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iva Jan 2018
from between her teeth
out the whole moon falls; i think
her smile foam-soft

and bright, curved gently
into my own. heart beats and
still in my chest sings

birdsong. nightingale,
choir paused; will i see you
again in daylight?
the girl i like wrote a haiku about me and i almost died right there on the spot. i'm so done for.
Henry Brooke Feb 2015
~~ ☠ ~~

A ship sails empty of reason,
captains fear the treasons.
Silent and smooth is how it'll fall
the cabin-boy shall take the bar.

Blood can be found on every street,
both death and life here meet.
Life is a walking misery,
pray god has blessed your destiny.

Outside the people's empty homes,
fathers, sons, left alone.
Big Brother dominates, he commands.
A billion voices in one hand.

The ocean itself is a burden,
your dreams will taunt the sugeons.
Twist well open the sails to Rome
if you flee the country, flee alone.

Between the alleys at this mass
the cross's shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy, use them well
let vain ideas fry in hell.

Our viscious masters do predict
the fall of  Troika and rise of  Six.
A crew who drains such futile ink
is sure to drown us down the sink.

Save me from the grim Tomorrows
full of hate deceit and sorrows.
Oh, it's not about tyranny,It's human kind.
Justice is never really blind.

Behind the money lies our pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets walk the road,
a thousand stories left untold.

I hope one day it could end ,
just by cutting down his head.
They hunt down anyone not in line,
should we attempt this, is there time ?

Unfathomable ,
his hungry stomach calls for meat;
rotting, green, foul and sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens will be served,
for all the glory
he deserves.
I wrote this in quartrains, because I really like how a decent structure helps it all.
Damian Murphy Aug 2015
Those like David McWilliams tried to make us see the light,
but our politicians were quick to tell us everything was all right  
It’s grand they said; sure our economy is booming,
though now it appears they knew disaster was looming
It seems the easy credit and ridiculous property prices,
left the banks owing billions, facing a financial crisis
and one night our politicians agreed the bank guarantee,
borrowing billions from Europe, selling our sovereignty.

The billions owed by the banks were to be paid by you and me,
which meant we all faced years of austerity
The money disappeared almost as quickly as Fianna Fail,
we were at the mercy of the Troika, Angela Merkel and all.
We owed billions in the form of a promissory note,
with billions to be paid each year, by rote
The banks and the developers washed their hands of it all,
some even representing us now in the Dail!

Yes the banks and bond holders who were mostly to blame,
did not lose a penny, they knew how to play the game
But for us there’s no help, it’s an absolute shame,
and the politicians reasoning sounds completely lame
We had our politicians and the business world to thank,
but they laughed all the way to the nearest offshore bank
Swiftly followed by developers and entrepreneurs,
all this country got from them was a collective Up Yours!
Anais Vionet Dec 2022
I’m at (my roommate) Lisa’s for the holidays and it was Christmas Eve afternoon. I was in Leeeza’s room (Lisa’s 13-year-old sister). One corner of the room is all pillows. A hundred pillows or more - Disney pillows like Mickey and Minnie but shrek pillows too and penguin pillows, minion pillows, mario brothers pillows and novelty pillows that look like bags of doritos, cheetos and ramen noodle soup - just about every toy pillow you can imagine.

Leeza was there on the pile with me, watching “La La Land,” my favorite movie. Leeza had never seen it and I hoped she’d love it as much as I do. In the end, she pronounced it a new favorite.

Later (still Christmas eve) Lisa, Karan (her mom) Leeza and I made our way to a lardy-dardy rooftop event space called “The Skylark,” where Michael (Lisa’s dad) was co-hosting a Christmas party. The rooftop is on the 30th floor and everything there is made of glass - even the staircases.

When Lisa told me about the party (at school), I brought out a few Anna Molinari bits I had stored under my bed (when I realized Yale wear wasn't very fashionable). I ended up wearing a black lace party dress, a black knit crop cardigan cover and white, satin bridal shoes. It seemed very on point as a "Wednesday" look. If you haven't watched the "Wednesday" series on Netflix - It's fun.

As we arrived the sun faded, as if timed, and natural light gradually gave way to the cityscape of artificial light. Once it became fully-dark, New York city glittered around us, as if the stars had dropped from the heavens to join the party.

A brass and piano ensemble played seasonal classics like Prokofiev’s Troika as we (Lisa, Leeza and I) explored the venue. Every surface seemed decorated with poinsettias, candles, and ornaments or ribbed by garlands of balsam, spruce and fir that smelled incredible.

There were (guessing) about 200 guests and servers wound their way through the crowd with trays of cocktails and champagne. These waiters were all good looking, as if picked from the sea of actors, in New York, just waiting for that big Broadway break. At one point, Leeza, with a mischievous holiday gleam in her eye, reached for a flûte à Champagne only to have the waitress twirl, at the last millisecond, like a dancer, leaving her grasping at air, disappointed.

Michael’s company had set up a tall, white and gold Christmas tree, in a corner of the terrace, under it were packages, for special clients, so beautifully, individually and uniquely decorated that you could believe they were wrapped by angels.

The papering was exquisite, handmade, thick as Liva and embossed, inlaid or pebbled with gold. They were topped with bows, brooches, angels, or snowflakes of silver, rose-brass, batic silk and even crocodile.

No doubt the wrappings were as valuable as the gifts inside and though those presents enchanted, teased and cajoled us all, they were reserved for people on the very, very nice list (a cop stood discreetly by). We were briefly transfixed by the spectacle, but the spell was broken when Leeza said, “I’m hungry.”

Cocktail parties are for adults, so after we ate, Karen stayed with Michael and the teenagers were sent home. We didn’t mind, after all, none of those presents were for us - our day would be Christmas!

Happy holidays!
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Cajoled: "to deceive with false promise."

Lardy-dardy = swank and elegant
Wk kortas Mar 2021
The first leg of our troika was removed easily enough;

Courage is a mercurial thing, waxing and waning

As frequently as the tides--or, perhaps more accurately,

It is like the doomed cell hosting a virus,

Left a barren husk of its former self once the germ

Has gone about its business and moved on.

In any case, he has happily cast off the burden of leadership

So often and unwisely fixed upon our martial heroes,

Content to appear at parades and other events of state,

Answering the roar of the mob in an almost authentic manner

(Though just barely perceptibly less so each year),

Living testament to the notion

That it is easier to be lionized than to live as the lion.




I had convinced myself that a two-headed regime

Would be perfectly workable,

That I could be the yin to the yang

Of my erstwhile alloy colleague

(The intoxicant of power

So dulling my senses that I could believe such nonsense),

The contemplative man of thought acting as a counterweight

To the fiery man of action, the man of the blade.

I had somehow presupposed

(Such was the vastness of my delusion)

That my old brother-in-arms would defer

To the appeal of painstaking analysis and meticulous planning;

It was if I had forgotten that, provided with the genie-like largesse

Of the acquisition of anything he desired, he’d asked for a heart,

As if there wasn’t enough sturm und drang taking place

In that miniature steam boiler of a chest!

While I had buried myself in charts and task-force reports,

He had enmeshed himself in consolidating power.

When his yeomen, huge-hatted and well-armed

Came to my suite of offices to place me under arrest,

I was, at my core, not particularly surprised.




To parrot the line of so many of those who have shared a fate

Much worse than my own,

I am well treated by my caretakers-***-captors;

My living quarters are comfortable enough,

And I can read, write, and research at my leisure,

Provided I don’t attempt to transmit any of it

To the outside world. 

Beyond the boundaries of this small compound,

I am a non-person; neither my name nor image

Has appeared in the pages of the Daily Ozmapolitan

For several years now, and it is whispered

(With the full knowledge and abetment of the current elite)

That I am, in fact, gravely ill if not dead.

I could, I suppose, rage against my confinement,

Shout my grievances and pronouncements against autocracy

To the heavens, but my cottage and the outbuildings

Lie in a thickly forested place, and it has not escaped my notice

That all of these structures are built entirely from wood.

No matter, then; I am the victim, first and last,

Of my own foolishness, my own inability

To resist the nectar of power, the ambrosia of command.

I, of all people, believing the road could run both ways!
Henry Brooke Sep 2014
A ship sails empty of reason,
captains fear the treasons.
Silent and smooth is how it'll fall
the cabin-boy shall take the bar.

Blood can be found on every street,
both death and life here meet.
Life is a dying mystery,
pray god has blessed your destiny.

Outside the people's empty homes,
fathers, sons, left alone.
Big Brother dominates, he commands.
A billion voices in one hand.

Absence of imagination,
the End of independent thought.
Cities reek of corruption, ******
and the greatest of sins.
They raise and **** in
by the millions
yet only some men
seem to win.

The ocean itself is a burden,
bad dreams require a surgeon.
Twist well open the sails to Rome
if you flee the country, flee alone.

Between the alleys at this mass
the cross's shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy, use them well,
let vain ideas fry in hell.

Our viscious masters do predict
the fall of  Troika and rise of  Six.
A crew who drains such futile ink
is sure to drown us down the sink.

Save me from the grim Tomorrows
full of hate deceit and sorrows.
Oh, it's not about tyranny,It's human kind.
Justice is neverreally blind.

Glorious eyes
of curve-free posters
used as wallpaper
for the cleanest streets.
Looking up
to their Father
all good citizens
try to weep
the plain and empty tears
the Party demands
them sheep.

Behind the money lies the pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets walk the road,
a thousand stories left untold.

I hope one day it could end ,
just by cutting down his head.
They hunt down anyonenot in line,
should we attempt this, is there time ?

Unfathomable ,
his hungry stomach calls for meat;
rotting, green, foul and sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens will be served,
for all the glory
he deserves.
Trapped under the ice,
in nineteen fifty-two.
A marxist society
led by one man,
with hope-filled speeches
but blood on it's hands.
It is June. Plaridel is in sepia, or leaden – whichever,
  this is the leitmotif.

Soon clouds with jettison a plodding swathe of
  water. You will wear the petrichor,

While a ramshackle of a passing tricycle
  whelms a throbbing orchestra of junk.

Here is the hearth that rears no fire:
   a mother, children in tow – a troika,
   on a cart not even close to ease of
   a hurtling thing.     Trees naked in vulnerable
   green – the verdigris carried by a
   miniscule Maya.

Here comes again, the neighbor peering through
   the nuisance, is alarmed, eyes like a fugitive,
   curses my mother – I grab the nearest, sharpest
   object available that was my own hand.

Ingrained deep within, a root – or a stone, among many
  other stones in me, this salt-well, a savingslight of turning wave
   that is almost an approximate oceanview in me.

Gnarled over the longest time. In here we soothe by
    gin, passing out in front of our gated homes,
    singing whatever was available, close to our pitch.

Somewhere, Windsor has lost the poem / critiqued by
  a mirror fecundating a smeared image, a blot.
   A Rorschach was it, or just a day dazed they did.
Somewhere, this is scattered. Uncollected. To make remnants
  of as evidence, not to investigate if true.

The 6th body of this is what I am speaking of in glossolalia.
   A requiem leaves it stark and cold in this consummate weather.

Another piercing salvage of metal cuts the humdrum town
and unlike the sturdy mango tree, this is a collective of secret
  encrypted lasting more than a life.

It is June. Plaridel has ripened from the expired summer.
   Perchance the exquisite promise is sweet, holding all the bitterness together,
    ready to fall, at last.
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!
Sic semper tyrannis ad mortem
("Thus always I bring death to tyrants"
by infamous by John Wilkes Booth).

