Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
could you ever, with your ears, express a piece of music, as: fluffy? dark soho's piece is fluffy; and by god i was the pretentious one at the beginning of the 20th century critical of the emerging music... but i'm the one merging at the beginning of the 21st century: and it's a T.S. Elliot scenario: the overload of rhythm: industrial core due to the industry being foetal sieg heil! and so many have fallen for the nostalgia trap... it's not coming back: against the thump thump gyroid reproductive muscular we emerge from... for whatever lack of drums in the orchestra: we're paying for it with an excess of techno techno Bob the goldfish cardboard box dance sequence... or as some would suggest: filling in the gap about the joke concerning a triangle being a part of the orchestra and the person educated in it, rather than the harp.

ah, the blank, and i have to work on it: let's imagine i was just
cooking a pork stew for my father and you don't
bother to ask why someone's surname is written
Raßer - and you don't know how
to pronounce it: and you end
up with razors - which you end up saying
racer - or how about sharpening
the s into a zed - how's that?
this is surgical activity while you you're
at at the butchers: necromancy aplemty:
when god speaks, the devil whispers -
American divergence of the pronoun
y'all / you all -
                           we the safeguard
and they the paranoia -
                                    take it slow,
imagine yourself living in Alaska:
you're exposed to the elements
and Prometheus isn't handy:
  all you have is west London drool
that later translates into easter in London,
Ld: isn't even an postal code:
given Greenwich, bellybutton on the world
they're bound to abuse / feel special
                 about, it's just a John Bishop
          Scouser type of beating.
                  ya - i say i aye, you frostbite of
culture, ya yarn ball of ****!
    oh 'ere we go: the red-coats are hunting
foxes: sort of scenario -
   the sooner they ******* a killing
the better for me: 'ave that one with a grizzly:
             some say the longer the yawn
the greater the applause -
      yo! Yogi! turntable of Las Vegas
says you better gamble on hibernating in the
effing Hermitage!
  - we say a lot of y'all when we imply the
plural, don't we? terrible, ****** thuggish
'n' all, to say it.
   i have five pages worth of notes,
and even though i'm drunk,
i came across a foundation, i'll never be ask happy
at i am right now,
   i signed a copy of my book (look! i don't
have a publicist, i don't have the ******* swagger,
i have the inferno that says:
  when the writing dries up, get a proper job;
if the writing doesn't dry up?
             you're less than necessary than a
supermarket shelf-stacker...
                 there are succumbing reasons that
explain the affair later) -
      no i'm about to sell my first copy -
  i say to her: when you working this circuit next?
Friday night? i'll tell you how much i'm selling
for, well: i'll never be this happy: ever -
it really doesn't matter how much for how little:
   i'm not exactly a family animal: farmed -
i'm political: through and through -
   by the time i finish this whiskey i'll be
demanding something new...
    i don't think your able limbs do idle chores:
i just think admire that they do them
and hardly complain: i blame it on the workers'
encouraged banter - and that's called solidarity.
still, right now, it's all about
dark soho's: dark moon in stonehenge -
       or why you never take l.s.d.
   question arises with Bach...
and polyphony - again, non-linear polymers:
   back when the Germans were at it
music sliced through the air
                   - or the modernity of lost
string (quartets) and woodwinds -
          only the thing plucked rather than in slicing
stroked kept from the strings:
    it was truly a devolution via brass -
   you can have the iron age,
but this is the brass age -
                   and subsequently the evolution
or filling the void of orchestral percussion,
which began with jazz: how orchestra was stripped
of woodwinds and strings and elevated
the humble triangle and enforced drums
and the rhythmic transcendence of limb and heart
and less ear and mind -
           oh the spontaneity thus involved:
forever the enigma of the composer's ability
to say much more than *A
, when saying in A# -
oh hell: music used to be the Mongolian horde
of all things imaginable,
                  the screams, all the entrenching
embodiment of battle: soothed -
  but in our apathetic guises: music is a variant
of the once exfoliated, thus hushed:
music is expressing a war in waiting - or a war
that's not to be - once music music ascribed
wind and tornado toward its elemental composition -
these days there is less wind, and more earthquake:
we are exposed to a trembling -
           an overt percussion methodology:
that's not fire and the storyteller / poet by
the lonesome huddling of nomads by the fire
with oud and recitation of the to come Quran:
we are experiencing a complete reversal of wind:
here we have dark soho's tectonic cardiovascular:
over stating the percussion until the eventual
obliteration of breath, and subsequently
the flatline of the heart's rhythm: to reach the zenith
of a flatline: beehive musicology.
         it's all earth: and the quaking
rather than a waking into.
                  sure: to the alien ear outside the populace
of those that listen to that kind of "****":
but let me assure you:" you can intellectualise
anything beyond the guilty pleasure:
or else - care to disclose your opinions about doggy?
once we were slicing and ******* -
these days? we're hammering, Soviet committee
said: hammer hammer hammer...
            gravitational drilling against the Catholic
lessons of worldly-detachment akin to a Gagarin:
and all the world's problems morphed into
an image of moving away from earth...
    far far away...       well: we're grounded, like it
or not.
              i love that: y'all -
                          it's as if we all need to agree, ~.
and what better way to actually open a poem up
if not to say how prose is a miser and poetry
the mad spender, or compose: he had / another thought
he wished to take / but...
           originally
                    he had
                  another thought he wished to take
                 but...
saving an Amazonian tree, suggesting that: one by one.
i'll sell my first copy on Friday,
i just need to know how much money was put
into printing it -
   and it will be the happiest i'll ever be -
who cares that it's only 1... if i were selling
100,000 copies i'd be thinking of buying a Mercedes
to do away with the capital...
      oh right, the poem (six pages of notes):
the question, what does it all mean?
       i'm thankful that the all means very little,
or at least enough for physicists to take a bother
in answering:
               i'm just thankful to say that at least
bites / bytes / isolated units have more meaning
than the whole... i.e.?
do i care what the universe means, more so
than i known what the word darkened means?
                 pause for thought -
the well established organic search engine that memory
is: and never will be: an algorithm (engine) -
           still the organic variation of accessing it
reveals Rodin's statues -
                        post-Rodin (Rho-dan: ****** iota!
why so naked in the first place?!) -
            the point where it's not so much enigmatic that
you wish to replicate: but entomb, and mould
a statue worthy of the perpetuated cut-short
and mediating the idea that thought has also
the faculty of imagining and memorisation
that hardly translate into being via ergo...
       if that's the case: you're demented via the
ergo of memory... and deluded via the ergo of
imagining -
                      or Frankenstein / Disney respectively:
but never the extinguished cogito, somehow,
oddly enough:
                          and by the way - no one is going
to question my opinions because dialectics was
giving the hemlocks... my opinions
will only become passed around like Bulgarian
Versace copyright thefts, or because they
were never ideas: attachment .pdf
                   will never entertain someone else's thought,
or because they were originally always opinions
will be consecrated on the attachments of .jpeg:
ever wonder why the crucifix always
mobilises so much emotional foundation to
react and protect a torture-filled instrument
worthy of worship? me neither.
                but that's the whole beginning:
we ensured our memory is eroded by an easily
accessed algorithm - we prefer the goggles to
mensa -
                   and if i were a technophobe: e ah e ah oh...
McDonald would turn out to be McTrump:
'cos' i wouldn't be using it.
              then how to synchronise the senses:
you surely can't leave one the prime consumer of
all the things around you:
     i guess that as stated: you can't live out a life
whereby one is polarised, and the others recessively
make your thinking into potato -
   then again: not polarising one of your senses
will leave you thinking that old fantasy that
you live in a hologram "reality": which i mean by saying:
if one of your pentagram limbs isn't polarised
like a blind person, your thought will claim a sixth
sense status - and subsequently you'll experience
either a second chance of allowing one of your senses
to be stressed / polarised, or all your senses will become
overpowering your non-sense: that's thought into submitting
to a polarity / vector: kindred of
the manual worker feeling his trade take
perfect replication -
a composer polarised by "hearing" -
a painter polarised by "seeing" -
a poet polarised by "speaking" -
a chef polarised by "tasting" -
   a perfumer polarised by "scenting" -
and within the sixth sense extension:
a politician polarised by "thinking" -
  the first antonym suggestion comes within the latter's
parameter: mobilising or puppeteering:
would i care to find variations for the latter? no.

     interlude... opening of page 3 of notes on a windowsill...

