"tsarina" poems
Dostoevsky dreams
And Pushkin lines
And rhymes...
Like Bolshevik bullets
Tear into me
Seething
Hot sleep!
Dead Tsars and Anastasia
Mean nothing to me
But I miss them
Sometimes...
Aristocratic nonsense
But tiaras are pretty
With diamonds shining
In a Russian night
As kulaks die
The diamonds glitter
A worthy reminder
Of a beautiful time
When debutantes danced
And the little Tsarina
Could dream in peace
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
I am a Province, a State, a Municipality, and a Region.
I am a Soldier, a Pilot, a Minister, and a Legion;
I am a black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman,
A French man, American, Canadian, and Roman.
I am a rap artist, a singer, a slam poet and guitarist;
I dabble in the dark arts accompanied by a Marxist.
I'm a barista, a gas man, a secretary, and Tsarina,
A King and a Queen and a janitorial cleaner.
I am a "lover," a "hater," a "here now" and "there later,"
I am Luke Skywalker, yet at the same time, Lord Vader.
I am a driver, a walker, a rider, a stalker,
A conservative liberal and a well-learned straight-talker.
I am a salesman and clerk,
A criminal and a serf,
The proud owner of a weapon that, while it kills, saves the Earth.
I am a drinker and smoker,
A consumer and broker,
A bomb-maker, con-artist, Priest, and interloper.
I am a Citizen.
Religious and secular,
Macrocosmic, molecular,
Suit wearing, uncaring, emphatic, irregular,
A "packie," a **** a Scrabble fan playing Yahtzee;
A Jihadist, sadistic, addicted to Herodotus,
History is repeated by the philosopher that thought of us.
The eroticist literature towards which we've all lusted;
It looks like the bullets machine-gun is busted.
Indifferent, ecstatic, illicett, erratic,
An infant, a senior, a young man with bad-lip,
A black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman,
A Jew and a Christian, a Muslim musician,
A monarch, elitist, pro-abortion defeatist,
An anarchist, Black Panther, and a rich plutocratic;
I am a citizen,
And as one,
I'm elastic.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:35 PM UTC
The beauty of her being
Jumped around like a rabbit skiing
Longing for procreation
Of inner stagnated frustration
Like a tormented tiranic tsarina
Looking for the sensual ballerina
The question posed: 'What is illusion?'
And where is it crossing reality intrusion?
Or is there no debate?
The goal merely is to copulate.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
i know that the song
replicated by the doors
of howlin' wolf's *back door
man* is about **** ***
but girl, and why ain't i eager
to please that department of yours
and instead applaud homosexuality?
мама pоссия would
care to brief me in education
for a ballet or an opera
of tsarina catherine ******* a horse?
well watch my welsh ave of the two fingers
**** you... one up your **** and
one of them indexing civility, looking cool
so the sun might shine.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
only among poetry do you feel so
guilty having written much and read so little;
then come the chances to appreciate other genres,
and having appreciated such genres, become
all too willing to change
the genre of your expression
into something worth attention
when none was required;
such is poetry, an art of beatified
speech where there was none
to begin with;
and where adequate reading was enjoyed,
no other arithmetic of adequacy
was expressed, given the tongue's
complications of usage, i.e.
no beauty ***** joining him
for a scene at the opera, blah ha;
no tsar that met him ever left talking
about him with a feeling of jealousy -
the concert of concubines
and the nagging of the tsarina to keep up
appearances:
now watch the nagging darwin in me
with a monkey's face doing the juggling act
of ooh ooh oh ooh for the mouth's
shaping into a protruding of lips awaiting a trumpet!
blows a desire of the many sires, and hence the shipwreck
of the aristocratic hearts gathered into a populace
of a little city without silverware and serf hands
providing the chess moves of moveable silverware
for entrée, main and dessert of edibles macaroons: ah those
feasting eyes and corsets... how eager the scythe in hands
that sweated for the eyes to be so tearful and yet unsatiated
at a table of candlelight and ahem aha manners of using napkins;
i'll concern myself with courtesy when i'm able
to express myself in saxon or bavarian:
burping after a carbonated drink at the table drank...
and indeed i'll ease out a **** on my way out from
the splendour to an applause: without a necessary crescendo
of my own undoing!
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
*honest to god, stay away from this horror island... stay away from this paedophilia haven that includes the parliament foremost, as the chieftains of practice... stay away from this wretched place, this ***** and Gomorrah.*
you ever live in a house with 30 other
migrants? yeah, near Valentines' Park,
spend the time trapped in a room
with your parents who decided to
"make a better life for themselves"
in a foreign country while John Paul Pope
became branded a saint rather than
the catalyst, a... i'm thinking of the word
donkey... but it's a synonym of usurper...
ah... traitor! ever spend your childhood
in a house filled with adult men providing
for their children? spending your childhood
with Sonix? i spent mine, taken out from
the mud-pit where i would have hardly
cared to be Barabas without a second thought
(i.e. a conscience); you didn't spend that time
in a house run by a Jew and a Tsarina of
polish descent... you didn't...
and you weren't deported having acquired
the tongue in order to unlearn it...
having only two books of the english tongue
to relearn it in order to go back,
and receive a smack on the head by a school friend
you played happy birthday to on the guitar
**** your fiance, who bore your child,
and who decided that being a lawyer he was
also the judge and jury and the executioner...
with god ****** his way into your life
with dislodged stars moving to no known
comet orbit... yeah, in the west we're all
given "a better life", justified with that famous
export to Iraq rather than Saudi Arabia
from where the culprits came...
so... now... say bye bye to genes, ethnicity and
Darwinism being fingerprinted.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
*and thank funk, that the english (anglophones) say: i don't know how to pronopunce that... which is self-evident... they haven't applied the custom of diacritical marks... therefore they blubber-blab their words... if you base your language on syllables alone, you can't make distinctions with letters... e.g. why... i... very closely associated... well, with such linguistic darwinism as the number of accents in the anglophone sphere... why be, even remotely bewildered? and yes, that's a phenomenon, because, thankfully, the complete lack of diacritics (distinctions) on letter, is no noumenon... it's verbal gluttony; just keep intertwining the words: custard fudge custard fudge 1 0 1 0 0 1
custard fudge custard furdge fudge custard; *******
or read some irvine welsh, or something.*
i love the diacritical nakedness of the english
tongue, and my mutterzunge...
e.g.?
plot - a narrative of some sort...
and then... *** a fence....
ha ha;
i guess only i can find it funny,
or some respective bilingual, entreched akin
to the belgian trenches...
i already said, with my bias for
the authority of language,
i'm either pinhead digging trenches,
or the minotaur excavating a labyrinth;
god... i love these nano-nuances:
caryca (polska tsarina) is now breaking her
back to suggest alternatives...
caryca? oh... a term for some peasant
woman married to a jew... new money, basically.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC