Today in an overweight society,
The type of society that deals anxiety,
Anxiety, anxiety, in this overweight society.

Today in an overweight society,
The type of society where diet pills are a normality,
Normality, Normality in an overweight society.

Today in the eyes of an underweight tragedy,
Influenced so greatly by an overweight society,
Tragedy, Tragedy, in an overweight society.

Influenced by a society of fatty foods,
Fear becoming a more common mood,
The fear of falling into the normality
The normality of this tragedy.
The overweight society.

Influence by obesity.
Striving to be what their minds see,
The minds of the children trapped,
Trapped by this overweight society.

Influenced by the skinny girls on TV
Only followed by ads showing fatty foods society demans you eat
Have a cheeseburger, upgrade to a large fry, yet still look like her, it's pounded in her mind.

Young minds believe what they see.
Morphed into the tragedy of society.
A society where eating disorders strive
A society where an 8 year old can consious you starve themselve to feel pretty.
The definition of pretty based simply on TV
Yet nobody questions this more than imperfect society.

Elementary ages childern being fed fat then forced to stand in front of a mirror.
Put a toy in poison and call it magic.
Oh yes, what a fantasy.
A fantasy forcing you into reality.

The reality becoming your worst nightmare.
The reality of your fears driven by society.
I'm overweight, yet pizza is the best choice for a happy family.

A society where mental illness strives.
Why can't people open their eyes?
Spoon feeding childern poison and expecting them to love themselves.

In school teachers force health into thier minds.
At home, parents feed them poison to save time.
Re-creating, reprogramming their fragile little minds, yet still expecting them to feel fine.

Feeling down?
Have a happy meal, gain a pound.
Overweight?
Shame, shame, you must maintain the image.
The image forced into your mind.
           This was our greatest fall.
           Upon dieting we call.
           Skelington stave me.
Anorexia at it's finest.
Anorexia thin and spineless.
Some call you timeless.
But only recently you made your debute.
Make me feel brand new.
Reprogram my mind.
Make me feel fine.
Thank God for thinsperation.
Oh Anorexia, my new inspiration.
Make me feel pretty.
Just like the skinny girls on TV.
Loosing pounds, one by one.
Still weighed down by a ton.
The weight of pleasing it.
The nightmare society created.
Influenced by what we see.
Finally morphed into the tragedy of the normality of this weight obsessed society.

By: Cedric McClester

Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do

A ***** lookin for respect
Could pull out a Nine or Tec
At a time you least expect
And you might have to hit the deck
Cuz when the bullets start to fly
Those who don’t just might die
And you don’t wanna go - okay
Like ****** do around the way – cuz

Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do

Keep one eye open when you sleep
Cuz in the hood life is cheap
So watch the company you keep
Your main man might be a creep
Don’t let ‘em get the drop on you
The way some ****** like to do
They’ll roll up on you with a crew
And run a clip off into you

Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do

****** don’t respect themselves
Never mind someone else
That’s why they keep their gats and shells
And you know what that often spells
Cuz ****** are up to no good
There’s gun smoke in the neighborhood
And it’s high time they realize
That it’s themselve who they despise – cuz

Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do

Did you ever stop to think
****** could become extinct
In the time it takes to blink
Like some kind of missin link
Unless we suddenly stop killin
The prophesy will keep fulfillin
Even though the thought is chillin
Long as the blood just keep on spillin – cuz

Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do

Although it’s often said in play
And despite what some folks say
The use of ***** ain’t okay
Though you might hear it everyday
My usage of it in this joint
Is for effect to prove a point
It’s not to glorify the term
But will you ****** ever learn – that

Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do

Although it’s often said in play
And despite what some folks say
The use of ***** ain’t okay
Though you might hear it everyday
My usage of it in this joint
Is for effect to prove a point
It’s not to glorify the term
But will you ****** ever learn



(c) Copyright 2015.  Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.

