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"thieving" poems
Anger, is the steaming red on her face refusal creates in an instance; jealousy is foaming green profusion of colors in motion takes this dance for them to upward and downward turns, or a sudden dissolution--- an intense ****** in unison. Even in darkness he  can see the spasmodic ebbing waves sleep is the banana plantation where night wears translucent green "nobody would see us here" she whispers in his ears, as if they are thieving sex,eyeing the yellow banana she likes, to play with Purple is the psychedelic color smeared on horizon when dreams repeatedly fly down like night bats and happen the way mind designs we don't want to leave the scene of the dream even when we know well that the show for us is now over we just want to hang around like the dog,  in the place it  got a juicy bone. Yellow is the banana song that's heard as wave after wave, by the blind bat squadron that roams with raw aggression, for raids above the plantations Unripe bananas show green fingers to say "NO! we aren't ripe" like coy underage virgins. Then, they ripen, go yellow some even bright red, inviting who is blue here is the sky and those bats who got the bananas still raw green Night decents on the banana land as the white umbrella of sun is snatched by the dark maiden. Black is the bat's wing extending and folding like lust, umbrella and the like. He finds her shivering fingers like a serpent, on the banana trunk slithering down, as he dreams bats, banana, blue sky and she slithering over him.
0
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
Bats, Banana, Blue sky
Anger, is the steaming red on her face refusal creates in an instance; jealousy is foaming green profusion of colors in motion takes this dance for them to upward and downward turns, or a sudden dissolution--- an intense ****** in unison. Even in darkness he  can see the spasmodic ebbing waves sleep is the banana plantation where night wears translucent green "nobody would see us here" she whispers in his ears, as if they are thieving sex,eyeing the yellow banana she likes, to play with Purple is the psychedelic color smeared on horizon when dreams repeatedly fly down like night bats and happen the way mind designs we don't want to leave the scene of the dream even when we know well that the show for us is now over we just want to hang around like the dog,  in the place it  got a juicy bone. Yellow is the banana song that's heard as wave after wave, by the blind bat squadron that roams with raw aggression, for raids above the plantations Unripe bananas show green fingers to say "NO! we aren't ripe" like coy underage virgins. Then, they ripen, go yellow some even bright red, inviting who is blue here is the sky and those bats who got the bananas still raw green Night decents on the banana land as the white umbrella of sun is snatched by the dark maiden. Black is the bat's wing extending and folding like lust, umbrella and the like. He finds her shivering fingers like a serpent, on the banana trunk slithering down, as he dreams bats, banana, blue sky and she slithering over him.
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49
#*child of heart but not of womb, would i'd been gifted to ban the hope-thieving, spirit-throwing parasitic lies, to shelter ears & fragile petals against bruising, whiskey-glazed acts and words. would i might be gifted now to soothe, cradling tender soul through deadest night's watery gloom. yet firmly i know none other will ever be gifted to bestow what only One balm can perfectly renew, and He waits for you, my beautiful girl.*#
0
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
petals
They whine and cry- "This country is going to the dogs." They complaint and protest- "Down with this corrupt government." They crib and blame- "Pull down those lazy thieving ******** But when it's time, on Election day They take the day off, they holiday The Whining Losers, they say - "Ah, let a few Morons go and vote I am above politics, What matter's it to me." Dare you not raise another finger, Dare you not whine and complaint. You're not a part of democracy. You're what this country bears in vain.