and how often is soul ascribed a sensual dimension?
i guess as many a time thought isn't ascribed one:
necessarily made into nonsense.
soul? what do i mean by that? the part of you
that isn't indestructible, but, rather,
the part of you that feels that ease: the uninhibited
correlation (verbiage necessary, darling,
if you want the gist of it) -
when at ease you're not really ascribing to yourself
thinking, but a narrative -
  hence your notion of being indestructible,
or young.
      when thinking is easy we're not actually thinking,
we're narrating, hence the majority of us
are clogs in the machine, and once the machine works
we're upbeat about it, because we prefer to narrate
ourselves into life than think ourselves into it:
primarily because (even i included):
we lack a public addressal attache to make
vague concerns over our: inhibitions -
we are entrusted with inhibitory encrusting
for the sole purpose (we should be afraid of
suggesting): let's see who falls off the ferris wheel
first and we can entrust our congeniality toward
the joke: thank **** it wasn't me, later...
          but still:
if were were really intended to think
rather than narrate we'd be given global warming
solutions everyday...
   there's nothing in us that suggests an 'ought',
a moral choice to later say: thought
                      that could fish-hook us out of
kissing the narrative goodbye -
  narration is an undisturbed faking of thought -
as such the 'ought' is never thought of:
because there's a narrative going on
that's more important than anything requiring
even the most basest obligation.
       we are never obliged to be, because we are
never obliged to think: it's strange how the
two are anti-synonymous due to the ergo disparity:
as if one produces the other, or the former
the latter.
              thinking you're good never precipitates
into being good - and vice versa:
   for all i know i know fake rather than falsifiable
saintliness: the power of the scientific
  suggests that i should be Baron von Scorn
when it comes to the ignorance of testifying
         against people who abhor science
and reproduce, nonetheless, with failure to
transcend deformities: because deformities are
glorified and all forms of ability demonised:
so it looks quasi-Vatican-e.
                   preface to a Michelin star:
start with a ******: work your way down:
enjoy your meal, bygones-be-bygones:
you very happy people.
                  but i never understood why
the idea of thought has never the opinionated phrase:
me, exponentially, to no book's avail!
        p.s. as to be ever written!
    thought conscripts man to rubrics -
for example? examinational candélabre -
  some call it i.q., other's call it: for god's sake man,
****** shoot! shoot!
                        and the flying toes and digits:
thumbs away: booh booh Blitz.
                        first thought: that Jersey song:
fifth of November - that Fawkes ****
who almost.... n'ah.
                            in case you're narrative:
thought has its narrative: it's transcendental -
phenomenology comes into play with
narratives and Lady Gaga and how you're an
"individual": thought is acquired trying to transcend
atomic electron orbits that says: electron clouds -
or it's there, but it isn't there, but it's not there,
but it's there: huh?
                         narration conscripted to the rubric
of school exams at school: palpitations, sweat,
nerves... in this scenario thinking is actually
regurgitation -
                          actually we're still doing the Elvis
Costello hope: while narrating we pass from
these shackles of having to think lessons through
when in fact: we're gearing to having no need
in having to learn them primordially, period!

the paranoiac "they" are eroding our protective
membrane -
    they begin with memory -
         it's not that we care to remember certain things,
but by educating us in the Pythagorean theorem
they're not necessarily dressing us in bow ties either -
they need to implant an abstract educational
thought to replace our natural assimilation into
a narrative that we ourselves have created -
       they need to create erosion within our
memory to stop us coagulating our sense of memory
within a framework of us imagining backwards
rather than forwards:
      the cinema of the mind means memory utilises
imagination to do cartwheels backwards
rather than forwards: because forwards is always
a Disney pharmacology of the neon hyper colouring.

or how they made us escape the "Alcatraz"
of the couch of cognitive narration into an
iron maiden of thinking -
                    in this realm narrating is disparaging
from thinking: narrative is a comfort zone:
thinking is a discomfort zone -
                       but neither me nor you will
become a Newton in terms of narrating the ideas:
so why the hell would they want us to think?!
       concerning Heidegger:
the problem is not that we're not thinking -
the solution is that we're narrating and have
no urge to write books, and thank god for that!
               or man, as the pentagram of the senses,
reversed into thought as the sixth sense calamity
and reversed back as that sense missing
and the tetra exemplified...
         when learning what is the weakest point,
the audio or the optic-receptive stimulation?
                         i mean, the senses over accuse
thought's complexity as if it were a sense akin
to them, hence the suggestion nonsense;
well of course, thought is actually non-sensory -
     i just suggested that when thinking
i'm not polarising any of the penta -
         i'm suggesting that when thinking i'm
invoking the tetra - as if blind or deaf -
but that means i'm deviating from the superstition
that a sixth correlative mediatory balance exists
between the two dichotomies -
                            the senses will always treat
obscure thinking as if obscure narratives:
even though i know how much a price of bread
costs in the 21st century -
                              what i'm saying is that
the nonsense assertion is also true for the other:
not having had the chance to polarise one
of its senses to point toward the artefact use of
wh
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
a.

227.9 million years away
                   (mars)                   heliocentric model
i.e. away from coordinates (0,0), i.e. the sun

b.

149.6 million years away
                      (earth)                         "               "
etc.

c.

    standard metric system, alternatively
                        this is the geocentric model emerging
i.e.        one day on earth is equivalent
           of a day and forty minutes on Mars...
  we don't have access
                     to a heliocentric model for this
primarily because of the coordinate of the sun
being (0,0), in Kantian symbolism 0 = denial,
therefore the sun cannot encompass day,
or night, hours or minutes...
                             you cannot apply
the relativity of days comparatively being different
on Mars or on Earth using the heliocentric model...
              
      and to think, all it took was for nautical directions
being blessed by the movement of constellations,
        and that phrase of mine: where's Copernican east?

            we're all shouting at the ****** project,
it's either who write the best concentrated plagiarism
of the masses for the visual effects,
          the glued together parts of iron and oxygen
tanks... or who can write the words behind the images
well enough to capture the imagination
        and shift it elsewhere...
oh believe me, i am living in a 48 hour week,
    i'm not writing science fiction,
                       i'm on earth, but this isn't earth,
it doesn't require a measure of distance,
   but still the figures stand... so i might as well
toy with them and get some bogus answer...

d.

what does life constitute on a "planet" that consists
of 48 hours?
                     today i put on something warm,
the cold finally got to me,
                          i'm the butterfly while a hurricane
rages on elsewhere,
                              quantum humanism some call it,
because the physics never really inclined itself
to treat human emotions well enough -
                    just today,
as i peered into the day's sky -
                     the moon and the sun shared the same
blue horizon -
                           in the summer the moon has the
tides - and keeps them at bay, calm,
         but when autumn and winter come,
and the earth tilts - the moon looses the grip on
the tides in the northern hemisphere -
hurricanes in the west, tsunamis in the east,
              storms at Greenwich meantime -
the time of day? when the moon engages in
profane acts with day, appearing and stunning
insomniacs into coherency, as if asking:
            so if i am being given a very quick
and less romantic sunrise, and esp. a less
romantic sunset, by seeing the moon closely aligned
to the sun during the day:
                 am i seeing the nightly delights of
the southern hemisphere, and if so,
            is that to the east, or is that to the west?
i am guessing it's to the east... for i am seeing
the night in the southern Pacific continent -
              i am seeing their night
                          for the moon has transgressed
its boundaries, and left the northern waters
ready to rebel under the polytheistic guise
complimenting the spacious orbs -
                       when order and monotheism of
the north during spring and summer...
         then Poseidon's upheavals with the watery
rebellious graves during autumn and winter:
or how Hades persuaded his two brothers to
pay due and meet with the Titans in Tartarus:
to thus form a pact against the monotheistic concept:
for the soul of the ancient Greeks said:
                shame be unto you, brats,
for shunning the religion of your forefathers!

e.

indeed the 48 hour day, two days and two nights,
or more precisely: three nights and one day -
sooner or later they'll push the clocks back,
a man will go to sleep in the dark,
   and catch but a glimmer of a day - then too
thrown into the darkness: a 48 hour day on a planet
involves three periods of darkness, and one
period of daylight - and if they said Alaska was
torture... here is a man engulfed alone in it.

f.

strange to think that 78.3 million years between
Mars and Earth only add 40 minutes more to a day...
           as ever, the non-uniform suggestion of gravity,
take but one step on that soil,
                           the curse of the astronauts on the moon:
and then invite the poets of the cult of the moon,
the emblem of the moon that's Islam...
                              an then wait for the consequences
and the ***** dreams of those people and their children...
               even the Atom Bomb seems to have
been forgiven by comparison -
                                but never the moon: or the death
of childhood - lunar crown shattered -
                              death of storytelling for children
some might say: 1001 minutes of advertisement
before Cyrus starts weaving a web of entrenched
consumerism - not even the Belgian fields
and their world war 1 trenches could have provided
such a status quo to continue...
            to continue...

g.

so do i multiply that figure by something?
78.3 million years disparity -
                        times the time difference?
i.e. 78.3 multiplied by 40 and added to
the distance from earth?
            λoγος - no!
                                 what's the distance from
starting coordinate (0,0) to the earth? 149.6 million...
      and mars?
227.9 million...
                                      which means 78.3 multiplied
by taking away the negation symbol due
to the double-negation coordinate that the sun is
(timeless and without space-affirming
                  timing to our necessary comprehension
of the day to day) - meaning the distance
of the planet with 48 hour days (three nights and one
day) is 313.2 million years away from the sun...
               Jupiter stands at being 778.5 million years...
and that's a kept in ****... a gaseous giant...
                 so the distance is plausible...
but like i said before: first comes logic,
which splits into rationality and irrationality -
                      but irrationality still uses logic -
      we all know that irrationality is not reasonable -
          but it is ably-reasoned-with
           or can succumb to some variation
                     of the illogical -
                                              namely illogical rationality:
as in passing Platonic theories down the ages,
or succumbing to the Freudian psychoanalysis -
fashion is simpler, cruder -
                                               it cuts off the missing
points, it desecrates the shrines of famous names
and does the grand thing of keeping everyone
hooked in, rather than out of it nostalgic -
       no one is really winning either side of this point.

h.

and this is really what two beers can do to you
to relax after living on plant H-48 -
                     no yoga teacher can tell you that ***
gets better when you pay alms to this world -
         the yoga fakes are making enough dosh laughing:
*** is good, where there's a billion of them,
not a scattering of what i call the real reason
why we evolved to be so numerous:
     cancerous libidos, or overblown libidos,
   and a knack at ******* each other off - which just
says: keep 'em coming!
                                    and they expect people to really
be awe-stricken when you have such nice names
in biology: chlorophyll and enzyme and hydro and
aqua... and for all life to begin with a big bang?
    i thought you couldn't hear astronauts scream
in space?        or maybe that big bang was just
       a big boo - because aren't we **** scared?

i.

