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Blue streaks shew across the sky.
Manic days and semper fi.
Red dawn smashes out the sea.
Honor is all I claim to be.

Though I love and feel like saintly.
I reek, timorous, spineless and dainty.
But I have no respect for you!
Till we are in court, tried and true

It was the world, the world of defeat.
I planted my flag on a daisy and creek.
On a light dominion of my summerhouse place.
There sit, the lovely Welterman case.

Weltermans family gathered in boon.
Farewell to a daughter, a motherly loon.
I killed her. There. I said it okay?
But don't blame me, she was just in my way.

On a cold summer day, and a hot summer night.
Cicadas bizzled but hardly struck a fright.
Daisy lay sleeping, sweet next to me.
Leaving behind her unfinished dreams

But lo and behold, an undertaker.
Ruinous desire, I decided to take her.
My confession means nothing, my killing, an iota.
So love would not infect Alexander of Macedonia.

Down the throat and across the sea.
Of loquacious gelatinous sanctimony.
I'll cut deep without thinking, I'll slash without aversion.
Ophelia and her love is a tainted *******.

I bathed in the blood and cried myself silly.
She only deserved death, that ***** old filly.
No more would Welterman reek of my sin.
To lower a king, to a peasantly Tim.
god knows
Sleepless K Aug 2013
I cant wait to speak to you now
To see your face
Your my home
Your what i know
And when i said i hated you
It wasnt true
But i do hate what youve done to me
I hate that i love you
A little bit
A lot
Now
Now when i feel crazy
And then actually
Then when i said i hated you, cos i was crazy, cos i love you, and thats what this love has done to me, made me crazy, an thats what i hate.
Oh and now
Because your away and i cant see you and feel you and make you laugh, i really want to make you laugh
And see your smile
And taste your lips
And make you ***
I fantasise daily
About how im gonna tie you up and make you *** the night you get back
In reality il probably be shy
But i have friends, i have hobbies, i have important **** to do for **** sake
But im sitting here, missing you
Writing this
Recording shows and films on the box for us to watch together when you get back
The notebook
We have to watch the notebook
And im fine
Dont get me wrong im fine, i get to sleep okay
And im chillin, seein people, might see matt this week, talking to didi an toe, seeing family
Im fine, please dont get a big ego
But im just not
Home
Im not tingly
Or excited
I cant explain it
I dont have you
I dont have you in my arms an sometimes that makes me sad
And then i start thinking about all the things that iv done wrong
And all these great things im gonna do when ur back
I am, im going to appreciate you more
And im going to play cool a bit more
Dont know how im gonna do both
But i am
Im gonna appreciate you because i want to,
Because i look back on this short time weve been together and so many things that you have done for me make me smile, make me so grateful and make me so happy. Like the cash machine one :) and staying at my house when i was at work, and being patient when i dont know what to wear(corfu and tims)
And all this makes me think, ****. What have i ever done for this boy
He is amazing and he loves me, **** knows why but he does and its insane
Oh and then im gonna play it cool, thats right
Im gonna play it cool because i dont want to ruin it
I dont want to show too much
Of my feelings of absolute passionate never-before-felt-like-this love!
And i dont want those nice things you do to stop
I dont want you to stop trying
Because its boring
Because you know youve got me
Got me ignoring other guys texts
Got me thinking about no one else but you
Got me absorbed in you
Got me missing you like crazy, writing stupid love notes at midnight, drinking rose on my own, when i havnt seen you for a mere two weeks
That kindov got me
Thats what you cant know
So im gonna miss you
But then im gonna see you
Soon
Soon im gonna wrap my whole body around yours like a vice
I wanna jump on you, i wanna run an jump when i see you like we used to do in the corridor of galbraith
Even tho i know im so heavy
You dont act like i am
And i wanna bury my head deep in your neck and kiss it
And now i cant write anymore
Cos its too much
So il watch kardashians
Take my mind of you
Not long now and il be home
I mean, you'll be home.
Not really a poem, more auto writing
Aaron Rosenberg Jan 2015
Lisas and Cheryls in halter tops walk the
Halls of Stoughton High full
Throttle, coiffed fleece fiercely feathered,
Tonys and Tims trawling in tow, toting
Texts.

Tims and Tonys slip
Slyly away, skip shop, talk
****, **** a doob behind
Bob’s Baitshop’s garbage dunes, tunes of
Geils and Seeger and Stones, applaud
Lisas and Cheryls, laud deserving
Donnas and Dianes (but dude, don’t
Let on!)

See,
A solitary Tony takes to one shapely
Cheryl’s sultry swagger, staggers, blathers
His rathers, turning her hair’s fair feathers
A-flair, she helping his hand higher up her hip, her
Cup, her concupiscent luscious lower lemon-lacquered lip, he agog, a *****
Dog with a bone.  And a libidinous loner
Lisa prefers a particular turgid Tim, digs
His Doors tee tucked
In to tight tan cords, affords
Herself a longer linger as his fingers
Dangle, thick thumbs hooked in belt. Looked at,
Felt, ***** his hip, flips a nod, draws a
Sneer, paws her rear, she his
Haunch, he steady and
Staunch, Steady and
Staunch
Not gonna
Launch
Steady
gawdamnsunuvabitch!
Thaws the sneer
Right there.
High gears it outta here.
There I sat with a cast and black eye
Just got small children down for the night
Tim decided to take tots for a swim
"Over my dead body", I yelled at him

We discussed our views in loud voices
Continued to fight, made bad choices
Very soon Westminsters finest pulled up
Domestic situation, cops abrupt

Got both sides of story, mine in jest
Smart *** me, I was soon under arrest
Handcuffed, shoved into waiting squad car
Was ******-cussed at my treatment so far

"I want your badge number", I threatened the cop
Ill sue for false arrest, and no I won't stop
Assault and battery on who, on Tim?
Refused to put out cig, didn't touch him

Got booked, printed and a soggy sack lunch
Wore old lady ******, rode up in a bunch
In population still in cast with black eye
The word spread around that I battered a guy

I crutched my way across shiny jail floor
Eyes following me as if to implore
Came up on a woman, looked like a ****
Then she asked, "**** girl what's he look like?"

Got released next day, had court appearance
Plead not guilty with no interference
Set date for jury trial of my peers
Never been in court in all of my years

With public defender at defendants table
Jury looked at me as if I were unable
To batter, assault a serious offense
I was so small, this did not make much sense

I bravely testified on my own behalf
Brought up Tims prior abuse, hid a laugh
OBJECTION YOUR HONOR, spouted DA
Too late, the jury heard what I had to say

They filed out to deliberation space
Came back in fifteen, looked Tim in the face
The judge read the verdict, not guilty at all I was a free woman and skipped down the hall
This unfortunately was true. It happened in 1991.
Timothy Brown Feb 2013
Lori,
Logan,
Jodi,
Jojo,
Hilda,
Weeping Willow
and **two Tims!
© February 24th, 2013 by Timothy R Brown. All rights reserved.
Kvothe Aug 2014
The country is ******.

No need to stand on ceremony,
eloquency can take a backseat,
because the country is
F. U. C. K-ed.

The innocence of  your youth yells,
as it is mashed between the ******, gritty, fingers of reality.
The faces that entertained the nation,
now assess success by how many kids they've touched,
rather than how many lives.

Parasitic politicians nesting on their mother,
'de-mock-****',
mocking the masses
with two digits raised,
pass it of as a V.
For victory.
But wash away the Crocodile smiles,
and it stands for something a little less inspiring.
Violence?
Victimizing?
Misers of moneyless citizens,
sitting in,
a generation of tiny Tims,
because the oligarchy hordes,
the power and our sense.

The problem is we allow it.
Yeah the country is ******.
But so are we...
"Yeah but what can we do?"

Well...

Now you're asking the right questions...
Her camel Tims hit a slick
Of black ice
Pan-caked to the curb
By February's fickle frost

She slipped
But didn't fall....

Gathering her cool interrupted
And all,
She pointed a manicured finger skywards,
Fixed her wig
And resumed her shuffling jig
To Van Siclen,
Evading winter's treachery...

With an assist
From her guardian angel
Dancing on a cloud over Brownsville.

~ Pablo (2/17/14)
(#IDIB)
LetMeBeMe Apr 2014
I hate that your not there when I need you the most
Waiting for you so long my mashed low cud roast
I began to seep seep seep into a deep depression
Thinking this was a lesson
not to try to push the limit with friends
Hoping she would notice me if I bought tims
When I kissed her lips I felt something
I'm guessing now to her it was nothing
It hurt to see her and not talk
But to look at eachother then continue to walk
I even built the courage to ask her out
But now I know she'll say no without a doubt
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
These are Christmas poems by Michael R. Burch. Some are darker Christmas poems and heretical Christmas poems.

The First Christmas
by Michael R. Burch

’Twas in a land so long ago . . .
the lambs lay blanketed in snow
and little children everywhere
sat and watched warm embers glow
and dreamed (of what, we do not know).

And THEN—a star appeared on high,
The brightest man had ever seen!
It made the children whisper low
in puzzled awe (what did it mean?).
It made the wooly lambkins cry.

Not far away a new-born lay,
warm-blanketed in straw and hay,
a lowly manger for his crib.
The cattle mooed, distraught and low,
to see the child. They did not know

it now was Christmas day!



Christmas Wishes
by Michael R. Burch

My wish for you, with Christmas near,
is troubles fleeing, fleet as deer,
and peace encompassing as snow,
bright merriment in brilliant flow.

I wish for you, with Christ’s Eve here,
a silver moon should skies seem drear,
white stars to light a festive sky,
sweet warmth caressing from on high.

I wish for you on Christmas day
a tree enchanted, festooned, gay . . .
and Christmas night, as carols play,
bright candles lined in white array.

But most of all, I wish you well,
and so much more than words can tell.
For this and every coming year,
Noel, Noel and Christmas cheer!




Late Frost
by Michael R. Burch

The matters of the world like sighs intrude;
out of the darkness, windswept winter light
too frail to solve the puzzle of night’s terror
resolves the distant stars to salts: not white,

but gray, dissolving in the frigid darkness.
I stoke cooled flames and stand, perhaps revealed
as equally as gray, a faded hardness
too malleable with time to be annealed.

Light sprinkles through dull flakes, devoid of color;
which matters not. I did not think to find
a star like Bethlehem’s. I turn my collar
to trudge outside for cordwood. There, outlined

within the doorway’s arch, I see the tree
that holds its boughs aloft, as if to show
they harbor neither love, nor enmity,
but only stars: insignias I know—

false ornaments that flash, overt and bright,
but do not warm and do not really glow,
and yet somehow bring comfort, soft delight:
a rainbow glistens on new-fallen snow.

I had Robert Frost in mind when I wrote this poem, and thus the title. Frost was fond of the word “arch,” and it’s here because of that fondness. The poem imagines him as an old man and a skeptic, but one who never really made a complete break from his childhood faith. The rainbow created by the “artificial stars” was not something I had planned ... in fact, I believe I wrote that line before I understood that the Christmas tree ornaments were creating the rainbow.



Merry Christmas, Happy New Year

by Michael R. Burch

Merry Christmas!
  Best of wishes!
    Hugs and kisses,
      Carolyn.
Don't do dishes
  or eat fishes.
    You're delicious,
      happenin'.
Happy New Year!
  Hope to see yer
    'round Springwater
       once again.
You're a treasure,
  such a pleasure
    (that's for sure),
      a **** friend.
Now I'm learnin'
  all 'bout yearnin',
    and I'm earnin'
      it, I guess.
I'll be stronger,
  live much longer.
    If I'm wronger,
      I’ll confess.
Had to tell you
  that you're swell; you
    ought to sell you
      for a mil.
If I could,
  I'd (knock on wood)
    be just as good.
      I never will.
Still, I love you,
  thinking of you;
    I eschew to
      tell you why.
If you're ever
  in the market
    (or hard up)
      just call this guy.



King of the World
by the Child Poets of Gaza, an alias of Michael R. Burch

If I were King of the World, I would make
every child free, for my people’s sake.

And once I had freed them, they’d all run and scream
back to my palace, for free ice cream!

Why are you laughing? Can’t a young king dream?

If I were King of the World, I would banish
hatred and war, and make mean men vanish.

Then, in their place, I’d bring in a circus
with lions and tigers (but they’d never hurt us!)

Why are you laughing? What else is a king’s purpose?

If I were King of the World, I would teach
the preachers to always do as they preach;

and so they could practice being of good cheer,
we’d have Christmas —and presents—every day of the year!

Why are you laughing? Some dreams do appear!

If I were King of the World, I would send
my counselors of peace to the wide world’s end ...

But all this hard dreaming is making me thirsty!
I proclaim Pink Lemonade; please bring it in a hurry!

Why are you laughing? Mom’ll make it in a flurry!

If I were King of the World, I’d declare
a year of happiness, with no despair—

only playing allowed, for my joyful subjects!
Not a toy left behind! Repair all rejects!

Why are you laughing? Surely no one objects!

If I were King of the World, I would fire
racists and bigots, with their message so dire.

And we wouldn’t build walls, to shut people out.
I would build amusement parks, have no doubt!

Why are you laughing? Should I use my clout?

If I were King of the World, I would drive
a red Ferrari, like no man alive!

But behind would be busses for my legions of friends:
we’d party like maniacs; the fun never ends!

Why are you laughing? Hop aboard! Let’s be friends!

If I were King of the World, I would make
every child blessed, for my people’s sake,

and every child safe, and every child free,
and every child happy, especially me!

Why are you laughing? Appoint me and see!



White Hot Christmas
by Michael R. Burch

I’m back from my jog;
it felt like summer
on Christmas Eve.
What a ******!
Forget the sleigh, Santa,
hire a Hummer.



Christmas is Coming!
alternate lyrics by Michael R. Burch

Christmas is coming; Trump’s goose is getting plucked.
Please put the Ukraine in his pocketbook.
If you haven’t got the Ukraine, some bartered Kurds will do.
But if you’re short on blackmail, well, the yoke’s on you!

Christmas is coming and Rudy can’t make bail.
Please send LARGE donations, or the Cause may fail.
If you haven’t got a billion, five hundred mil will do.
But if you’re short on cash, the LASH will fall on you!



Trump puts the X in Xmas
by Michael R. Burch

Christmas is coming; the Trumpster’s purse is flat.
Please put a billion in Fat Cat’s hat.
If you haven’t got a billion, five hundred mil will do.
But if you’re short of cash, well then, the yoke’s on you!



Trump’s Christmas Shutdown
by Michael R. Burch aka “The Loyal Opposition”

The Grinch is quite proud of his friend Trump tonight:
To see Whoville shut down? “An enormous delight!”

And old cranky Scrooge approves of Trump’s whims:
“Who the hell cares about all those dark Tiny Tims?”

Meanwhile in the Kremlin a ***** glass clinks
As a pale being smiles at his latest hijinks:

“Merry Xmas to all my AmeriKKKan friends
As the bright lights go out and democracy ends!”



Economical Fall
by Michael R. Burch  

The time to make love is autumn;
so kiss your sweethearts (if you’ve got ’em).
Seek ways to keep warm
but observe this norm:
by Christmas be sure you “forgot” ’em!



Yet Another Unmerry Xmas Poem
by Michael R. Burch

the Shepherds should have tended flocks
of sheep, and not become them.

the Wise Men should have used their heads:
religion numbs and dumbs them.

the Angels should have saved their praise
for saviors who can save us

from ludicrous superstitions
and Profits who deprave us.



What happened to compassion;
did it go out of fashion?
Or do Jesus and his Profits
prefer to line white pockets
and colorize dockets?
—Michael R. Burch



Malpractice

by Michael R. Burch

“He needs a new nose,”
Ma said, “suppose—
one that glows!”

The doc agreed
and worked with speed
on Santa’s steed.

The surgery done,
Ma told her son—
“It’s posh, and fun!”

But Rudolph wheezed
and cried and sneezed
with disbelief.

“It should’ve been red!”
the reindeer said,
pale and distraught in his hospital bed.

“Doc, what did you do?
Alas, boo-hoo!
It’s K-Mart-special chintzy blue!”



What Would Santa Claus Say?
by Michael R. Burch

What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to **** and plunder?

For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!

When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,

when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?

Published by Lucid Rhythms, Poet’s Corner and VYBRANÉ PREKLADY BÁSNÍ Z ANGLICTINY, where it was translated into Czech by Vaclav ZJ Pinkava

“And I will **** her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins [kidneys] and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works.” (So much for grace according to Revelation 2:23, where Jesus, or someone putting words in his mouth, vows to personally ****** specific children living at the time for their mother’s sins! To make matters even more macabre, one of the “sins” Jesus vows to ****** children for is eating foods offered to idols, which Saint Paul, author of most of the New Testament, said was fine and dandy! According to the gospels, Jesus himself said that Christians could eat anything they liked, because they were not defiled by what they ate. Was Jesus a murderous Indian Giver, or were the writers of the Bible making things up to suit their beliefs?



A Child’s Christmas Prayer of Despair for a Hindu Saint
by Michael R. Burch

Santa Claus,
for Christmas, please,
don’t bring me toys, or games, or candy . . .
just . . . Santa, please,
I’m on my knees! . . .
please don’t let Jesus torture Gandhi!