No one likes a
Knight who returns
On time but they sure
Love one who's
Late
They were both there
But one had to go back
The one that was sent
Home had to go through
The feeling of
Not being there
This knight began
To hate themselves
While the other
Was left there protecting
Their prize
They waited and waited
For the other knight
Rarely did they show
On the day of return
Everyone loved the
Missing knight
Though the knight
Had returned the other
Knight hate for themselve
Did not end

Can anyone pull himself
out of the swamp
by his own tuft?
Can anyone raise himself
from the dead to life?
Can a stone
walk on water,
and not just fly over it or sink,
or a feather
dive to the bottom,
without losing their lightness?
Can an eye
discern the border
between heaven and earth,
or look at itself,
or an ear
hear the silence
and still be ear?
Can there be light
without it’will become dark
at the same time?
Can hands loosen
and be themselve the whole gift?
Can feet carry,
as if the earth would be the heaven
and the heaven the earth,
and each beginning an end,
and each end a beginning,
and as if no here or there is,
only here at every place?
Can not life only
be born of itself,
but if it gives birth to,
hasn’t it also to die?
Can the infinitely strong
still be strong,
when far away from any pain,
that pierces marrow and bone?

© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015

May be someone has built a house
At the frontier of my heart!
Since somedays , slipping through my fingers
I have lost the sleepy night!
The roar sound of a child is being heard.
Amongs the pensiveness of my mind
There are certain sufferings
Of delivering a child!
Albeit it is unseen,
It is true.
For having the heart of humanbeing
The stirring words are REVOLT
And devoted themselve into deeper meaning of POETRY.
Belike ! The prolong pang is to be end!
Or perhaps ! The ***** dream of flying
By the chariot of literary addiction has to fulfilled!

কবিতাৰ শিৰোনাম: মাতাল সপোন

হৃদয়ৰ পাদদেশত হয়তো
কোনোবাই ঘৰ সাজিছে
যোৱা কেবাদিনৰ পৰাই টোপনি হেৰাইছে।

শিশুৰ বিকট চিঞৰ কাণত পৰিছে
উদ্বাউল মনত প্রসৱৰ বেদনা ধৰা পৰিছে।
চকুৰে নমনিলেওঁ এয়া সত্য।
মানৱ হৃদয় থকা বাবেই
ক্ষুব্ধ শব্দই স্বাধীনতা বিচাৰিছে
কবিতাৰ অর্থত নিজকে সঁপি দিছে।
কিজানিবা অন্ত পৰেই দীর্ঘ বেদনাৰ
আৰু পূর্ণ হয় সাহিত্যৰ ৰথত উৰি ফুৰাৰ মাতাল সপোন!!

Beneath the most poisoned ground
Her body rots safe and sound
No crows to pick out her sewn up eyes
No professed lovers scornful lies
And although her heart is dyiny
She hears the breaking sting, she feels the aching sore
"May I hold your manic heart,
Before you destroy yourself and tear it apart, anything that belongs to you is greatly loved by me, deeply and true", And then she kissed you.
You gave everything willingly
And when you closed your heart inside her chest, she never felt so idolized by a man
And so she fell deeply in love with the dark eyes and cold hands that belonged to hers truly

Years went by and her love grew stronger, but the love was unrequited and you left in the night..
No more dark brown eyes.
Instead of running she fell into her grave
Because-
When the Seas surround a single lost lovers tear, the lover themselve is lost forever in a sea of grief and forlorn antiquity

By: CedricMcClester

The Republican Party is owned
By a stone cold loser
He’s an acknowledged
Serial woman abuser
And perhaps a secret
******* user
As well as a bully
And a political bruiser

The Republican Party
Has lost their way
They’ve attached themselves
To a big liar today
Out of fear that the liar
Might make them pay
They bend to his will
As if it is olay

The Republican Party
Is a house that’s divided
Which happened to them
Once they decided
To hitch their wagon
To a falling star
Which explains why
They find themselve where they presently are

The Republican Party
Is clearly doomed
And that isn’t something
That I’ve randomly assumed
I’ve studied the situation
You might have presumed
And observed the idol worship
In which they’re consumed












Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2021. All rights reserved.