American politics has cracked with this presidential
election, the real dynamic is out...
           it reminds me of
the trinity of ******, the brown-shirts
(Sturmabteilung) thugs leader Ernst Röhm
and the man that replaced him:
               Heinrich Himmler of the
less thuggish and more professional murderers'
brigade the (Reichsführer Schutzstaffel) -
you see, i actually have a better attention span
when i live on H-48... did you notice
that neither of the presidential candidates mentioned
the literature in their debates?
one said: tax evasion, the other said: emails!
but these two sly foxes are toying with the whole
process... they're citing the literature...
   tim kaine and mike pence are the geniuses behind
the scenes... you have to give credit to them...
                it's the ingrained discussion -
the gospels -           it subconsciously will even convince
black voters (of a certain age) to vote for Trump,
regardless of his blunders... which are like ******'s
blunders even though Eva Braun has Jewish heritage
(as seen in one documentary on channel 4) -
                    and you know they're running the show
because they only have one debate...
         that's how important they are...
                       did you ever care to watch a
Ingram Bergman film twice? or three times?
i don't think so. once... and then the butterfly is gone,
gone gone. i'm not here for the entertainment -
American protestant-ism isn't European,
                          it's ultra-Catholic -
                    oddly enough, not in terms of all
the iconic symbolism - that's scaled down -
       but the message is profoundly Catholic -
the two men cited the literature - they're
not thugs, they're not blundering rhetoricians like
the two puppets in their hands...
                        they're the power brokers
or what in England we call the kingmakers -
   i'm not into conspiracies, just the obvious things -
****** had a funny moustache,
          Trump has a funny haircut -
J F K was handsome L B J wasn't and was furious
when Marilyn sang the birthday blues...
                   Gerald Ford is the founder of the Mafia...
Nixon wanted in... oops... didn't happen...
                    ever since Ford it's been playtime after
playtime and no one doing the arithmetic on lives -
               well you know, a washing machine
breaks down, you get a new one...
                  but something came up at the turn
of the 21st century, no one expected it -
this is where i only ascribe one conspiracy:
                                         you can't miss it,
it's blatantly there on the geographical map,
S.A. and that beautiful ornament flag with a pretty
sword and Arabic calligraphy...
                             i'm not wetting my appetite with
these words... it's just common sense -
                money is something that provides the
trans-valuation of all things: it's what the alchemists
were always hoping to find, but it was found
so long ago that it didn't matter how childish they
thought they could be: thanks for paracetamol
though...
                                     what's actually the most
mystifying aspect of this is how there's an ingrained
desirability of a status quo:
      you can have a coin with Rex's head on it,
and no matter what the base metal is,
it will still devalue something more precious
                     and increase value of something more
precious...               it happens in the art world
with the artist being recognised posthumously
                                for the object of his work,
but nothing beyond that...
                                              and since it is painfully
obvious... the question is...
                     do you challenge the status quo
                                          or do you consider yourself
a unit of qua                 -
                                   and that's an open question,
if a question at all...
                                        it's because i have left the
exciting part of this poem,
                                    gravity pulled me down to
planet H-24 (otherwise known as earth), and i see
all this ****** misery...
                                       and i think...
even though my life on planet H-48 can sometimes
feel like torture - i know that i'm in control of
certain perks on it...           and all because i decided
to travel there, with one missing clue as to
why it took me 2 years to escape Heidegger's Alcatraz -
            and why i decided to go back in...
      after reading the previously mentioned book
i realised i was given the key into something else,
           kaleidoscopic even -
worded physics, worded chemistry, worded biology,
  not the physics of equations, or chemistry
of electron-migration diagrams in organic reactions,
or biology and its oops after oops and
a boxing match with theology -
                                           i even considered
buying the Alcatraz in English... but that would
make no sense...
                         given the already bilingual dynamic
being established...
                                     as Dante chose Virgil
to wade through hell... you too must also choose
the one companion, and reject all others...
               and if Heidegger chose Aristotle
i must choose Heidegger - and would i say that
my grandfather was a bad man for being a
communist party member? do you think
a small town boy gets sold the highest form of
Versailles intrigue that culminates in
the Siberian gulag? they got you spinning that old
housewives' tale like a dodo doing dodo
                                           rather than being dodo.
rusty shacks Feb 2013
i went to the anarcho-communist meeting
nobody knew who was in charge
and an aggressive looking group of thuggish types
were monopolizing the juice and biscuits
None of these verses are authored by me...
My brain's being
held hostage by
a couple of thieves.

They drain me of images
and words every night...
They're so thuggish
I won't even dare
to put up a fight.

They tell me if I'm good
they'll expedite my release...
but now I'm on my knees
begging them please.

I have some deadlines
coming up soon
I need to touch-up some paintings so they
don't look like cartoons.

But the conspiracy plays out,
the plot thickens....
they won't let me refuse.  
These wanna be poets,
my demanding hand and
a partner...the pencil, its Muse.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
only today i learned ø denotes
        an encoding of diameter,
and it's Scandinavian,
                     or how the globe is
past the equator,
         and the lob-sided earth,
winters in Australia in the Summer months
in Europe.

    high philosophy begins with Beijing
dialectical highs,
    but take the route of lower philosophy
and encounter diacritics rather than dialectics,
because that matters, too,
        θought, a moral ought,
   and φilosoφy - and missing ought -
          and the two being irreversibly twins
in said... or θought an immoral ought,
                 sure, tubes, mistook ø74 for something
akin to φ...
    high philosophy never acquires a diacritical
dilemma...
                  or why local don't do anything
but actuate automatic application
   and those immigrant, or bilingual troops question...
    ø = diameter, not to be confused with the θ;
             higher philosophy begins with dialectical
beginnings,
               "lower" philosophy also begins with
dialectics, but it ends with diacritical application,
rather than utopian: nowhere from nothing.

what am i going to say next? *machado de assis's

philosopher or dog? introduction.

          ........................................­..................................
..............................­......................................................
..........­.................................................................­.........
.......................................................­.............................
...................................­.................................................
...............­.................................................................­....
............................................................­...........
(or a paragraph on the pleasure of drinking,
    or how to save you an optometrist appointment,
or how to take an interlude,
   to do the opposite of the Andy Warhol stipend
for making enough buggers hearing your
opinion, unchallenged,
                    but never having a diacritic concern).
hence the pending, or what everyone seems to
desire these days, circa 100 years later,
     how to provoke an interlude, how to hunger
for interludes rather than fame,
           i also drew a sketch before starting,
       shat -
                  and hey presto!
           ****!
                   yuck in orange in florescent.
yellow (florescent), F, pretty pretty pretty,
          in pink the bit about diameters and phi,
           again in yuck orange: swigs and the wiggle...
a paged concern for graffiti.
                  again, pending, yet to be hottie
and poster boy of a poem,
        again the impromptu break worth of fame that
actually isn't fame, but a chance to compare
                   how much whiskey makes up for the
Niagara continuum.
        again, (pending):
............................................... (how the hell do you
write pending ~15 minutes later?!)

the concept of Monday is greatly undermined
by Darwinism,
    as is Tuesday through to Sunday,
generally the function-able week desists the idea
of an Iron Age, as does the pantomime
of all that's worth celebrating -
generally speaking Darwinism is anti-history,
theology has nothing to ask of Darwinism
to argue against,
                             theology isn't a history,
but Darwinism is the purest variation
of history, variance of how we define logic
and its applicability, whether it's
i + think            /             1 + 1
    and have the moral attraction toward a 2
         or variate a moral action into a 3:
cos Radiohead simply sang 2 + 2 = 5 in a song:
cheat! matchstick principle regarding counting!
machado de assis? Darwinism is peppered with
overt imagery than salted with:
you get to sneeze a lot...
             a writer's voice: irony, mockery,
         consolidating the lessened counter-productiveness...
Flaubert, Dickens, Zola, Balzac, etc.,
                    homie, rap that **** out, condense it,
i thought Brazil was half the way America should have
endeared you? i had problems with Prussia
Austria and Russia... guess i was wrong how thuggish
i had to be with the Orpheus *******...
       cos the lyre was dumbo blunt deaf and therefore
cacka...
     higher philosophy begins with dialectics,
"lower" philosophy begins with diacritics -
     a return to the source, a debate with Ivory scales
concerning the Rosetta - a neo-formatting of
what's quiete
                           right: Sophia: hence anew: Rosetta.
and all for the pear that's woman and whether Satan
chose the fruit prudently according to Milton.
or the progress of a drunk:
centipedes and Fitzgeralds, Hemingways,
lust and last said...
                           the cf. of every apparent transitory
made to provoke the quasi and quack,
              ducking the Donald and the *****,
in agreement,
                     a happiness toward the tiresome
encrusting of what's worth being stated,
and then the deviatory,
                              as marketed a deviation
from a Louis Napoleon -
                                    because no Belarus was
to be chequered by an impeding force...
                      hence the cha cha cha...
                                    and hence the stanzas of
Argentinian tango...
              juicy and later the cruelty choking
of what some might make of Macbeath's habitual thinking
                                       worthy of a classroom
                audience; and that too is
exposable in return for being disposable.
higher philosophy is regarded as such with
dialectics,
                        but "lower" philosophy is
yet to be regarded as such with diacritics -
     not a case of what's to be said, and thus bedded,
but a case of how's something said,
                                and thus given a freedom
of: bedded, wedded, pimped, or whimpered into
                                     surviving writing a poem about;
also achieved by Humphrey and that chuckle of
revising Casablanca for an unnecessary quote dynamic /
diatribe when Hiroshima said
                 much more than the above certified:
boom! 1 million ******* dead.
       that's an overt-quote that gropes the many
amens among the citations of Marilyn, and still gets away
with                     a memory of J.F.K.,
           because that ****-honing masterpiece
was needing my memory rather
                                   than a b. b. q.    scewing.
          i find people rather forgetting:
jeopardy battered boundless gym orientational
                     thoughtless two shots of tequilas
            and three paraphrases of sours in biting a lemon
to upkeep a trough of a suntan with the H-He:
boom boom, higher tier laughter,
             ingesting that inflation of prop
                    boom boom, v bomber,
                     squeeze...
                    lob-side lo & behold,
                                       'n'        - squiggly extra thus born.
bullies
in the playground

bullies
at our work sites

bullies
seem to bully
with great delight

bullies
were bullied too
that's why they bully
me and you

bullies
have thuggish personalities
which seem to show
in their tendencies

bullies
will be bullies
as bullying is their way
and the bullying person's trait
may affect someone to-day

bullies
with cowardly yellow backs
oft find it hard
to turn about their tracks

bullies
bring upon themselves
an isolating terrain
for from the bullying
they'll not abstain
All that thuggish bravado, those wannabe tough guys throwing up gang signs like fireworks of the fourth of ju-lie.Save it for the streets, keep it out the homes. Let the lead run down these meaningless gutters, don't let the fam see whats shown.Save it for the streets, the vanity of this rap realm, a world of hard words and harder falls.Save it for the streets, keep the guns out of school, keep the **** inside down, til that bell rings and the streets are open. Let the hatred fly, green light means go, yellow means get out the mutherfukin way, and red means bleed ***** bleed.Save it for the streets, all the death of the hood, leave it in the streets, black streets turn red.Save it for the streets, cause homes were built for one man armies or gang bangin fools, families can be supported on hot lead and sorrow.So next time you feel the urge to go buckwild, and let off some steam, just remember I said "Save it for the streets".
Every Sunday without fail,
my father would set about getting us on the
family visiting trail.
A picnic was packed, along with our macs,
(Just in case of the rain) and into the car
we were packed.
A beautiful drive through winding roads,
over a bridge that made your tummy lurch,
onwards, to the Pen-y-Fal psychiatric hospital.

The Tudor Gothic style hospital loomed large to a
child in a car. Like a silent waiting beast from afar.
A Charming gathering of gables and chimneys,
disguised the interior of quite simply "the madhouse".
Set in grounds of 75 acres, patients played bowls, cricket,
and croquet. I thought the people and the grounds magical.
There was this secret place with adult children,
smiling, and talking to the trees, knowing of fairies,
I never heard their pleas.

As I grew older, I grew bolder, the same Sunday jaunt,
to our familial haunt, but now I was an explorer.
I was allowed in. In to the centre of the Gothic beast.
Green tiled, with brown heavy doors, antiseptic smell
that clung to every pore and cell of you. Stark walls,
scrubbed nurses, white coated Doctors and thuggish orderlies.
And after your eyes took in those sights, your nose that smell,
the noise crashed into you. Moans, cries, wails and pleas.
The sound of a thousand lost minds.

My aunt was one of the lost.
She never went home again.
She never visited her children.
She never visited her eleven siblings.
She stayed, stayed with her friend Pearl.
Who once told me I had Vivienne Leigh eyes.
She stayed with the randy Italian, the piano player,
the Downs people given to that 'hospital', that smell, that Hell.
She was in the belly of the beast.*

The Grade II Listed Building has been converted into luxury accommodation now, but would you sleep there?
© JLB
25/07/2014
1851-1996
12 initial wards
210 initial inmates
1881-83 an epileptic ward was built
Between 1851 and 1950 over 3,000 patients died at the hospital.
Pen-y-Fal Hospital it held up to 1,170 patients at its peak.
Trey Evans Nov 2015
Every. 28. Hours.
Another one is gunned down.
Another one of us.
With little to no reason.
Yet when we voice our reasons of rebellion
We’re told we’re “thugs”
How is it not thuggish to crush a man’s voice box?
We could ask Freddie Gray about.. Oh wait.

Every. 28. Hours.
Another one is gunned down.
Another one of us.
With little to no reason.
They encourage a “peaceful protest”
“Don’t act like animals”
“Respect yourselves”
Like respecting the race that enslaved us for centuries
Prevented us from being killed.

Every. 28. Hours.
Another one is gunned down.
Another one of us.
With little to no reason.
They don’t understand why we act out.
They tell us to “go back to our own country”
Please explain to me how that would work
Whenever you tried to **** off those
That inhabited the country you “discovered”

Every. 28. Hours.
Another one is gunned down.
Another one of us.
With little to no reason.
We’ve complied for so long.
What do we do now?
I don’t want to see us die.
I don’t want to see us suffer.
I don’t want to be nex—

(bang)
written 4/27/15
Travis Green Apr 2022
I’d forgotten how much I l adored him
The smoothness of his flex
The sheer compassionateness streaming through his vessel
Imbued with impeccable dexterity
Undying powerfulness, hot drippy debonairness
Splashy crash-hot swagger

Impossibly spectacular magicalness
Bright strapping majesticness
So love-struck by a loverboy
Thinking of him tremendously
The way he walked confidently
How he talked so smoothly

A magical mocha man
His mouth gleaming with grill
Ardent charcoal black eyes
That took me inside his invitingness
A long hot night of glorious delight
Feeling the sleek texture of his vestments
As he undressed, marveling at his pristine symmetry
His strikingly divine frame
Vast vigorous biceps and chest
Rippling chiseled abs
Glowing noticeable shoulders

I was brimming with dopeness
Gaping at his dreamy humongous gun
A stellar sack of *****
That made me covet to **** his hugeness
Drift into his timeless youthfulness
Unarguably unrivaled beauty
A beguiling diamond in his own right

I was highly stupefied
Pie-eyed on his divineness
His artfully adored stance
So unapologetically bold and dope
He had me forever mesmerized by his sauciness
His knowledgeableness, his intuitiveness
His authenticness, distinctive masculinity
Hot blazing thriller, so contagious it’s outrageous

I never imagined he could rock my world
With his luscious thuggish ruggedness
He had me on a deep mind trip
Pervaded with incomprehensible sensations
Aching for him to be a part of my heart always
To be my marvelous wonderland
I could escape into whenever I wanted to
To feel every mind-blowing thing about him
So longingly lost in love, not wishing to seek for another
But to have in my life where I could delight in him all of the time
Aaron LaLux Sep 2019
Lost,
amongst the chaos, caught outside with a long way to go,
calm,
within the center, inside everything comes 360° full circle,

call it a circle but it’s more of a spiral,
careful don’t want to hurt you when I go ******,
but the truth is the first rule of nature is survival,
chaos outside crack pipes alight demoralized fools act suicidal,

see healing can help but it can also hurt you,
especially if you forget your virtues,

trust me you must be occasionally criticized passionately,
for acting out irrationally if not you’re not living your truth,
too caught up in your own closed captions to actually,
see passed the rose glasses that skews your worldview,

out past curfew brazenly making your way merrily,
down that yellow brick road until you stub your toe I told you,
healing can hurt you if you forget your virtues,
still you choose to refuse the truth shown in your own show,

okay your choice to choose now without further ado, the news,

this just in, we’re all caught in whirlpools,
drains all clogged with heirlooms,
energy vampires virgule our virtues,
as slashed wrist fill bathtubs, pills lay on pillows in bedrooms,

these cities are pretty venues for gritty citizen cesspools,
sporadic & magic with hearts as dark as our issues,
no Jim Henson only thuggish muppets wretched henchmen,
puzzled puppets & sketchy Skeksis from The Dark Crystal,

it’s a bizarre & awkward Little Shop of Horrors,
a smorgasbord of unordered  hors d’oeuvres served cold,
& you’re confused of course because you didn’t order more,
plus it smells horrible oh well it’s only the first course,

anyways what’s on the menu today,
in this Showroom AKA Stolen Souls Salesroom’s display,
****** Nephews that resist rescue,
plus a side of drunken Lethargic Legume pate,

in other words intoxicated obnoxious Obscene Family Beans,
that are nostalgic for forgotten things that’ve long gone away,

& what have you on menu #2,
Locobutt Coconuts, crazy nuts Loony Tunes that lack values,
in other words hardheaded tropical crazy assed loons,
animated guys that apply topical gravy acid to cashews,
excuse me, did I offend you is that why you gave your opinion,
well opinions are like ******* & I’m sorry but I didn’t ask you,

I’ll harass you, if I want to, & harass her *** too,
I’m lampooned, lampin’ on a lagoon in a pontoon,
going gorillas, with my baboons in the full moon,
hope to not get harpooned too soon high as a kite at high noon,

call me Sun, or Sultan,
everyone is overdone, it’s insultin’,
brainwashed, & super spun,
the buzzer buzzed, the ***** laundry’s done,

hang it out to dry in the breeze,
air it out the window for everyone to see,
then look up at the sky, & tell me what you see,
one life at a time out here in San Franpsy, thunder & lightning,

here in San Franpsy, the sky, has a reddish haze,
smoke from Ukraine, magic mushrooms & acid rain,

we have all types of weather here in San Franpsycho,
slash your wrists just to check your vitals,

San Franpsycho, ******, psy-trance,
that Psy guy, with his Gangnam dance, dance monkey dance, strung out junkies, self made flunkies,
& 3rd rate rejects with a 2nd chance,

computer programmers,
digital techno gods,
programming the New World Order,
Zuckerberg & Steve Jobs,
& yeah the equation is way off,
but somehow we’ll even the odds,

even when Silk Road is taken down,
at the public library by out of town Federal Agents,
the caterpillars still make silk from mother’s milk,
still there are celebrations without any occasions,

from Hiroshima to Fukushima,
laughter from the hyphy hellish hyenas,
belly of the Beast ****tting out diarrhea,
hey anyone have any memories for my ongoing amnesia,
or maybe some anesthesia for this creative creature,
jeez I can barely breath I need to leave but,
I’m disorientated deliriously stumbling around this arena,
where I was just served a subpoena to answer to Jesus,
but I’m not ready to leave just yet, enjoying the scenery bruh,
we’re all portraits portrayed in The Great Life Galleria,

& I’m enjoying the show laughing madly like the hellish hyenas,
tip toeing on eggshells a tipsy bombed out bombshell ballerina,
as if it’s all good ‘cause I haven’t seen a real life Hiroshima,
washing down a divine diva’s cleavage,
with medical marijuana margaritas,
shouting out “Eureka”, struck gold & made a deal with Jesus,

Christ, or Jackson,
like Mike, or Michael,
The mirrored man is the boogieman, nothing’s normal,
****, it all goes down in San Franpsycho,

thee end, is coming soon, do what you have to for survival…

They say, thee end’s coming soon,
thought there was more to say,
really though,
how much more can we say?

Lost,
amongst the chaos caught outside with a long way to go,
calm,
within the center inside everything comes 360° full circle...

from THHT3: Dark Lights | Bright Shadows
available worldwide: 9/9/19
Thoughts?
Travis Green May 2023
I wanna lay next to his macho chocolate freshness
Smell his enchanting manly cologne
Delight in his powerful, mesmerizing fire
My desirable biteable kryptonite
I wanna grab him, scan him, taste him

Fall into his red-hot ****-hot awesome sauce
Feel every endless sensuous beat
Blasting in his magnificent reverent masculineness
Press his moist magical mouth against mine
Kiss me, seize me, breathe thee into my system

Give me a deep-seated fever
With his toxic and exhilarating captivatingness
Attack me like a sleek speedy cheetah
Reel me into his illest prodigious litness
Set me ablaze like a radiant electric heater

Change the game for my domain
While I check out his massive manlicious package
Put it in my mouth, entertain his entireness
Lick my lips, spit on his ****, keep him lit
Devour the **** in him, watch him call my name

Drive him insane, tame his flame, tantalize his brain
Make him stupefied the entire time
I overpower his gorgeous rock-hard pipe
Cop a feel of his thick thighs
Slap his marvelously staggering backside

Control and stroke his tight manhole
Finger **** it, tongue **** it
Make him tremble uncontrollably
Show him how hungry I am
For his hunkish thuggish ruggedness

Make him beg for more as I destroy his territory
Put him in a trance as I romance his handsomeness
Make him struck up while I crank up my ****-******* game
See him grin, sink my teeth into his dreaminess
Render him speechless with a weakness for my deliciousness
Make him come to a crescendo and shoot his load down my throat
Travis Green Jul 2021
His masculinity
Tamed my wildness
Captivated my brain waves
Such a sweet, rich, aromatic flavor
That drew me deeper
Into his viridescent vortex

I was entrapped
In his thuggish cadence
Listening to slow jams
He played on the radio
Licking me up and down
Squeezing my velvety breast
So ponderously obsessed with him
As he took me, entranced me
Romanced me infinitely
Marshal Gebbie Apr 2022
Consider the background to this war in the Ukraine, consider the effects of the accumulation of generated rage over the decades?

Russia has historically subjugated Ukrainians since the 1930s when Stalin, motivated by racial prejudice and a desire to dominate, implemented a policy of extermination which systematically starved the largely rural population to death in the phenomenon known as the"Holodomor"... and forbade any complaint being uttered by the suffering peasants with the penalty of being frozen to death in the gulags of the wilderness of Siberia.

With the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Ukraine became an independent nation by popular decree. This was not received well by  Russia nor by the Russian speaking populace of the Donbass region in the East.

In 2013 revolution occurred in the Maidan Square in Kiev where protestors revolted against the thuggish government of Victor Yakunovych who had implemented, in the face of Russian pressure, a forced decision against the popular choice of the people for the Ukraine to join the European union.

The Maidan revolution resulted in the collapse of the Yakunovych government and his forced sudden retreat to Russia. Pro Russian separatist forces in the Donbass supported by euphemistically titled "Russian Military Advisors" in February of 2014, attacked loyalist forces of the Ukraine in  the self-declared Donetsk and Luhansk republics. Military escalation continued through to 2018 including artillery exchanges and the decision by Russia to militarily invade and annex the Crimean peninsular.

An undeclared war began between Ukrainian forces on one side, and separatists intermingled with Russian troops on the other, although Russia attempted to hide its involvement. The war settled into a static conflict, with repeated failed attempts at a ceasefire. In 2015, the Minsk II agreements were signed by Russia and Ukraine, but a number of disputes prevented them being fully implemented. By 2019, 7% of Ukraine was classified by the Ukrainian government as temporarily occupied territories, while the Russian government had indirectly acknowledged the presence of its troops in Ukraine.

In 2021 and early 2022, there was a major Russian military build-up around Ukraine's borders. NATO accused Russia of planning an invasion, which it denied. Russian President Vladimir Putin criticized the enlargement of NATO as a threat to his country and demanded Ukraine be barred from ever joining the military alliance. He also expressed Russian historic views, questioning Ukraine's right to exist, and stated wrongfully that Ukraine was created by Soviet Russia. On 21 February 2022, Russia officially recognized the two self-proclaimed separatist states in the Donbas, and openly sent troops into the territories. Three days later, Russia invaded Ukraine. Much of the international community has condemned Russia for its actions in post-revolutionary Ukraine, accusing it of breaking international law and violating Ukrainian sovereignty. Many countries implemented economic sanctions against Russia, Russian individuals, or companies, especially after the 2022 invasion.

The Russian genocide handbook was published on April 3, two days after the first revelation that Russian servicemen in Ukraine had murdered hundreds of people in Bucha, and just as the story was reaching major newspapers.  The Bucha massacre was one of several cases of mass killing that emerged as Russian troops withdrew from the Kiev region.  This means that the genocide program was knowingly published even as the physical evidence of genocide was emerging.  The writer and the editors chose this particular moment to make public a program for the elimination of the Ukrainian nation as such.

Legally, genocide means both actions that destroy a group in whole or in part, combined with some intention to do so.  Russia has done the deed and confessed to the intention.....and incidentally, recently Ukraine geophysicists discovered vast gas and oil deposits in the, then, Ukrainian administered segment of the Black Sea. These deposits would have had the capacity and potential to render the Ukraine, not only independent of Russian hydrocarbon dependence but also capable of being developed into a major commercial supplier of oil and gas to the European community. Russia's annexation of Crimea and the recent military occupation of the Eastern corridor effectively opens the door to Russian monopolization of these deposits...and closes the door to Ukrainian aspirations!

Ukraine bleeds, Russia’s Putin must live with the guilt of the suffering and destruction he has caused for the rest of his living days. Emotions are running high on the vast steppes of Central Asia, whatever the outcome of this turmoil, decades of hate and resentment, violence and vengeance have been wrought by this action, the birth of this animosity shall grow and pervade, unhindered, for centuries in the heart of the angry denizens of this poor, tortured land.

Ukraine, Ukraine...Cry the Beloved Country

M.
20 April 2022
Travis Green Mar 2022
You are an exhilarative and decorative dream marvel
Mouth-watering, thickly bearded badass, bomb as ****
Bright vibrant delightfulness, warm, enchanting, sparkling allure
You eclipse me in your exquisiteness
You touch the depths of my dreamy gleaming femininity
I rise higher in mentally mesmerizing and gratifying bliss
When I imagine your freshly fusing lips kissing
And fashioning magically immaculate passion
It feels like I am floating in the refreshed and far blue atmosphere
Such breathless heavenliness that drives me crazy
Affects the motion of my poetically majestic and everlasting ocean
My pulsating heart beats faster being encased in your incomparability
You draw me to you more and more with your **** swirling majesty
I am profoundly in tune with your tantalizingly thuggish nature
This teetotaler turns to tea
torquing temptation
towards tippling
thankfully, though
that tremendous tugging

teasing tendency thirst *******,
thru teaching this totally tubular
toothless titular Texan thuggish tyrant
(titled Tsar Terry Troutman)
transcendental theology

tenets taught transferring
torpedoing, taming threatening
titanic tsunami tempest
tastefully tickling temperance
testing trying taut tenacity

together teaming (troika)
triumvirate torchbearers
******* therapist
(Tony the tiger)
tough trailblazer theoretician

toady treacly Tory
(Tommy Two Tone),
thence thirdly Theodore
"Tornado" Tornetta)
themselves trained to tamp

twerking tremens triggers,
their tripartite treatment told
tattooing thorny transforming
took this then truant teenage turtle
through time traveling

to those truant tumultuous tragic,
toxic, tipsy twitchy, touchy, tetchy
typhoon terrible two times two
times two times two tantrum
throwing, thieving, threatening

taxing textured teen tinder times -
tossing, tilting, taking tankful tolled
throaty, thoroughly,
thickly telltale temblor

toured terrible tournament
testing taupe tumbling termagant (Thaddeus)
tangling (Tangoing) tiny Timothy,
the treacherous tarantula
tying tussling travail – tata!
ConnectHook Apr 2018
Our Left Coast sighs in a stupor of red
from evergreen coasts to the casting bed.
Hollywood’s big leagues deal their fatal blow;
vapid perspectives from stars in the know.
Glamour holds court: socialite solutions
when celebrities talk revolutions.
But red alone would bring our nation harm
cut loose from white and blue—and should alarm
the audience, who pay to see their plays
while questioning their wanton West-coast ways:
Designer-reds, a stain upon our land
where red with white and blue ought take a stand.
Such fluff from the stage set who roll in dough
is Hollyweird yeast—rising now to show
beautiful and swelling irrelevance
unaware of its insignificance:
Hypocrite pretenders all paid to act
in films where decent values are attacked.

Let us turn then from Thespis‘ leering smile
to lace up cleats and run the gridiron mile
where other plays get tossed in endless zones
as commentators rave in heightened tones
while fools raise fists—then take the well-payed knee,
their pigskin antics sold to you and me.
****** a fat mike before their muscled face.
Note well the dull reaction, low as base.
These tattooed thugs make vain attempt, through speech
multitudes of more thuggish fans to reach.
The sad attempt to use their words in vain
lacks clear interpretation. Yall nome sain ?
The musclebound elect, who toss a ball
(as if their silly game was all in all)
should stick to sports; decline to state their views
lest fans their spectacle no longer choose.
Thus stars of field and screen steal every show,
and cause our dying culture worlds of woe.
Contemplate the ****:
Boring nature imagery
Abrupt line-endings
PJ Poesy Apr 2017
Grass cuttings savor an essence, if it were not for the flavor of gasoline added to it. Chores multiply in the garden as days snug up to summer. Warming theory of companion planting goes further than marigolds with tomatoes. Nasturtiums nuzzling cornstalks nicely agree. However, it is the editing of more combative creepers that keep this gardener flustered among the mustard greens. I'm inclined to let it all go, but the peanut grass gets so thuggish, someone needs to teach it a lesson. Yet, full eradication seems too vicious as hummingbirds do adore its frosting of bells. It's a nectar aggrandizement they throb upon in throngs. So, who am I to commit holocaust? After all, with the loosening of soil it provides when pulled, aeration is a welcome aftermath.

So it is continuous, and outright perfection in the pull and push of entirety. Now if I might trade that gas mower in for a push one, a transcendence of impeccability may occur. I might even breathe better.
Cedric Jan 2017
There's beauty in uncertainties,
Without an explanation from any antiquities,
As I cross this river bank,
Without a boat I just sank,
Drowning in a sea of fallacies.

As I struggle and asphyxiate,
In this sea of multiple colors,
I gently resurfaced with a breath of air,
Only to succumb to my own dolor,
Lacking in strength to alleviate.

I open my eyes after the anguish,
Deny as I may, I'll only fall!
From this building up high, I call!
Come what may I'll face it here!
In my dreams of endless skyscrapers.

I write such nonsensical gibberish,
Expressing my vague thoughts in a poem.
The way I write is thuggish and sluggish,
Wishing what may ever be solemn,
In my ever so changing peculiarities.
A poem of uncertainty, just because.
Yenson Sep 2019
I will tell them back in Rhodesia
that the wazungus who called themselves Superiors
who barked orders and strode around like Atlas
who took all from us because we didn't know better
who lived on the hills and never came to the shanty
who ate with silver cutlery on silver plates
and drove in cars that shone like gold
that those wazungus are cheap common liars
where I live among in their towns
they are ***** unwashed and miserable
they don't have money, steal like pikins in the shanties
they even envy us who have made it in their town
they are reduce to harassing and hounding us like street dogs
imagine a wazungu now having the time to do this
they are not all educated, infact most don't go to University
they still drink and talk *******
now they are all mostly common lot struggling in buses and queues
wearing jeans all the time, some beg for money on street corners
like the boys from Kakatoya used to do
Remember them wazungu, so principled and incorruptible
it was all a facade, they are liars, cheats, unpleasant, conniving
corrupt-able, indiscipline, unthinking, thuggish, hooliganistic louts
I wish granpa could see them and what they really are like
he used to wash and iron his suit six times to go to see Mr Ponce
the tobacco Merchant at Sanagogo Trading Post.
They're still racist and ignorant but its done underhand now
They will pick on successful conscious blacks and say they are greedy,
can you imagine wazungu who took all from us saying this
and they say its a revolution, that black man is taking from poor
they call it revolution....hahahaha....I know  you are laughing now
Ah, this is serious matter, you won't believe...
Lets talk again soon....Stay away from Federal Palace Hotel
not a good place for a black man...they destroy them there..
even if you are a paid guest....
Travis Green Apr 2023
Take me into his blazing-hot tornado
Of  unassailable breathtaking enchantment
Dominate and stimulate my emotions
****** his ***** thuggish robustness
Deep into my heart and soul

Show me how ferocious his machoness is
Hold me. provoke me, smoke me
Make me his delicious *** kitten to take down
Feel him rule my beauteousness
Make me never wanna leave his rigid vigorous grip

My sinewy, compelling treasure
He is so mighty and tight with it
Energetic, expressive finesse
Fresh and irresistible slickness
Astonishingly strong and disarming

Unthinkingly dreamy and hella sensual king
He rocks me back and forth
Make me yield to the perfect high-pressure rareness
Of his fervent adventurous immersiveness
I hanker to kiss his lickable lit lips

Groove on his top-notch smooth manliness
Trace my hands all over his ebullient handsome straightness
Cherish his debonair black beard
His noteworthy shimmering mustache
Allow his desirous fearless eyes

Arouse me in the highest, wildest ways
Let me seep deeper and further
Into his gripping and hard-hitting virility
Confess my deepest secrets to thee
Make me moan all night long

He rams his ruthless thickness in my guts
Corrupt me, deconstruct me, love me
Make me frenzied and superheated
Set fire to my entireness
Swirl my submerged mind

Make my body steadily shudder
As he unleashes his untouchable treasured robustness upon me
Ravish and smack my eye-catching ***
Compose his dope poetic sexiness all over me
Press his majestic caressers against
My delectable velvet back

Enthrall my thought process
Punish me with his slick, thick meat
Feel his big bouncy sack slap against my divine enticing thighs
Infect every sector of me
Make my inner walls worship thee

Push harder into my flowery forest
Of the sweetest blossoming  dreams
Feel me concede to his ungovernable ardent heat
Make me shake as he violently takes my nation
Place me in a state of disorientation

Amaze me with his flawless starry phenomenality
Give me everything he got
Listen to the pleasurable sounds arising from my mouth
Hold me spellbound, pull me into his profoundness
Press his powerful pecs against my satin back

Shove his thick tasty throbber further into my manhole
Make me float in sexually seductive ecstasy
Love me dangerously, put it down for me
Make me so enthusiastically happy to be with thee
Hypnotic hot boy, go deeper and deeper inside me
And shoot his huge load of crunk ***** in my succulent tunnel
ConnectHook Apr 2023
Thou Ethiopian muse of mine: attend.
Now let my words wound souls and after, mend.
It’s time to slay some golden calves and knock
Some gods from off their pedestals. Let’s rock.
(I’d like my veal in gold-dust, with a side
Of injured Afrocentric racial pride.
)

Moses cut an oppressor down, who bled…
Moses buried him in the sand, then fled.
(Every ****** son of Adam bleeds out red.)
Midian offered shelter to the killer.
I hope you like my prefatory filler . . .

Remember in the desert how the tribes
Put up with Moses’ scolding diatribes,
Yet quickly fell for Aaron’s baby bull?
They paid for it, the half and then in full
By wandering around for forty years
And drinking bitter waters (Moses’ tears).
They even whined about his sultry bride;
Not Zipporah—his later, darker ride.
Let Ethiopia rise. She still is blameless
And Moses’ second wife here lauded nameless.

Discerning Israel means: there once were slaves.
Egyptians know the God of Hebrews saves.
Yehudah is no more the chosen clan
Than Joseph is old Pharaoh’s right-hand man.
And who is freed from *******, and who’s not
Should make us pause—observe . . . then think a lot.

Some tribes are pale-faced, others darker still.
And none can claim to grasp God’s perfect will.
Let **** haters rise—and leave the room.
Black racists too, be gone; and I’ll resume
My question: who’s oppressed, and who’s a grifter . . .
And how a curse descends, and what’s the lifter.
Perhaps you are a Hebrew . . . yet, some curse
Is evident in how you make things worse
By raging over long-past wrongs and rights
(Passive-aggressive lovers’ quarrel with whites…)
While Indo-Europeans watch the fun,
All Asia sighs, and prays God’s will be done.

Noah’s second grandson, Canaanite cow,
Oh golden calf, toward whom we’re forced to bow,
You sure can DANCE, and jump, and chant bad rhymes,
Cashing that blank check for slavery’s crimes.
The state commemorates your orator;
Content of character must come later (?)
You crack us up. Pure abomination
Promoted as artistic creation.
Your tag, your name—like ***** sprayed on walls.
Your neighborhood? Wherever garbage falls.
You’re born in freedom. Now you sample beats
Enslaved to violent nonsense in the streets.
That silly slang, new sneakers, dumb fashions
Showcase well your underlying passions.
Egypt’s kings? More like bad dangerous clowns
Revealing thuggish souls in sullen frowns;
Slurring unintelligibly your words
Which leave your lips like Lucifer’s own turds.
You’re laughable in your provocation;
Begging us to adulate your nation.
We must (MUST we?) celebrate your culture
And venerate what spawns from sinful nature.

You say you have it bad, you’re still enchained;
The Civil War unfought and and nothing gained . . .
You claim to be oppressed this day and age?
It seems you’re just excusing childish rage.
Go liberate yourself then, loudmouth slave.
Prove to the world that JESUS cannot SAVE.