Trump’s tyrannical unsubstantiated
usurpation unleashes ugly Uber vagaries,
venomous vitiating, viva voce vulgarity,
wakening warring wicked woebegone
wretched Xerses, yawping yelping
yipping zeal.

The Doomsday Clock lurched thirty
seconds closer to midnight. As conclave,
sans Atomic Scientists’ Science and
Security Board (advised by Governing
Board and Board of Sponsors – including
Eighteen Nobel Laureates).

Alarm bells clang; declaring emergency
fiasco grips hearts; indoctrination
jacked knifed kraal; linking mankind’s
nemesis; opportunistic Pandora; queuing
rockets; spewing torpedoing urchins;
Versailles visiting violation vis a vis
weathered wracked…xing yanked
Armageddon

If twittering Trump’s troubling trends
trawls toxic, then tinder testy testosterone
terribly tells tattletale taking atrocious,
burglarious, calumnious, disharmonious,
egregious, ferocious, gregarious, hellacious,

ignominious, injudicious, ludicrous,
malodorous, noxious, obnoxious, pernicious,
querulous, rapacious, salubrious, tenebrious,
unctuous, vicious, wamefous, xylophagous
yields zany zealous zippered zombies.

Prognosticators warn with more urgency
deleterious, dicey donnybrook dumbstruck
fatally feverish, fiery, foolishly frenetic, horribly
humungous, jaggedly jittery, jumbuck Kaiser
kamikaze Kant, kerosene kindling kleptocracy,
kneading lawlessness, learns lessons leaving

lousy luck, nurturing nattering nabobs, peevishness
provoking, puck, Quaking quickening quotidian
rabble rioting rousers, rogues ruthless seismic
spasms strike terror, tinder tomahawks torching
treasures, tidily trickily, troika trove truck.

Cobalt blue eyes per president; pierce panorama;
   pessimistic perception processed
decisions made heavily impinging lives, sans
   people across America,
   laser focus personal quest
quickly embarked, whence twitter feeds ***** riot
   with tweets hinting of political unrest
sprung from provocation fostering folks far and wide

   to speculate motives donned vest
Commander in chief wields iron fist foisting
   wharf air tumultuousness harboring ship of state
   foisting risky business viz electric cool aid acid test
sites set with “full speed ahead”, and
   “**** the torpedoes” fueling
   anarchy, chaos and enormous repercussions

   within sea of humanity wrest
in pieces slung with barrage on behalf of self anointed
   supreme ruler re: Stars and Stripes
   indulging angry rants foment civil chaos,
   where trumpeting hooligans dressed
as hooded lambs curry pandemonium
   proudly straining breeches qua exploits best
exemplified thru prophesies predicting schisms