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Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
Whining Losers
death mourns a life that succumbs to suicide... classical lawless-ness? calls the jyst... a thieving; a stolen death, a suicide.... bride riddled to a bridge... baking... left half awake and half baked... you count with the number of blinding equations... your 80+ segments? i want nothing to be part of, whether polymath, bilingual, or polymath... you resd yourself into "it".... fuck you, and... **** off... in terms of .gif ***** files... no... the part where we don't parrot? for no worthwhile surprise! death is alal b & w... memory? all invigorating sepia... life? the blooming of color... you take shrooms, to invigorate the colors?! oh look... you're as loony as me... and why would i give a **** about your tall-tales of subversive religiosity?! you're right! like you have been with me to begin with... there aren't any! now?! suffer! you're in good hands... turns out?! i'm a sadist... i somehow tested the pain on myself... i enjoy... the pain, of others, having, prior, teased the pain on, myself! i forgot teasing the pain... i taste it... i welcome it... i've become welcoming in allowing it, a stature abbreviating a transcendence of victim-hood! i need pain, to craft an erasure of ever having the capacity to instruct a modus operandi for pleasure! death contra suicide... a fact contra a premature contest of pleasure... suicide is what death calls thief... there is no moral artifact of a "question"... suicide is the thief, when death is the executioner... what moral question is to be entertained? non! i can't blame the mortality arsonist... less Tartarus and more Gehenna... less S.S. and more khaki S.A. night of the broken windows and less... hyper-Hindu reincarnation, hue hue grey... woo woo the ashen pillage... no... i'm not here for the cinder and the ******** it's enough that i drink the sort of excuse, that sober people could hardly make excuses about... and that's enough... and enough, is, where i'll stick to.
0
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
death is robbed via suicide, i want to rob death of of its stature
death mourns a life that succumbs to suicide... classical lawless-ness? calls the jyst... a thieving; a stolen death, a suicide.... bride riddled to a bridge... baking... left half awake and half baked... you count with the number of blinding equations... your 80+ segments? i want nothing to be part of, whether polymath, bilingual, or polymath... you resd yourself into "it".... fuck you, and... **** off... in terms of .gif ***** files... no... the part where we don't parrot? for no worthwhile surprise! death is alal b & w... memory? all invigorating sepia... life? the blooming of color... you take shrooms, to invigorate the colors?! oh look... you're as loony as me... and why would i give a **** about your tall-tales of subversive religiosity?! you're right! like you have been with me to begin with... there aren't any! now?! suffer! you're in good hands... turns out?! i'm a sadist... i somehow tested the pain on myself... i enjoy... the pain, of others, having, prior, teased the pain on, myself! i forgot teasing the pain... i taste it... i welcome it... i've become welcoming in allowing it, a stature abbreviating a transcendence of victim-hood! i need pain, to craft an erasure of ever having the capacity to instruct a modus operandi for pleasure! death contra suicide... a fact contra a premature contest of pleasure... suicide is what death calls thief... there is no moral artifact of a "question"... suicide is the thief, when death is the executioner... what moral question is to be entertained? non! i can't blame the mortality arsonist... less Tartarus and more Gehenna... less S.S. and more khaki S.A. night of the broken windows and less... hyper-Hindu reincarnation, hue hue grey... woo woo the ashen pillage... no... i'm not here for the cinder and the ******** it's enough that i drink the sort of excuse, that sober people could hardly make excuses about... and that's enough... and enough, is, where i'll stick to.
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90
Oh, how disgusting. All this disguising... To become somebody that’s worth existing. Oh, it's repulsing. Fully engulfing... Every truth, that ever found itself hiding. So join me... Hey let's play a lying game! And ***** ourselves, with something exciting! Deceiving, and heartless thieving... After all life is so dull without some bleeding. Such is life for a boring... Existence... Cause I’m a... Liar, liar! And only that is true! After all fire, fire... Is something I pursue! Just call out liar, liar! And I’ll infect you too... With the addictive taboo... Of bidding the truth adieu. Trust me! That’s a lie, such a lie, for a lie! You see, I can’t pry my own dyed scheming eyes. So please, forgive my falsified truthful lies. ...Truly... Lying! ‘Cause I’m a liar. Oh, how appalling. The lies are crawling... And covering every single little bit. Oh, how revolting. And full of loathing. It’s nauseating! Exhilarating, Isn’t it? Manipulating. Hardly pulsating... A heart like that, is the only one that’s free. Without emotion, Without devotion... It’s much easier to fake something happy. Much easier to fake yourself being happy... So, join me! Hey, let's play a lying game! And cover ourselves, with something inviting! Rewriting, and truly lying... Finally a story that wasn’t meant to end with painful feelings! Put on the masks, and let's have us a masquerade! Dancing senselessly, on the shadows of the betrayed! A smiling, and crying, and lying charade... Such is life for a boring... Existence. 