Victims exist, others play the Race Card,
And seek a foe to blame when life gets hard.
Or worse: demand race-based reparations
Lining bank accounts with their frustrations.
Such money has been ransomed, in the form
Of public schools and welfare. Bring your storm
Of virtue-signal cries that I’m a bigot;
But spades will be called in spades—so DIG it:
Hope you can keep those Liberals on your side,
To con them as you take them for a ride.
Don’t compromise their cluelessness. Stay woke
To keep us laughing at your ethnic joke:
Ratcheting up the destructive drama.
Hate this whiteness? My reply: Yo’ mama.
For any son can knock up any daughter
Regardless of the racial myths they taught her;
We are one species. Sorry, but it’s true.
(Wish it were not, observing some of you…)

Muse of mine, Kushitic damsel, don’t leave.
You’ve heard me out thus far. I still believe
That there’s a remnant of Man’s fallen race
Who yet can be restored by God’s own grace
Regardless of their smarts, or style, or hue.
Fear GOD and live . . . for such were some of you.
Travis Green Dec 2022
I am caught up in your fervent
And spectacular suavity
Splendidly serene dream lover
Charmingly ****** and hypnotic showstopper
I am so sprung on your stunningly crunk hunkiness

The way you move with your smoothly
Rude and soothing cool
Deep dreamy supremity
You are so incomparable and magical to me
So rugged, rough, and thuggish

Tall, dangerous, and flaming fieriness
I love your marvelously glossy and chocolate body
Beardalicious, sweet prodigious lips
Thick delicious neck, shiny brown eyes
That keep me boundlessly drowning
In your flamboyantly enchanting
And scintillating engagingness

Thoughts of your top-quality massageable machoness
Creep through my mind
Make me crave for you to *** me
Lay me down on your bed
In your bedroom, pin me down

Take me down, engross my rainbow soul
***** my pleasingly filled-out and honey-soft cantaloupes
Squeeze them hard, kiss them ardently
Make them yours, bite my ripe rigid points
Lick my bare, satin, and vulnerable neck

Give me a hicky, rivet my femininity
While I call you **** tasty Daddy
Feel you rock me steady
Push your beefy belly buster deep into my guts
Give it to me, drive my gayness crazy

Make me cry out loud
Lose myself in your prominent chocolate sauciness
Feel my temperature skyrocket
The more you showcase the contagious greatness
Of your primitively handsome enchantment

Debonair dark-haired splash
You are such a thrillingly slick and wicked ****
That has me confined to your time
Willing to do whatever to be by your side
To feel you lay down the pipe

Make me so enticed by your wild shining invitingness
The way you approach me with your dopeness
So sweet-smelling and deliciously made
So creatively enamoring and gratifying
I hanker to feel your pain

To dive into your lifetime
Of unrestrained and spontaneous loving
Let you introduce me to your powerfully
Explosive and mind-blowing pulchritude
Rearrange my life and dreams

Choke me, smoke me, cajole me
Into the bold, potent motion
Of your sinful invincible masculinity
Make me embrace your glorious ******* storm
As you pour out your salaciously flavorful waves
Of blazing hot man gravy all over my titillating tail-feather
Travis Green Aug 2022
One long look at your lusciousness
Makes me feel like I am farther away
From where I am supposed to be
Missing at sea, stricken up
Blitzed on your mind-blowing ultra-premium heat

Soothing, sensuous, and eye-opening dopeness
Harmonious and internationally-popular charmer
Irresistibly juicy and thuggish ruggedness
In my underconsciousness

I want for you to *** me up
Let me feel your sudden booming
And rolling thunder
Your eternal and fierce whirling breezes
Sheathed in your sleek honeyed crunkness

Caress me indelibly, sip on my nakedness
In your refreshingly showy glow of smoke
Emblazon your catchy chad flex
Everywhere on my metallic velvet framework
Drown in your artistic and upbeat hip-hop

Make me feel connected to your addictively
Mouthwatering and muscle-bound attraction
Sweet and salty royalty
Fill me with emotion
Gaze into your attention-grabbing maple copper eyes
Relish your saucy pop **** pink lips

Extravagantly bearded showstopper
Turn the stellar pages of my gayness
Make me impossibly starry-eyed
Lost in overpowering bounds
Superabounding in highly enticing delight
Third Eye Candy Jan 2021
Asleep like no other thing, my heart embroiled in wakefulness
discarded…
i plunder the trivial epics of my disjoint
to gather to a flame more miracle
than a hope
it burns.

Dreaming where the fumes are mute. my lustrous disasters
sprawling like prawn on a lake of fire
dismembered by a remembrance
as vagrant as a horde of precious
where a kept denial
is a fob.
and a wheel is 
another sleep
for a turn.

wings clipped by comets as earnest
as thuggish moons, plundering tides
for their rhythms
to keep the drums of doom
at bay...
as pretty as bone marrow
whistling moo
to a deaf zealot
in the ziggurat of a posh
coma.

Asleep, where the aire is bending to the north
of a pinch of earth that dawn squanders on the mortal eye…
i surmise all oblivion in verse
and succumb to susurrus of oblique charms....
moon mad with barking stones in my gullet
foiled by the magma
of my intense
starvation.

hell-kept in heaven’s mockery
for the lack of an Always
as Perfect as
a Never.

always.
Avid interest prevails
for this "news *****" to get affix -
hence kudos for journalists,
who risk life and limb - bricks
bats clobber such
daring persons, who strive
like fledgling chicks

to get bonafide storied scoop,
especially when video flicks
capture shame faced
depravity, or worse,
these days many brave souls
killed for kicks,

nonetheless paltry posthumous tribute paid,
with primitive cross made of sticks
assassins gun down, (or **** some other way
to silence frontline factfinders),
sans brutal, short and ruses and tricks.

as a concerned global
citizen, an ache
prevails to glean abhorrently
base, corruptly demonic,
evilly ferocious, gory henchmen,
insidiously kindle and break

king the lofty liberty, laudatory
ambitious aims of
REAL versus "FAKE"
information, and praise to die hard,
fearless, and intrepid soul who make
searching for raw bits their mission

so such valuable
nuggets of verity slake
my unquenchable thirst
to gain insight take
a moment of silent
appreciation so I a can wake

without a trace
of doubt within
mine cerebral space
the outrageous naked
issues afflicting race
religion, nationality, et cetera

co opting and out pace
sing modern day torch bearing
apostles amazingly grace
fully doggedly persevering
despite the ugly face

of thuggish sinister rogues
damning to erase
any iota of factual happenings
emboldened duty bound scribes chase.
Travis Green Sep 2022
I want to hold you close to me
Discover your ***** thuggish construction
Rugged robust ruffian
Let me vacation with your captivatingness
In your immense and intoxicating man cave
Great, enchanting muscleman
You are a constant and ebullient delectation
In my headspace, deep, eye-grabbing grooves
In your lustrous, smooth abs
Breathtaking unmanageable chest
Addictively intriguing shoulders

Fold me in your wondrously
Phenomenal and popping arms
Put your charmwork on my heartland
Be in command of my gayness
Keep an eye on my delightfulness
Be a major factor in my inner space
Tall, gropeable, and irreproachable Casanova
I revere your superiority
Your measureless treasured high-spiritedness
Your season region thick with bewitchingness

Enrapture me, grasp hold of my emotions
Tackle my keen sensual palace
Show me your rowdiness
Make me chow down on your profoundness
Dive into your expressive, passionate ocean
Of sheer irrepressible pleasure
Delicious malicious litness
So mighty and spontaneous
So exciting and spellbinding
How I hanker to sink into your high-pressure
Powerhouse incredibleness

Taste your deliciously exponential equations
Emanating with meltingly hella swell finesse
Leave me in a mess with your teasing
Prepossessing manfulness
Flawless ****** lips that put me
In a state of puzzlement
Craving to bask in your badness
Lick your fervent hairy bareness
Like arctic buzz *****-spiked ice cream
Stream in your infinite reverent limits
Resplendent with steaminess
Our unhinged president,
(a veritable loathsome miscreant)
cannot get away with ******,
nor will mine paltry poetic
(side winding) gambit
help clinch deserved punishment
for leader of free world hell bent
on destroying civilization.

Nevertheless cathartic and therapeutic
to craft (ala literary blitzkrieg)
sentiments lambasting atrocious,
egregious, malicious, nefarious,
opprobrious, seditious, uproarious, vicious...
***** deed(s) done dirt cheap.

I exercise freedom of speech to relieve and air
impermissible, reprehensible, terrible... behavior
that finds me aghast at presidential malfeasance,
yours truly reacts to horrible unconscionable and
double trouble flagrant malfeasance unleashed
courtesy commander in chief generating, loosing
rioting, where yawping hardy madding crowds

begat: agonizing, antagonizing, authorizing,
baptizing, cannibalizing, capitalizing, comprizing,
compromising, demonizing, destabilizing,
epitomizing, glamorizing, jeopardizing,
metastasizing, patronizing, prizing, seizing,
terrorizing, traumatizing, vandalizing credo,
ethos and faith bolstering United States.

Impossible mission to function amid
chaos erupting, germinating, inducing
kindling making overt quakes spurring
ignore, reboot, fail flashes across mind
scape feeble endeavor to summon hope
and retry to jump start or kick start life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness
regarding overarching linkedin woe

experienced by one garden variety
generic, aging, long haired pencil
necked geek predisposed to anxiety
whereby a half dozen prescription
medications help tamp down once
debilitating panic attacks, whence
body formerly wracked with vertigo,
nausea, and irritable bowel syndrome.

Methinks thee boorish, blimpish, brutish,
childish, churlish, dullish, foolish,
gangsterish, goyish, gruffish, hoodlumish,
impish, loutish, nebbish, oafish, ogreish,
peevish, plumpish, piggish, roguish,
rowdyish, ruttish, selfish, thuggish,
unbookish, and wolffish zealot of
self importance feels no remorse.

