly across tenderised skins.
Synapses skip with happy wonder,
as sparks fly with interactive touch,
teasing memories of the future.
We disrobe. Waiting. Coiled springs.
Ready to ****.


© Pagan Paul (12/01/17)
Starlight Jul 2018
She holds her hand
to her heart
ears thrumming
like beating drums
from the thumping
that courses like
drugs
under her
golden
skin

She lets air
flood her
lungs full
her eyes
open wide as
she
lets the
tide of
darkness
filter down
into her
vision

she is
monster girl
is
child of
night
is star flecked
freckles and
evening soda
luke warm and
bubbles that
drip
sticky
like blood
down her
cheeks

the tears
taste like
ruined salt
unfiltered and
*****
like her
coarse tongue

she wails
to the
evening moon
which
shines with such
mellifluous
glee
cruelled
amusement
tenderised by the
beating down
upon her
soggy and
dribbling
heart

red paints
the
nails like
polish
she
puffs hot
and
heavy breaths
against the
metallic gleam
her teeth
shine like
canines
from the
howling terrors
of the
engulfing
forest

she howls
to the moon
which shines
with such
jealousy
for she
is more
mysterious.
Paul Sands May 2015
italic Sundays run with a poisonous doubt

a wronged wash in the what might have been

where we fidget like fleas on a rabbits hide

and verses drafted in the cross stitched sky

cannot disguise the well-practiced curses

with the pre-packed presumption of lilies

and static

abstract amongst the sheets

your limbs offer a confusion of choice

where context is lost

besides the arch and coil

of a tenderised neck

and that secret I shall whisper

into your ear?

two pronouns and a verb

you shall not remember

until the crystalline dew draws you clear

that it might be revealed in the heat of noon

or within the cold puddles of a rubicund swoon

as my fingers fund delight

from your long-drawn frown
words, refitted, rejigged, refocused, cross hair adjusted for you
Rae Jun 2015
NOTHING WORKS, I CANT CRY, I CANT SCREAM ALL PASSION IS LOST
A CRY FOR HELP THROUGH A PICTURE OR MAYBE A SUBTEL HINT IN A POEM LONG FORGOTTEN
I GASP BUT NO AIR FILLS THESE DRIDED HUSKS NOT ONE MOMENT OF RELIEF NOTHING TO END THIS SUFFOCATION CONSTANTLY ON THE EDGE OF DEATH YET TO MY BITTER BELIEF MY HEART CONTINUES TO MOVE, HOW?!! HOW CAN YOU STILL BE BEATING THE KNIVES PROTRUDING THROUGH YOU AND OUT MY BACK STILL OZE A REDISH GOOP THE WALKING TRACK ACROSS YOU MORE BEATEN THAN A TENDERISED STEAK, THE BLACK HATRED SEEPING FROM YOUR CORE CORRODING EVERY SURFACE IT TOUCHES
EVERY HAPPY FEELING YOU ENCOUNTER LIKE SOME HELLISH ACID EATING AWAY AT ANY INCH OF HUMANITY REMAINING .... AND YET YOU STILL BEAT.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2021
i wouldn't call it vitriol... although:
if push came to shove... i probably should;
looks like i won't be rhyming: again...
free-falling once more...
no, i wouldn't call it vitriol...
god... what a powerfully sounding word:
i'm guessing its etymological
beginnings are intact and
the word has been elevated
without being... "revised" over time
to some cubist monstrosity...
yet it's a word that almost begs
to attract: tautology...
a simple tautology would be...
a crimson red... x...
   vitriol aspires to tautology:
with this demand...
after all... what's a culinary "adventure":
if it isn't subjective?
objectively the sensible round-up
of "troops" of raw goods...
but the subjective reality of
the cauldron...
the spices und: rain-bow...
                    ah... ha...
             best in deutsche...
  rain: regen: no... half reign...
regen-
            -bogen...
   literally two nouns together...
or a noun-verb complex
regen-neigen
              regen-beugen    (sich's a summary
and some, elsewhere)
regen-verbeugen...
unlike a bowtie...
                  a butterfly-try...
what's the actual rainbow
in ol' deutche?
   regenbogen... bog's the standard: no
praise...
while bowtie is: krawatte...
among the Wends & Veleti: mucha / muxa...

a history beside the ape: genesis...
a word in the context of use
that's similar to a hammer...
but what has to be be accomplished:
with a hammer is...
a hammering...
so there's a plot for nail
and two pieces of wood
for... at least a scaffold fixture...

now: i'm not a terrible cook:
i do own a specification that allows
me to gravitate toward: pasta al dente...
and rice like: "uncle tom's cabin"?!
whatever the hell that means...
but when i spectacularly good ****...
i can also cook...

and hey... i can almost figure out
a way into excess 'indu heat
of a vindaloo...
i can understand this excess...
although: point me in the direction
where i misunderstood:
fenugreek seeds...      

fair enough...
   i rhyme i freefall more and more
it' not like i'm a journalist worried
about: what to do with when
it's all column and i'm having ambitions
for paragraphs (etc.)

   when i cook good i cook:
towering infernos of oyster slobber
tongues...
when i cook:  bad (not the least of a lisp
o' shy tongue of a Lee)
i cook like a demon's worth of
revenge...