Published by Philosophical Percolations and The HyperTexts

Will Jesus Christ cause or allow Albert Einstein and Mahatma Gandhi to be tortured in an "eternal hell" for guessing wrong about which earthly religion to believe? What about Jesus's parable of the Good Samaritan, who put aside religious differences to practice compassion? Did Jesus, who saved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, talk the talk but fail to walk the walk himself? Or did Christian theologians get something very, very wrong? And what would Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny say about such intolerance and infinite cruelty?

Keywords/Tags: Christmas poems, Christmas day, baby, Jesus, manger, crib, Bethlehem, Star of Bethlehem, star, lambs, children, cattle, oxen, donkey, straw, hay, Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, Magi, Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Jesus Christ, Revelation, homosexuals, harlots, Christianity, heaven, hell, salvation, Gandhi, Hindu, saint, knees, kneeling, prayer, mercy, compassion, grace, toys, games, candy

Keywords/Tags: Christmas, day, lambs, star, children, baby, Jesus, manger, crib, cattle, oxen, straw, hay, Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, Bethlehem
As I sit here, watching all these people
They all walk with such purpose
As if the end of the world is apon them
Or even if Death itself is chasing them.

I wonder if maybe they are dead inside
Walking around, not because they have purpose
But walking fast gives them purpose
Or a reason to excist.

And what purpose is that?
To crunge numbers all day
Maybe to reply to emails
Or even simply to gather financial wealth.

Isnt there a greater purpose
Not to work so hard only to enjoy the tims you arent working
Nor coffee meetings with people you wont remember in two years
To walk with purpose, becuase to have purpose, not to earn purpose.
I wrote this while just sitting down and watching people movie about.
Yenson May 2022
Much ado about nothing
scream Republicanism Revolution and Solidarity
when in truth your hate
lurks in the shortcomings that peeks on your groins
from red mists you rage
odious bullies needing a scapegoat to abate tiny Tims
its obvious the gifted
who measures up in mind body and soul is nemesis
to thimble small men
and you wonder why its all about socially castrating
an innocent gifted man





SHAFTED BY FRENCH British men’s ******* are only the 66th biggest in the world, study finds – & even French fared better

LACKING lads came up short in a study of international todger sizes — landing the UK in 66th place.

Their average of 5.17in put us well down the pecker order.

Even French fellas fared better — inching to 11th place with 6.2in.

Men in Ecuador claimed to have the biggest trousersnakes, at an average of 6.93in, ahead of Cameroon (6.56in) and  Bolivia (6.5in).

Germany came just above it — 39th on 5.72in and Argentina 30th on 5.86in.

US men polled 59th on 5.35in with Ireland in 70th on 5.03in and Aussies  43rd on 5.69in.

Pharmacist Navin Khosla said: “Most men have wondered at some time or other if their ***** is big enough. Size can have a massive impact on confidence and self- image.”

Researchers also found there were almost half a million online searches for ***** size by UK men in the last year.
memoir of a life
bookended by a teen in labor
and a place for mom;
a father whose paternal anxiety
made her bleed
like she was the child
of another,
and a carousel of ex-lovers,
the fast, magnetic type
in tims, saggin jeans
and pockets filled
with every dream
but rent,
and a ring.

a life spent
throwing things and thongs
at lying mirrors
until clinique said, “bye bye;
those lines and wrinkles
I can no longer hide.”

she never looked
within,
beyond the flawed skin

she never owned
her sins

she never found
her truth

she blamed him,
the father whose paternal anxiety
made her bleed.

~ P
Cyclone Dec 2019
At the height of my career,
Bewildered by the height of my success,
Cornered into giving you the miracle grow,
Didn't I tell you I got the juice for your roots?,
Excellent for thirsty Tiny Tims
Fishing for the Public Eye
Giving them fishy love
Had I seen it coming
I'd catch all the loansharks
Justifying my greed to be noticed at least
Killer clown fish once again in the current
Looking like the many fish in the ocean
Manipulating when I smell blood
Nothing for me to lose I suppose
Openly polluting the tropics
Previously it was the place I called home
Qualified to still return to my anchor
Ready to get off the hook
Still I want some control
Truthfully I never explored the 7 seas
Utilizing other individual's gifts
Virtuoso every so-so, now I think no-no
Wishing to be more consistent
X's & O's goes to my new potential
Yet this school of fish needs a leader
Zen state I've come to master.

— The End —