'Cause I’m a liar, liar, And only that is true! After all fire, fire, Is something I pursue! Just call out liar, liar! And I’ll infect you too... With the addictive taboo... Of bidding the truth adieu. 'Cause I’m a liar. Peek-a-peek-a-boo! Ha, ha, I found you! Hiding from the truth... Well it’s nothing new. Peek-a-peek-a-boo! I can see right through! Liars know liars... Like you know the back of your own hand. It’s bland. Such an existence... Where everything goes as planned. Wasteland... Is much more fun to navigate and understand. That’s why... I left it behind, my world is covered in lies. That’s why... It seems there’s no longer blue in my sky... So... Put on the masks, and let's have us one last masquerade! Dancing senselessly, on the shadows of the betrayed! A smiling, and crying, and lying charade! Such is life for the boring existence... Of a liar. Am I a... liar? Liar? Does it seem that way to you? After all fire, fire... Is burning through the roof... 'Cause you’re all... liars, liars! And I don’t know what’s true! After all fire, fire... Has ravaged all I knew... I call out liar, liar! I cannot trust you! But the world has gone askew... And there’s nothing else to do... Except bid the truth adieu... Leave this, leave it behind, hide it in the back of your head! I’ve given up on all I knew, There is nothing, that is truly true. I’ve given up on all I knew, Because after they betrayed me, they’ve gone askew. I’ve given up on all I knew, Because life, people are so boring and dull, There is nothing for me here. I don’t see a point in living... That’s a lie..? Trust me! What’s a lie? Is it lies? Only lies! I can’t pry my blind eyes, while I cry... Please, forgive my blackened sky full of lies! Truly... Lying! Truly... Dying...
0
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC
Help me.
Oh, how disgusting. All this disguising... To become somebody that’s worth existing. Oh, it's repulsing. Fully engulfing... Every truth, that ever found itself hiding. So join me... Hey let's play a lying game! And ***** ourselves, with something exciting! Deceiving, and heartless thieving... After all life is so dull without some bleeding. Such is life for a boring... Existence... Cause I’m a... Liar, liar! And only that is true! After all fire, fire... Is something I pursue! Just call out liar, liar! And I’ll infect you too... With the addictive taboo... Of bidding the truth adieu. Trust me! That’s a lie, such a lie, for a lie! You see, I can’t pry my own dyed scheming eyes. So please, forgive my falsified truthful lies. ...Truly... Lying! ‘Cause I’m a liar. Oh, how appalling. The lies are crawling... And covering every single little bit. Oh, how revolting. And full of loathing. It’s nauseating! Exhilarating, Isn’t it? Manipulating. Hardly pulsating... A heart like that, is the only one that’s free. Without emotion, Without devotion... It’s much easier to fake something happy. Much easier to fake yourself being happy... So, join me! Hey, let's play a lying game! And cover ourselves, with something inviting! Rewriting, and truly lying... Finally a story that wasn’t meant to end with painful feelings! Put on the masks, and let's have us a masquerade! Dancing senselessly, on the shadows of the betrayed! A smiling, and crying, and lying charade... Such is life for a boring... Existence. 'Cause I’m a liar, liar, And only that is true! After all fire, fire, Is something I pursue! Just call out liar, liar! And I’ll infect you too... With the addictive taboo... Of bidding the truth adieu. 'Cause I’m a liar. Peek-a-peek-a-boo! Ha, ha, I found you! Hiding from the truth... Well it’s nothing new. Peek-a-peek-a-boo! I can see right through! Liars know liars... Like you know the back of your own hand. It’s bland. Such an existence... Where everything goes as planned. Wasteland... Is much more fun to navigate and understand. That’s why... I left it behind, my world is covered in lies. That’s why... It seems there’s no longer blue in my sky... So... Put on the masks, and let's have us one last masquerade! Dancing senselessly, on the shadows of the betrayed! A smiling, and crying, and lying charade! Such is life for the boring existence... Of a liar. Am I a... liar? Liar? Does it seem that way to you? After all fire, fire... Is burning through the roof... 'Cause you’re all... liars, liars! And I don’t know what’s true! After all fire, fire... Has ravaged all I knew... I call out liar, liar! I cannot trust you! But the world has gone askew... And there’s nothing else to do... Except bid the truth adieu... Leave this, leave it behind, hide it in the back of your head! I’ve given up on all I knew, There is nothing, that is truly true. I’ve given up on all I knew, Because after they betrayed me, they’ve gone askew. I’ve given up on all I knew, Because life, people are so boring and dull, There is nothing for me here. I don’t see a point in living... That’s a lie..? Trust me! What’s a lie? Is it lies? Only lies! I can’t pry my blind eyes, while I cry... Please, forgive my blackened sky full of lies! Truly... Lying! Truly... Dying...
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Chirp chirp A sparrow hops and flitters Jumps and flutters From branch To branch To wire Lining up with all her friends Waiting for some skybus to take them away Twitter and chortling about the world below Silly humans in their lucid bubbles of Space Squirrels chattering and cussing from the trees Thieving birdseeds and peaches Meanwhile the sparrow bounces on the wire Jittery and full of energy Twitching and flicking her feathers and tail Boune bounce hop Fidget and jump on straw thin legs And then whoosh All leave at once Their invisible skytrain pulling away as fast as it comes
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Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 11:21 AM UTC
sparrows
We two boys together clinging, One the other never leaving, Up and down the roads going—North and South excursions making, Power enjoying—elbows stretching—fingers clutching, Arm’d and fearless—eating, drinking, sleeping, loving, No law less than ourselves owning—sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening, Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing, Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing, Fulfilling our foray.
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4k
We Two Boys Together Clinging
Always thinking what am I thinking? lets start writing should be sleeping why am I thinking? I need to sleep now bored of sheep, lets try cows maybe I should count the spots or connect the dots of my thoughts.... Dalmatians are the cow canine ten, eleven, twelve deeper I delve sleeper I'm not wide awake, no half baked dough money makes the world go round funny how it doesn't make a sound yet people are so loud it's not needed nod your head when greeted nod your head when agreeing or leaving, deceiving, grieving maybe thats bowing bow your head when grieving Robin Hood had merry men and they were thieving still need to be sleeping dreaming........ If only I could dream of you as we sail the ocean blue you would get sea sick and I would drown quick this is how my dreams end much like our relationship conscious thoughts maligned with nonsense fraughts I fraught of you today tonight, this night every night you my light my darkness my rainbow tied around your neck so delicate a pretty little thing no tongue ring yet butterflies toast lands sunny side glass half empty I'm half fool a joker in the pack Batman that's a fact I only come out at night your caped crusader I tried to save her but the current dragged her under she now resides in the depths of my mind a shipwreck my Mary Rose how I loved your eyes and nose and everything attached did I remember to put the door on the latch? turn off the oven come give me loving and affection Marvin Gaye, Joan Armatrading sing to me so I can sleep sheep, cow, dalmatian, sheep..........
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May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
My Mary Rose
Always thinking what am I thinking? lets start writing should be sleeping why am I thinking? I need to sleep now bored of sheep, lets try cows maybe I should count the spots or connect the dots of my thoughts.... Dalmatians are the cow canine ten, eleven, twelve deeper I delve sleeper I'm not wide awake, no half baked dough money makes the world go round funny how it doesn't make a sound yet people are so loud it's not needed nod your head when greeted nod your head when agreeing or leaving, deceiving, grieving maybe thats bowing bow your head when grieving Robin Hood had merry men and they were thieving still need to be sleeping dreaming........ If only I could dream of you as we sail the ocean blue you would get sea sick and I would drown quick this is how my dreams end much like our relationship conscious thoughts maligned with nonsense fraughts I fraught of you today tonight, this night every night you my light my darkness my rainbow tied around your neck so delicate a pretty little thing no tongue ring yet butterflies toast lands sunny side glass half empty I'm half fool a joker in the pack Batman that's a fact I only come out at night your caped crusader I tried to save her but the current dragged her under she now resides in the depths of my mind a shipwreck my Mary Rose how I loved your eyes and nose and everything attached did I remember to put the door on the latch? turn off the oven come give me loving and affection Marvin Gaye, Joan Armatrading sing to me so I can sleep sheep, cow, dalmatian, sheep..........
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69
What failures oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen of living and thriving as a minority foreigner of working and studying to post-grad levels of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent of loving and marrying and creating a good home of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder what failures the failure of being successful and capable in grace the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed the failure of being an educated professional black the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by Ladies and Gentlemen these are my failures Its all there in black and white its the failure of being a minority In the british democracy of the Socialists for it is greed to work hard and be successful its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to suicide or a breakdown They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks
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Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
Failure by design.........