   starting as faults hair brained baddest
dread locked bunched braids presaging
   deadly mortal Kombat inciting global Jihad lest
the reins of totalitarianism clutched tight
   by septuagenarian who covets ability
   to wield mutant ninja turtle warrior clout
   more precious and priceless than fine
   spun golden toys alas cooped in the attic,  
   or goodies in ***** trapped treasure chest.
Vladimir Lionter May 2020
They’re bringing the illegals’
crowd to the police department,
And chaos is beginning after that,
The part of the illegals is released
after bribe’s giving
“Everything’s OK”,
with their documents,
everything.
The illegals’ part is falling under
evidende’s records’ will,
The policeman must be
“kind”and “evil”,
“Buxes’’ part from those ones
who have been released
Is given very culturally
To the major operative orderly Officer.
Migrants are indignant at it
Saying: “Our rights are violated,
we aren’t considered To be people.”
The orderly officer
did tell them:
“Have you a complaint?
Write your petition then.
To the department’s head’s temporal acting,
the truth’s in this!”
During every conference
he receives his unpleasant dose:
Сrimes revealing is falling –
the General puts him
in an awkward pose.
The methods of finding a way out
won’t be new in this
He’ll raise crimes’ revealing
by divisional inspectors’ means.
It’s not obligatory
to be super-brilliant,
To tell the truth, to compose a crime’s fact.
The divisional inspector
is taking a homeless
Man empowered,
he’s giving him money for bread
And ***** telling him:
“You’ll say during inquest:
The man threatened
to **** you by this knife’s means, this case.
Will be in summary operations.
That’s great!!
At the beginning
the divisional inspector’s
giving him 1500 roubles for putting by.
The homeless Person said:
“I am friends with Sasha-Blue
who is a victim.
Give me some money
for a pack of “Troika”11, please.”
The divisional inspector
being contented gave him
a hundred roubles more.
The summary operations on the CC’s
Case were given
in the evening.
The divisional inspector is
Learning from divisional inspectors’ head
After his arriving
at the police department
That we won’t let anybody
go home without
any crime’s revealing.
A revealed crime is too little- the police’s head
Is expecting a new crime’s revealing,
even the divisional inspector having
Thought said:
“I am keeping theft in mind,
Let us let others go home, home and”
Only naive Vasya will go with me,
something like that.
They made up their minds thus –
the agreement is in force,
Vasiliy is going to reveal a crime,
of course.
He gave his colleague
a few thousand roubles
for his
Aid in this crime’s revealing
as soon as possible
by means
Of trustful persons
theft was revealed
on that day
I will tell you of those further events,
I feel like it,
anyway.
That divisional inspector was placed
under guard
According to article 286
This story is an unimportant event
Within the country’s limits –
“What’s the ****?”
Will you ask in indignation.
Only policemen often raise
crimes’ revealing’s indexes
in any Russian Police Station.
{2018}

В ОТДЕЛЕ ПОЛИЦИИ

Привозят
нелегалов толпу
в отдел.
И начинается
беспредел.
Часть нелегалов
отпускают
за взятку
– С их документами
«всё в порядке».
Часть нелегалов –
под протокол:
Полицейский
быть должен
«добр» и «зол».
Часть «капусты»
отпущенных
– Всё по-культурному!
Отдаётся
Старшему оперативному
дежурному.
Мигранты возмущаются:
«Права нарушаете!
Совсем за людей
нас видимо
не считаете!»
Дежурный: «Есть жалобы?
Пишите петиции
– В приёмные часы
рассмотрит
начальник полиции!»
А у начальника полиции
своё есть дело –
Некогда до петиций,
Ведь он
временно исполняющий обязанности
начальника отдела!
На каждом совещании
в округе
получает неприятностей дозу
– Раскрываемость падает
–Генерал его ставит
в неудобную позу!
Методы выхода
не будут новыми –
Поднимает раскрытия
участковыми!
Не надо по-правде быть
супер-гением,
Чтобы придумывать
преступления!
Идёт участковый,
берёт доверенного бомжа,
Даёт ему денег
на хлеб и водку!
И говорит:
«В дознании скажешь,
что при помощи
вот этого вот ножа
угрожал убийством –
пойдёт сразу в сводку!»
Сперва участковый
даёт бомжу
полторы тысячи на заначку.
Бомж: «С Сашей-Синим,
который терпила,
дружу
– Дай ещё нам
на «Тройки»
пачку».
Дал ещё участковый довольный
сотку
– По 119 статье УК
вечером
дали сводку.
И в отделе участковый
узнаёт по прибытию
От начальника участковых:
Сегодня не отпущу,
пока не сделаете
«раскрытия».
– Одно мало –
начальник полиции
ожидает новых.
Наш участковый,
подумав даже
И говорит:
«У меня на примете
есть раскрытие –
кража!»
Давайте
всех отпустим домой
– Лишь Вася наивный
пойдёт со мной!
Так и порешили –
договор в силе:
На раскрытие идёт
лейтенант Василий.
За помощь
в раскрытии поскорей
Он дал коллеге
несколько косарей.
При помощи доверенных лиц
в тот день
была раскрыта и кража.
Как было дальше скажу –
не лень
– Тот участковый
по 286 статье УК
был заключён
под стражу.
Эта история
в рамках страны –
маленькое событие
Спросите Вы:
«What the ****?!»
Только в Российской полиции
зачастую лишь так
повышают показатели
по раскрытиям!
{2018}

Translator - I. Toporov
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
krzesimir dębski - husaria ginie...

a mirroring of a sensation...
the british overtones of levelling:
what we have, not made former,
by conquest, but the russians have...
we will exact... as being the best wishes..
of: and each citizen...
will be allowed... to have his egocentric
trip; minus the hindu psychadelics....
his crown.... i who have found
and bound... a freedom
and ******* within the realm of:
the formal and the informal zunge...

you are holding onto a house of cards -
my friend; and when it comes crashing
down... there... will... be...
no echo... when this folds...
there will no stop-off of the soviet empire...
no grand duchy of lithuania...
no "belarus"... no "ukraine"...
no tricklets of moldova....
not "grand" duchy of prussia...
the people have become... solvent....
darwinism-copernicanism:
no wittgeinstein will help:
what is vogue, was vogue,
will remain vogue, until: bra burning...

i don't know... i guess this esarly stage
of double-crossed exercise in libido is
too much for those modern...
darwinian... chimp-aardvark utopia
seekers... it's never a "solipsistic chimp",
"problem"... "suddenly"
it's a ******* animal farm affair!
stress it once more!
when it was darwin and some greek
uttered the phrase: **** similis!
then "they" unearthed "history"...
"they" looked backwards/forwards
in the heliocentric dynamic...
except on the Faroe Islands in that
geocentric guise... the earth does move
around the earth...
but there's no Louis XIV...

subsequently there's no Alexander Dumas...
there's no Athos - the drinker wise;
Porthos - the sancho, the goat, the ***..
Aramis - the priest... the philanderer...
the don juan in disguise...

what if darwinism was nothing more than
that copernican vogue...
to have to borrow from a hierarchy of
lobsters... of ants...
yet somehow having...

really? are we contesting an ego's hard-on?
prokofiev's troika vs.
prokofiev's lieutenant kijé?
is there really a "vs."?

bones will shackle themselves to:
disowning shadows and
rattles and rumblings...
and... the sort of poverty
of broken into cookies marches...

poliushko polie:
nothing ever said as much as this says:
"we"... the "people"...
out of the window... the babe and the bathwater!
gone!
last remnants of what came part
of the story that constituted:
the two neighbours of europe...
somehow the greeks juggled...
the hebrew: please can the hebrew juggle better!

i don't need cheap british socialism
pseudo-communism:
from under the iron curtain...
where next?!
this? this brixton break-up of
some black whip over a white ****?
let the whips dry up among themselves...
i'll still be looking for japanese gravure...
the bull... the tender girl
in a porcelain shop...

or some "other"...
nonetheless: we'll all be left better off being
all confused...
such as now...

all becomes apparent:
when being guided in the kingdom
of the blind by the one-eyed man...
the dajjal... perhaps a one eared man would suffice...
after all...
i can see... pakistani-pakistani...
and i can see pakistani-english:
slush-puppy centrist...

my eye does not differentiate the two...
even if i have but one...
but it's worthwhile to know at least
two tongues... in this modern global age...
it's not enough to know but one:
abide by one tongue...
the dajjal is not one-eyed...
he's one-eared...
he will be the one to end this current
arabic ****... of sitting on oil beneath
the sands...
he will revel in speaking only one tongue...

next target! no target...
darwin is my new copernicus...
until our next meeting...
when all this sort of regurgitated neu-vogue is
no longer a rasberry beret.

— The End —