not understanding certain spices...
you can misunderstand fenugreek...
that's a certain...
chilly too...
you can misunderstand
chimichurri and say:
it's almost a salsa...
but then there's no coriander...
it's mostly parsley...
but there's the acidity of the red wine
vinegar....
somehow the British soldiers
asked for a curry: "give me curry"...
"chimichurri"
in Latin America i guess that's
the prop-up translation...

misunderstanding spices...
Achilles had at least four legs...
toes that towed hoofs...
and hair that smelled of...
plum blossom and sunshine...
maybe a tease of tomatoes...

but i have... vitriol...
i have... "concern"... i have...
   almost 340 grams of leftover
beef roast and peppers
and noodles...
and hoisin sauce etc. that was...
wasted, ******: wasted...

said recipe...
and see if you can spot something, awry...
i didn't use mince beef
i cut up a roast rack...
but... to be honest: no hail mary
of a ******* difference,
nonetheless: the rubric:

1tbsp olive oil
340g of beef
2 garlic cloves
1 red chilli
1 tbsp chinese five spice
2 tsp sichuan peppercorns
1 tbsp brown sugar
2 tbsp hoisin sauce
2 tbsp soy sauce
2 tbsp crunchy peanut butter

pak choi: sorry... peppers instead...
spring onions, yes yes...
noodles... yes yes...
coriander yes yes...

website? deliciousmagazine.co.uk...
the "cook"?
hence my concern for vitriol
since i will name him...
a... DONAL SKEHAN...
a sing-along pride dancing leprechaun
of a ******* paddy...
has as much knowledge of
foreign spices as i have
giggles having discovered
gunpowder... yeah...
"discovered".... did my China "thing"...
forgot the trap of fancy lights...
brought back the extension
of the crossbow... increased the speed
of projectile...
Spain allowed itself a Reconquista and
3/4 of the h'american continent...
but i am not: of the lineage...
to itch with "pride"...

- a bit glam this culinary adventure...
cooking as if it's homeopathy...
misnomer...
this is not a taste of homeopathy...
i would not ask for diluting a drizzle of
honey in a glass of *****...
although: that doesn't sound all too bad
to begin with...
but it's like... misunderstanding
the use of fenugreek seeds
is like misunderstanding
the use of sichuan pepper...
2... hello?
is that tow too?
yes... two teaspoons of sichuan pepper...
grinded down...

off your rockers... aren't you?
no... but 2TSP of SICHUAN PEPPER?!
you have to be "joking"... no?
ask any European what happens
when you use too much
dry thyme or oregano...

get drunk and ride a bicycle in the middle
of the night:
what the ****?!
my lips, mouth and throat
were trembling: murmuring...
vibrating with something that wasn't exactly hot:
it wasn't camel jockey proud either...

Donal Skehan: former boyband member....
has as much knowledge about food
as i have knowledge turning cow **** into
gnocchi...
honest criticism...
you can abuse a spice, once...
there's a reason the british cricket team
are dubbed the tourists....
you come back with a *******
chimichurri, excesses of fenugreek...
sichuan peppercorns...

             we know salt: as nearest to
the fabric of the Baltic Sea
as musts must be met...
we know salt and salt
is implicit: for / of anything that's ever
to be cooked... no? tenderised? no?

if i were gagging for a stake tartar...
i'd also be drinking horse blood...
mind you: there were a people and
they were denoted by history as Huns...
and they invented the stirrup...
so: hey presto...

detailing the itch of a knife...
by the edge of the least: fathomable scrutiny...
i don't like cooking something
that's... inedible... Donal Skehan's
use of 2tsp of sichuan peppercorns is...
probably enough for comparison
to stage a ******* ****...

honest to god i'll sooner whip up a
whiff... no best kept project beside
"that one" of...
the refreshing "allure" of horseshit...
in a hazy morning hour...

this Iroshman can cook for horde:
and wise-*******...
null!
         2tsp of sichuan peppercorns...
for 340g of beef volume...
no...
            nein nie niet no ne: nem!
it was a terrible idea:
towing brick in rubble, a brick...
now this...  revival sequence of
events and least narratives...

       mea culpa? all the self-help gurus
seem to mind this dimension...
i abhor it... like i abhor the infectious demands
of the "hard work" of psychiatry...
the usual chemo-brain-fizzle...
cocktail of non-events: are "we"?
i thought you concerned yourself
with... politically correct lingo usage...
you... ******* worth of use of a cushion; no?

i was lied to...
stupendously adrift on a raft of bogus...
this bleeding sea of last, frothing...
2tsp of sichuan peppercorns...
you want your lips trembling...
vibrating with an overload
of how to best, overdose...
you...Irish.. squat-****!

              *******... Paddy...
come ****** Sunday:
let's extend it toward keeping it blue
and plum Monday...
******* "cosmopolitan"
of a lost Berliner esque Rilke...
this ******* of a ******* of a Dublin...

even some U2 won't save
your ******* northern itch...
i have vitriol...
i am vitriol...
    i have wasted 340grams of beef
that i might as well have...
butchered: thrice...
than having attempted to cook it
once.

— The End —