What failures oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen of living and thriving as a minority foreigner of working and studying to post-grad levels of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent of loving and marrying and creating a good home of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder what failures the failure of being successful and capable in grace the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed the failure of being an educated professional black the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by Ladies and Gentlemen these are my failures Its all there in black and white its the failure of being a minority In the british democracy of the Socialists for it is greed to work hard and be successful its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to suicide or a breakdown They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks
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32
I have never heard grey more grey then the words which you say to me so condescendingly. Never endingly. Black and white means naught in a world of (k)nots and (flattened) cans. And dressed up in blue, you’re always beautiful. But crude and **** we stand in the sun; every pockmark illuminated, tungsten bright. The light of night to never shine again against the delicate steel door that closes like your hand around the flitting, panicked moth. Magnesium smiles and pain pill duplicity, the simplicity of a (remote) controlled world. I am trapped between the clean street signs and the signs of a dead language. Where is the line of your back and what is the time? Have I lost the only things that made me sigh with relief? (Who is the real thief?)
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Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 11:21 AM UTC
Thieving Tungsten
Swoon to a tearful night, unknown to its grief Dialogue of peace, and those of plight Ringing of morphology, raindrops on the roof. Such things heard from the peasants’ seat In the many wet heads sopping In the sonorous waves, upright in the city clime Untending to their beds. At the bottom of that something All told are destined they will find Be pliable to the ills they’ve dealt To carry on, to work, admonishments Said once to justify these red romances That in every rain storm melt As pity through the night, forever unclasped From shackles of their blame Since life and ideology somehow are the same. ‘Tis destiny for abating storms As some will rose from their thickened thorns These nights deliver their gentle morns All the same as hemlock grows as poison And is best to be avoided. How—this, I fear only rain my know— Can we still bathe in fraternal glow When some still heal from Death himself Each breath that enters is quickly prayed to leave High on seated thrones Those mean so quick to thieving, the poor The lazy deserve no quarter Those dusty pockets afford not one So steal the heart upon his sleeve. May we help man wrought our kin and kind By common tongue, free, as we are ought? Since another may make my world He is mine to protect, not throw to bytes So ludicrous and feeding back upon themselves For destiny can be remade If hatred weren’t so blind.
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Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
They listen, too
Is this how they felt? Those women, adulterous? Those men, thieving? Breathing in the bitter metal Of their shackles, Just before treading the welcome mat Of Death? I sit here, breathing, Aware of the awkwardness of breath, Fearing everything, when nothing Threatens me within this night. Still, I can't help but wonder If my mind is crazed or If human kind is crazed. Which is it? If reality does not exist Without my perception of visible light And awake consciousness, Then isn't everything just a reflection On the mirror in my mind? If I slow down the shutter, All is over-exposed. If I warp my vision, Sanity's window is closed, And no breath of fresh air will I feel, Until my body's decomposed, And I'm floating freely in the dark... It's normal, I suppose. I really shouldn't have gotten ******
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Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
******
Everything had its place on the grand prairie- horse thieving, land-grabbing, bad whiskey, range fires, dust clouds, low women, lower men. Everything but the missing buffalo and the hungry Crow. The fierce eyes of the hungry Crow. r ~ 6/29/14
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Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
Hungry Crow
what the hyena cannot **** it will steal tallied on the gritted walls of our toil their bounty cultivated from the nothing we now possess and the bodies which must fall once their winter bites no time left to wail and gnash we must become as lions that rise and grip the throat of this thieving class
0
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
hyena
I sit upon a park bench mentally piecing together a utopia You steal along silently to sit upon my throne of wooden slats and cement I quickly turn and look at you and say inwardly, "your tree is not my tree with squirrels that scamper about, but a table top or a chopping block even tooth picks lined in a row." I bend to feed the pigeons; a saintly feeling fills my soul, to be abruptly taken from me, by your sudden pounding feet; a turbulence of wings that nearly touch my eye I finally begin to rest in reverie, a peaceful rest of blue and white You even steal this rest and talk about muggers in parks I hide my ears between my hands to stop your thieving voice I suddenly SHOUT at you but you leave suddenly as you came FOR YOU STEEL AWAY YOURSELF FROM ME               to take from you                                YOUR STEALING BLAME!!!