.                                                         me?
   apart from friday vinyl
sessions?
i feel i'm being ****** over
by a h. p. lovecraft
                                                 antithesis...

too much time spent
around the immigrant
irish, in england,
with no englishman
in sight...

           well... wouldn't you know:
the titanic sank...
a feeling associated with...
feeding swans toasted bred...

what i'm seeing?
a new god...
the ******* child of the titan
aphrodite...
aphrodite was the daughter
of titans,
she's classed as a titan,
and not a god...
i'm seeing her *******...
son, daughter, it,
whatever:  hermaphroditus...

flower power child...
can basically **** itself
silly...
     people were wondering what
happened to the old norse
gods...
   gave you solipsus:
             attaché of solipsism...
attaché of the sophists...
    attaché of the "ridiculous"...
   where was the answer to
sisyphus: that demigod,
                              son of Atlas?

so now we're living in a time
when the son / daughter
of Aphrodite is running, the, "show"...
               n'est pas?

trust an Eire armed with
a ******* banjo...
         dropkick murphys...
******* paddies...
   get it right, all the ****** time...

so, no, "this" (whatever
in the current theme of "now"
actually implies) isn't "happening"?

no... so we're all protected
under the guidance of the monotheistic
gods? allah will save us,
pater,
      or that variant: y.h.w.h.
will...
   only that... we're not dealing
with gods, akin to those of
the conquering semites,
thor never became a beelzebub...
odin never became a moloch,
nor hades, nor zeus...

      paganism and a clearly
structured categorical
   insemination of an ideology...
a base focus bias of categories
congregating
   into a motion,
spread beyond a single generational
gap,
   no... monotheistic
congregational focus...
no: workings of a movement
from the bottom up...
instead of a top to bottom
   "democratic" safeguard
                       of "sharing"...

why is it that the jewish god
couldn't, somehow,
integrate the gods of europe,
into a submission status
of fallen angels,
akin to moloch, or beelzebub?
so, why is it expected
that the gods of europe
will not find themselve
immune...
   when allah comes around?

i cradle the jewish god,
because i find his existence,
appealing,
in a purely phonetic sense...
he fits a square hole
like a cube...

          monkey logic...
allah?              no... not really...
still... in the reign
of hermaphroditus...
that ******* child of
aphrodite...
              no, there's no point
even wanting to explain
everything in a monotheistic
binary of: 1: god,
                            0: no god...
1 0 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 0...

            i'm coming back
to the old continent as if i ever
left it, once, two weeks in kenya...
spent a good deal of the two weeks
looking for cognac and a shade...
admiring the milk
of moonlight on ivory beauty's skin...
crying while falling asleep
looking at the sea nibble on the coast...
and then doing
the casual yoga of a tomorrow:
**** me, 'ere we go: repeat, repeat.

grammatical rigour of a german
philosopher,
but coupled with
the languid nonchalance of
a french humanist / psychologist...
that's what: english seems
to me; right about, now.

see...
     you can clearly reason with
modern day journalism,
that... constipated variation of history...
as long as you begin
the day to day explanation
with some mythology...

   **** me...
sisyphus, demigod,
son of Atlas?!
    within the confines of
the current journalist insomnia?

hermaphroditus,
the ******* song
of aphrodite?!
   within the confines of
the current transgender movement?

yeah: pulled both ideas
out of my ***...
    seeing how both the greek,
the plagiarism of the greek (i.e. roman)
and the norse pantheons
became immune
     to what yahweh
         gobbled down,
   eating up the semitic gods
akin to moloch
    and beelzebub...

              oddly enough:
or rather, "oddly engough"...
why should allah be given
the same monotheistic status
fixture to: overcome...
  
   it's not like the hindus will ever
allow their pantheon to be
desecrated...
          
                    hanging on a cross,
a long hanging fruit...
         i guess the time is ripe,
to insult what the jews insulted
to begin with...
         and later discovered:
the war against the mind,
is of equal measure
as the war against the body...

      but with the unearthed
nag hammadi library...
            eh...
                     i'm shuffling my feet...
like hell, i will not find
the slavic pantheon...
         except,
if i walk into the forest,
and start counting pine trees
like matchsticks...
   in an imaginary box,
     in a less imaginary mind...
in the concretes of the brain...

                 transcendence,
by only desecrating,
    once more,
something akin to the library of
Alexandria;
which implies,
each day, and every day,
subsequently,
    from what is garbage,
on part of journalism.

Tick by tick they were they sow

they try to find what once was gold

but soon they find it hardening

their soul and find themselve

trapped in the labyrinth eternally