Four years from now said unnamed villain
could rightfully within incredulity once again
be elected to become forty seventh president
welcoming white supremacists in the main
linkedin and extolled as their captain my captain
dredging up spirit of Mark Twain
long since buried at second mark
on a line that measured depth,
signifying two fathoms, or 12 feet.
Travis Green Dec 2022
I wanna feel your long dominant rod
Rock the inner muscles of my walls
****** deeper into my guts
Make me utterly lovestruck
Lost in your untouchable ***** seduction

You deconstruct my lovingly lush kingdom
Serve me your vigorously delicious masculinity
Light up my feminineness
Let me take in every exuberant and passionate inch
Of your splendidly rude and sinewy lusciousness

Fill me up with your game-changing
And high-ranking enticingness
Pound me out hard-heartedly
With your ripe, aggressive flex
Take me into your untamed flaming thunder
Where I can feel your thrilling beastlike slickness
Where I can get an eyeful
Of your dangerously domineering immersiveness

You work the innermost recesses
Of my radiant entrancing sexiness
Traverse into my wetness
Rotate your hot, velvety sausage
Deep into my hotness
As I rub your strong and flawless arms

Feel your delectable and sweaty abs
Pressed against my impressively incredible back
Inhale my sweet, appetizing fragrance
Astound me, bang me, restrain me
Stuff your precious and magical gifts
In my rare and fabulous treasure chest

Make me say your name
Feel your rain your smoke
All up in my heart and soul
Bliss me out with your utter firm assertiveness
Your grand and magnificent spectacularity
Mysteriously ****** and supersonic star attraction

My eyes roll back incessantly
The more you flow deeper into me
The more you arrest and mesmerize
My infectiously majestic confectionery
Show my ***** your mad splashy moves

Keep me bent over, ride me like
A glowing and showstopping rodeo
Make love to my bare burgeoning floppers
Cause me to moan and create crazy hot
And creative sounds, feel my boy ***** open up to you

Deeper and faster you go
With each long and gratifying stroke
How you enrapture and grasp
My indulgent, voluptuous hips
How you sneak into my sweet spot

Make me so ******* *****
As you **** me into your monster **** ****
Mmmm, strapping and smashing Zaddy
You know how to **** so **** good
You take me to your badass banging boulevard
Where you feed me your exceedingly
Exquisite and edible treats

Make me swerve in your incomparable
And everlasting verve
Enfold me in your dopeness
Work your massive immersive disturber in my innerness
Release all your pressure upon my homosexualness

Push harder into my creamy center
With  your mind-blowing veined pipe
Such explosive and superhuman art
I am so hung up on its thuggish thundering structure
How your low-hanging walnuts enthrall me

I will do anything to chill with ya
To mack with ya freaky freshalicious finesse
Let you stroke me up, rough me up
**** my fundament up
Make me have killer wicked twitches
The more your thick, heavy poker
Controls and torpedoes my hole

Give me all of your dope *** smoke
Lick me up and down like succulent rainbow ice cream
Intimidate my sensations
Cause me to bite my lips
While your ****** my ****
And squirt your top-drawer
White-hot  ***** colada all over
My eye-popping and sparkling rearguard
Travis Green May 2021
I discovered
Solid gold bliss
Glistening in his
Sienna skin
I tasted his thuggish flavor
Savored his sweet, warm scent
His yummy lips
Filled with smooth diction
Summer’s love glowing
Flawlessly upon his
Adamant chest and abs
Travis Green Sep 2022
I dream of your golden-tanned manliness
Luscious, smooth, and undisputed pulchritude
Outstandingly glorious and uproarious machoness
Killer idyllic litness, fresh magnetic attraction
You rivet my thoughts and feelings
Traverse deep inside my universe

Move aimlessly throughout my life and dreams
Rain your splashy attention-grabbing passion
On my sweet, sweaty, and lecherous canvas
Profoundly unputdownable divineness
Flawless disarming hotness, full of personality
Soft, spicy, and peanut butter cheesecake pink lips

Let me have a long, hot-blooded kiss
Feel around your full, gaudy beard
How your gleaming coffee bean brown eyes
Exude relentless enchantment
Untamed, resounding, and amorous fieriness
Brutal triumphant renegade

I marvel at you like a mellow sunset sky
Unearth your innerness
Lick your lush, thuggish structure
Juicy, crisp brick, you are to me
The most masterful and rapturous gravity
Rosy copious dopeness

A high-test treasured flex
Rife with rich, remarkable radiance
The showiest smoking Casanova
Strongly built and visually vivid blissfulness
Exuberant luxuriant lover man
Ethereal and iridescent momentousness
You infuse me with feverish and superheated feelings
Make me hot under the collar
Swathed in your immersing ardent allure
Travis Green Mar 2023
I am hungry for his unfuckwithable monster pumper
To kiss and spit on the tip, to slide my tongue all over it
Go down on it to the base, slay his space, in his embrace
I taste his mad splashy grass, grab and mack with his sack
Place passionate rapturous kisses on his thick ripped thighs

Trace his shiny ankles, set his mind’s frame aflame
Blanket him in my majestically sexalicious homosexualness
Feast on his savory salacious takingness
Taste the nape of his thick, sun-kissed neck
In his captivating waves of radiant intoxicating elation

My gayness swaying with his straightness
My adventurously appealing lips touching
Every fraction of  his smashing masculineness
Grab his sturdy shimmering rear end
Let my gropers console his dopeness

Tune in to the musical, sensual rhythm of his heart and soul
My lustrous thuggish muscleman
My shareable honeyed treasure
My mind spins a thousand times the more
I embrace his devilish measureless incredibleness

Let him carry me to the most tender tempting dimensions
The more I play with his impressively hard snake
Let it dance and tantalize my tongue, devour my throat
Draw me deeper into his undoubtedly magical
And incandescent fire, make me submit to his brilliant
Wicked intriguingness, stare at his enticing, all-powerful splashiness

My fierce ecstatic smash, he brings me pure absolute joy
He lives in my dreams, a dynamic craveable sensation
That leaves me breathless again and again
Delightfully defined and shining delight
I wanna belong to his five-star disarming machoness

My pretty young stunner swirls me around and around
Renders me dizzy and squiffy, got me swimming
In his electrifying tide of lurid torrid hotness
Take in the unconquerably hypnotic and strong taste
Of his refined, satisfying enticingness

Feel how he awakens me more and more
As I explore his ardent uncharted starriness
Wanting to connect with his expressive selective majesticalness
Coalescing with the warmth of his wondrousness
I am absorbed by every part of his alluring and flourishing charm

I melt away into the blazing hot gates
Of his contagious breathtaking sensationalness
Never wishing to stop ******* on his intensely succulent lollipop
So amazed and carried away, merging with his muscularity
Deepthroating him passionately, ensnared in his ****** attraction

Beads of sweat build on my flesh
I relish every second he blesses me with his sexiness
Locked in the heartland of his steamy entrancing grandness
As he holds my head down on his firm serviceable turgescence
And spurts out his rude man fuel down the rollercoaster of my throat

I behold his potent mind-blowing showiness
Pining to be with him for a lifetime
Entwined in every ounce of his profoundness
My heavenly pleasurable Zaddy, there’s nothing sweeter
Than drinking down his glistening river
Of legit explicit slickness until I am replete
Even as an old curmudgeon, aye pucker
and raspily suction, albeit toothless mouth
drawing reminiscent guffaws affecting
(think feeble attempt
impersonating plumber plunging -
unclogging backed up toilet),
flushed with satisfaction,
now snakes into following non sequitur,
whereby then upperclassman,
whose name Scott Lambert

I suddenly remembered
modest fellow one year my senior  
- donned tee shirt
“please support your local ******”
yes folks back in the day,
one long haired pencil neck geek
palled around with another
hirsute nerd - Roger Kummerer,
(who both of us graduated Methacton
High School class of 1977),

and yours truly readily
admitting, alluding, and attesting
without shadow of doubt
representing the dumber
than rocks of said rolling stones
foo fighting beastie boys
allied with Smokey and the bandits,
the latter donning outsize
particolored grey pachyderm trunks,
Tuscaloosa so far away;

especially as Mummer doth strut
on unseasonably warm New Year's Day
sporting polar bear look-alike
gabardine garb getup trumpeting,
merrily squeezing Charmin
rubbing her/his tuchus
excellently exhibiting posterior
as chief motormouth sound
of combo motorboat hummer.

Mein kampf elapsed distressfully
even now scores of decades later
ah..., the joys of amazingly aging gracefully
recalling happily never
being beat into pulp daily courtesy
imagine dragons saving me hide  
'though dimming sense and sensibility
before (appearing gratefully dead)
lifeless body dumped into gully,
nevertheless all the while fully
maintaining consciousness, and forcefully
summoning forth latent powers gleefully
choking living daylights masterfully

delivering just desserts upon Tom Viglione,
whose plaintive laments truthfully
resonate as blessed music
to ears unaccustomed hearing pitifully
sounding long overdue comeuppance
forever disbelieving wrongfully
perpetrated intimidating injustice
witnessed courtesy mine doppelgänger,
who wanted to strangle  
the m*r f*rs yearningly
fueling an ordinarily meek lad
only in his dreams, he envisions zestfully.

Pugnacious thuggish hooligans... although
decades long since elapsed,
whereby muscle bound hoodlums
jockeyed to rain
one after another verbal Hawaiian punch,
and bandied fist viz physical blow
threatening introverted diminutive boy
who, no surprise did eventually,
albeit (shamefacedly, sneakingly,
and stuntedly) didst grow

(as an aside resembled anorexic
Kris Kringle **... **... **...),
which long sleeved Santa suit
rendered invisible liver spots;      
said epidermal splotches black and indigo
wracked (in my pinion), impacted, and affected...,
this punster, he haint Joe
King, but upholds true value
nudging anonymous reader to chuckle
thru contrived written words y'know

good humor less or mo'
yours truly aspires toward po'
whit tree linkedin with infusing,
feebly, lamely, and quirkily
(no matter recognizing ex post facto)
impossible mission reporting punks to principal,
hence describing, envisioning, forsaking passivity
as defensive modus operandi status quo
finally freeing mine unsung
inner foreigner juke box hero.

— The End —