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Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Thief and destroyer and the invaded loftiness
. what's the difference between thieves, and magicians? not much...    both have quick hands... and an awake, yet asleep public communal presence... the thief has a public of the victim,    and the c.c.t.v. "stage"... the magician?    has a public of the crowd, and the "dajjal" stage of a camera replenishing    a concept of:   not enough public...     thieves and magicians are bedfellows... you allow one to flourish... the antithesis will come along, and in an indiscriminate fashion...    allow the "magic" / "thieving" to take place...      what is a magician, a public figure... compared... to a thief?        i can't see the difference... the audience was fooled by the magician... the individual was fooled by the thief...    are they... so much unlike each other?      magicians can own a theater stage... thieves, sometimes... just sometimes... own the, basic...     pointlessness of english c.c.t.v. mechanics, to make police officers make: a follow-up investigation...     oh, but i have genius interrogation practices...   no one wants to listen to... like 10 hours straights of listening to stefan molyneux... or 48 hours, sleep deprived... listening to BBC 24 hour news reels... that **** could crack anyone... what the americans did to the Iraqis? last time i heard... they blasted the slayer oeuvre down headphones into their ears... Americans... feeding conquered Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre? BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE! and didn't the encore come? ******* retards...   crows feeding seagull chicks with sinew and         regurgitated scavenger meat! if only they played them some Bach...     i'm pretty sure... the Iraqis would still be left... disorientated...   but the American army "interrogators"... ha ha!    played them the slayer oeuvre! WEE-TARDS! anyone... and i mean anyone: will relieve themselves as being "tortured": doubly charged up, and ready to ingest hyper-coffee in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic of ingesting amphetamines (pervitin) - night-raids... the londoonoirnischt blitz, sloth krieg... ya ya yawn... urgh... burp... and always... those poncy - english, gay, aristocratic men... and their... psychotropic women... so what's the difference between a common thief... and a spectacle magician? one "owns" cctv footage, the other owns a stage... yet both share a: quicksilver take on, what cannot be interpreted in either handwriting or stenography... hmm... can't be sure whether both could be considered legal.
0
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
thieves & magicians
. what's the difference between thieves, and magicians? not much...    both have quick hands... and an awake, yet asleep public communal presence... the thief has a public of the victim,    and the c.c.t.v. "stage"... the magician?    has a public of the crowd, and the "dajjal" stage of a camera replenishing    a concept of:   not enough public...     thieves and magicians are bedfellows... you allow one to flourish... the antithesis will come along, and in an indiscriminate fashion...    allow the "magic" / "thieving" to take place...      what is a magician, a public figure... compared... to a thief?        i can't see the difference... the audience was fooled by the magician... the individual was fooled by the thief...    are they... so much unlike each other?      magicians can own a theater stage... thieves, sometimes... just sometimes... own the, basic...     pointlessness of english c.c.t.v. mechanics, to make police officers make: a follow-up investigation...     oh, but i have genius interrogation practices...   no one wants to listen to... like 10 hours straights of listening to stefan molyneux... or 48 hours, sleep deprived... listening to BBC 24 hour news reels... that **** could crack anyone... what the americans did to the Iraqis? last time i heard... they blasted the slayer oeuvre down headphones into their ears... Americans... feeding conquered Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre? BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE! and didn't the encore come? ******* retards...   crows feeding seagull chicks with sinew and         regurgitated scavenger meat! if only they played them some Bach...     i'm pretty sure... the Iraqis would still be left... disorientated...   but the American army "interrogators"... ha ha!    played them the slayer oeuvre! WEE-TARDS! anyone... and i mean anyone: will relieve themselves as being "tortured": doubly charged up, and ready to ingest hyper-coffee in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic of ingesting amphetamines (pervitin) - night-raids... the londoonoirnischt blitz, sloth krieg... ya ya yawn... urgh... burp... and always... those poncy - english, gay, aristocratic men... and their... psychotropic women... so what's the difference between a common thief... and a spectacle magician? one "owns" cctv footage, the other owns a stage... yet both share a: quicksilver take on, what cannot be interpreted in either handwriting or stenography... hmm... can't be sure whether both could be considered legal.
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97
Where is it ye Scallywag? Have ye hidden in it ye bag? Don't ye look at me as brass as bold Give me back me *** o' gold I will put a curse on ye, no surprise Make ye eat spiders and flies I always make ye feel sick Ye thieving little Shabby **** I want it back! It's all mine! I know ye got it, I saw the sign So I will grind your bones for me tea I will make ye live in eternal misery Don't ye run! Don't ye dare! I will hunt ye down, track ye everywhere Bury ye under this earth filled clump I will snap ye spine when I jump Well! Blow me down with a wee feather Look at that! Well I never! I must have moved me crock only yesterday So ye canna steal it away I placed it safe and sound Buried it there, hidden in the ground So I now will be on me way Doth me hat, wish ye a good day
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Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 6:47 PM UTC
The Leprechaun Revisited
Crows of brooklyn payphone goddess Shakespeare: old skinny repeating thin silver words beneath a sea shell stolen by a 7 year old girl in a red rag dress from the burning contemporary bookstore tossing sweat thru irrelevant back spine tunnel streets featherless skulls spitting sour chinese gin from chimney blow hole of their decaying dead thieving Fox revolting death to mother blessing decay red blue green white Fox yellow brown fur swirling entwined like melting crayons on a stone militia crafted bench researched developed by young Hispanic America Freedom wanderers too hot too cold to undress and **** swirling together like cigar french ashes with tongue hued wine feverish coffee thick as the bulging pregnant belly mother giving taking birth to a child tossed carelessly into the Great Lakes sipping on bad spoiled milk digesting salt hard boiled swan eggs eating purity chewing skunk coughing industrial chemical gasoline *********** AIDS NYC bright non-existent lights non-existent Allah howling North Korea Communist war hymns sing great religious protest gunky toe nail'd feet waltzing in the stomach of medieval ballrooms chandelier not casted by infinite diamonds but by Jewish slaves Islamic skins Christian leather Catholic molested brains children bones deceased Langston Hughes hung by Hughes spine and pupil the size of texas mass of the ****** female lips and knees wearing color blind dress shoes unfound skin feet walking on rain drizzling beach washed up skeleton sting ray the skin unwrapped like a christmas gift Santa is starvation licking the shoe polished long toes of Death riding the Downtown artificial lights artificial scientist crafted classical elevator time consuming Death songs Jesus, waking up, to his body dry, like that of Winter's rose and lips.
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Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
crows of brooklyn
Crows of brooklyn payphone goddess Shakespeare: old skinny repeating thin silver words beneath a sea shell stolen by a 7 year old girl in a red rag dress from the burning contemporary bookstore tossing sweat thru irrelevant back spine tunnel streets featherless skulls spitting sour chinese gin from chimney blow hole of their decaying dead thieving Fox revolting death to mother blessing decay red blue green white Fox yellow brown fur swirling entwined like melting crayons on a stone militia crafted bench researched developed by young Hispanic America Freedom wanderers too hot too cold to undress and **** swirling together like cigar french ashes with tongue hued wine feverish coffee thick as the bulging pregnant belly mother giving taking birth to a child tossed carelessly into the Great Lakes sipping on bad spoiled milk digesting salt hard boiled swan eggs eating purity chewing skunk coughing industrial chemical gasoline *********** AIDS NYC bright non-existent lights non-existent Allah howling North Korea Communist war hymns sing great religious protest gunky toe nail'd feet waltzing in the stomach of medieval ballrooms chandelier not casted by infinite diamonds but by Jewish slaves Islamic skins Christian leather Catholic molested brains children bones deceased Langston Hughes hung by Hughes spine and pupil the size of texas mass of the ****** female lips and knees wearing color blind dress shoes unfound skin feet walking on rain drizzling beach washed up skeleton sting ray the skin unwrapped like a christmas gift Santa is starvation licking the shoe polished long toes of Death riding the Downtown artificial lights artificial scientist crafted classical elevator time consuming Death songs Jesus, waking up, to his body dry, like that of Winter's rose and lips.
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71
Every year it's the same troop Who seem to show up in a group Relations that you never see But, still they are your family Gifts are opened, clear the floor Then you hear them at the door Relations that you never see Except to eat your food for free They never write, they never phone All they do is sit and moan Relations that you never see They don't look like either you or me Every year it is the same They burst on in, don't know your name Relations that you never see Thieving hospitality We don't know where these people live They always take, they never give Relations that you never see That's how it will always be Merry Christmas, how's the folks Drink your drink, and smoke your smokes Relations that you never see Fulfill their Christmas dream for free.
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Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
Christmas relations
Sweet dagger, pierce that midnight beauty, that walks like cloudless climes and starry skies. Go now, men, and do your duty. Steal the schemes of other rhymes. I am the captain of my ship; I am the master of metre and time. I've mastered the art of thieving wit. I've stolen the fame of men long dead and staked my claim to the fruits of their minds. I can write words yet unsaid; But I've not the mind; I've not the inclination; I've not the creativity to write my own lines. If this rings too close to home, perhaps you ought to write your own. More likely though, you'll just steal mine.
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Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Plagiarism
Take me back to when top hats were like business suits When the white moths had become black with filth When the Thames was brown like the rotted teeth of beggars And not just because of the mud When the Irish and the Slavic were exotic When London was Birmingham When Birmingham was Liverpool When Liverpool was a country village When there were millions And yet they were still so innocently oblivious Take me to the city clothed in black For there was always a funeral somewhere London The noisy factories And crowded slums The fear that the cold brings The pain that disease brings The real London The honest London The dark, deadly London of my nightmares Every narrow, dimly-lit alleyway dripping with **** and blood Full of criminals and drunks Ominous dark brown bricks The suffocating stink that follows you wherever you go Cursing, begging Lifting, cuffing, gaffing, looting, nicking, pinching, swiping, thieving, pilfering, pillaging Hundreds of words for stealing Where the poor are painfully poor Where every woman that smiles at you is a ********** Corpses lying in the streets Next to gas lamps The only beacons of light People packed into bedrooms like chickens Sleeping on the string Highly disturbing But it's best not to interfere For someone else will deal with it Industry and decency will save us all There is no trace of that now Except the noble stone buildings Commissioned by the corrupt This is my fear and obsession
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Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
Victoria's London
Sticks and stones may break my bones, But words shatter my soul Like a thin sheet of glass In a fragile windowpane Faced against the icy, piercing, Wailing winter winds. Fractures and bruises heal, Barely leaving a mark, But a shattered soul- It remembers each and every Crack, break, chip, Often leaving pieces behind that The jealous, thieving wind stole in hopes Of making parts of the beautiful glass its own. Fear not! For the very thing that destroyed Can also mend the glass, Molding, sealing the mess back together Until a new, stronger, more beautiful Picture forms to illustrate the story Of the stained glass soul.
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Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
Stained Glass
well peasant boy milked the cow proved god that fed and gave the mosquito, and the people still desired the flashy bling: that stole the magpie - that stole the magpie from the cake in diadem of whipped cream of having it too; what the magpie stole, from having it too to not having it, the magpie with the magpie’s thieving eye accustomed itself to what is desired being thieved but not thieved by a magpie: aesop’s eloquence would have helped here to compare a silver spoon given to the groom prior to marriage... as the twinkle in that magpie’s eye or the antidote in bullet shot at a warewolf sitting lonesome with the moon, bare-chested in the forest hearing a creepy sound of a fallen branch breaking nearby under pressure from a foot - echoing the words: ‘no wild animal comes this close to man in the depths of its niche.’
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Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
magpies & macaws
in the grass lingering subtle. new life, seeks. life over distractions will you buy attentions? for me? i could try and persuade interjections to interject anomalies. false. in decay, blooming death. closer than your mother. unaware of the scythe speechless. despite selection phrasing perpetually simply put, arrogance tests my limits. carefully. picking out life from death a masterful game. monotonous. does the truth betray your senses? do your eyes smell? deliverance. ignorance for innocents. there are millions. billions. unstoppable. watch my back. we’ll both die. a rip in sound. feel the throat churn. erratic vibrations disorient the world they cannot understand us. poisoned perception of the native mind in struggle. in war. recovering and failing the same. thieving the motions. motionless. all to achieve deplorable fame dreadful.
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Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Back? tea, riya?