"vishnu" poems
Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed
This strength of my youth, these breaths,
All are surrendered to you
To protect your honour
I would forego hundred lifetimes
I would either embrace death or
vanquish your enemies
Touching your feet in reverence
I take this solemn oath
until the end of my life
I would be loyal to you
Those who have died in your lap
their spirits bask in eternal happiness
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
My mother tells me
I will go on without you
bearing the pain of your passing
by turning my heart into stone
However, if in your lifetime
there is a threat to this country
and being fearless you do not
fight this threat, my son,
then, I will think, I birthed
poison instead of life
or that my nourishment
did not give enough strength
Listening to these words
my head lies forever bowed
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
It is not only said by my mother
but all mothers of this country
to give birth to a Narsimh
they bear difficult pangs of labour
Those brave warriors who wrote
history with their life blood
carry their images in your heart
and placing your hand there, promise,
you will forsake everything else
at the call of your motherland
Your body, soul and life
surrendered to your country
*Oh motherland, at your feet
may all moments of my life lie sacrificed*
Narsimh - an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu,often visualised as having a human torso and lower body, with a lion face and claws. He is known primarily as the 'Great Protector' who specifically defends and protects his devotees in times of need.
Translation is given by karishma ji
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "शिव लीला" published in pratilipi on (June. 2018) Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2Z9Z57t
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
His neck has entirely turned blue due to Kalkoot, This is just a Leela of Shiva
He has taken everyone's pain and sorrow for the betterment of the world
He is the keeper of all the three loka's and also called as Trilokinath
He hold the holy Ganga in his locks, but do not drinks a drop from it
He sits on the yellow Tiger skin mat and keeps meditating for years to come
He satiates hunger by Datura and Madaar and drinks Bhang to quench thirst
He has a marvellous third eye through which all the three lokas are visible
Sitting in the Mahayoga posture, He keeps on concentrating and meditating
Brahma and Vishnu also bows before him with respect and feels blessed
Such a beautiful holy Leela of Shiva. Nothing else but Shiva's holy Leela
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Kalkoot(Line 1): A poison generated due to Samudra Manthan ( The Churning of the Ocean by Devtas[Gods] and Asuras[Demons] )
Leela(Line 1): "Divine Play" (Just a pastime)
Shiva(Line 1): A God (The Destroyer) in Hindu Mythology
Loka(Line 3): Three three different worlds/realms. Swargaloka, the land of gods; Mrityuloka, the middle kingdom of men; and Pataloka, home of the Asuras, the fallen gods, and demons.
Trilokinath(Line 3): The Lord of the Three world/realms.
Ganga (Line 4): The Holy river whose flow and speed is controlled by the locks (Jatas - The thick hair strands) of Lord Shiiva
Datura and Madaar (Line 6): Poisonous plants (Datura stramonium and Calotropis gigantean)
Bhang (Line 6): Poisonous plants (Cannabis Plant)
Mahayoga (Line 8): Also called as Mahamudra – The Great Gesture (a posture for meditating)
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 12:15 PM UTC
A song comes out of the speeding bhogis,
Seeta is the one rendering the song.
She chants that her husband has long been dead.
Seeta has two sons, just like her ballads.
One –
Gives rhythm to her song.
Other –
Rubs a gentleman out of his siesta
And asks for a little money.
The bhogis gain momentum (Ignores the station master who shows red to stop the pacing male phallus)
Long away –
A girl lies down, lower than the rails.
**** me, **** me, she bangs her head.
I will, I will, the rails swell the train song in her ears.
Though long away,
Though have not heard the girl,
As if she has heard something -
Seeta stops singing.
And her children dash out.
Two hobos enter in –
As if to sell sizzling peanuts.
Just as to give the body a bath –
Seemingly not pleased just with the rails –
The male train jumps off,
Into the wide sea.
(Whose ****** is the sea, the breeze hums a song)
A thousand crows flutters from –
One’s previous birth,
To –
Another’s next birth.
Seeta, having forgotten all her songs –
Looks out for her kids.
Will arrive shortly, will arrive shortly :
Weary, irked and bored -
Time waits at a station.
(I did remember Rupesh Paul, who drew a simile between the rails and the *** worker’s nights, Anitha Thampi, who wrote about female trains, Latheesh Mohan, who noted down how the train stretches its back, Vishnu Prasad and his poem on the phallus, Prasanna Aryans usage: **** says the wheel and shit-shit , says the rail et al , while writing this poem)
(Translated by Sherin Catherine)
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
a lake of blood is promised
homes fill with fiber optic prophecy.
"put away your lenses children and sleep under the lamp's shade."
our purple rice growing
Vishnu mumbles and stirs in his sleep.
by the crystal pond, a poison frog sings.
decorating the sand and reeds are skeletons of the old wars.
nearly dust now.
unable to make decisions for the weak or young, the strong or the old.
four seasons yet to pass
attention given to the wolf's lonesome cry.
place your head in sand,
witness the scorpion.
she is
emperor and admonisher.
the tiger breathes in and breathes out its final breath.
lay your belly upon wheat and remove hunger.
an angel's velvet wing cools the fever,
the old sickness of Old Salem.
onions, apples & lemons are sprouting.
there, just underneath the horseman's hood.
quickly, look.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
Jesus Christ, Lord Almighty
Expel my demons and watch them die with me
Satan Lord, Leviathan
Give my demons an interesting origin
Plague me with poets smoking joints rolled with rejected poems
Fill my thoughts with cockney accented thespians
Let them hold Academy award nominations from films long forgotten
Enthuse my self-destruction
Bring me goth kids brought up in wholesome homes
Bring me Art school students choosing to abandon their degrees
Bring me women aroused by smashed clocks
Bring me men aroused by awkward teenagers
Bring me Christians questioning their faith
Lord Almighty, God, Yahweh, Jehovah
Tell me the story of your disagreements with Vishnu
Let me see Moloch's disgruntlement and subsequent drunk and disorderly
Show me when Hera was seducing your nephew
Bring me into the world of the soap opera battles
Write to me Paris
Write to me Paris
I want to read your poetry
I want to read your mind
Sing to me Helen
Embrace me and we shall escape from torments
Heavenly and humane
We shall watch hipsters walk past us
Smoking Spirits and drinking poison berry teas
Let Adam grow disgruntled
Let children laugh
If, Lord Jesus, you grant me my wish
Send me a djinn with evil in his heart
Who's bound to be annoyed by my desires
Send me an ent to lift me above my world
Send me an elf to love me for all my time
Send me a mountain to travel over home
Transport me to Germany
Transport me to Spain
Transport me to New Zealand
Give me a free pass, one-way ticket to Darwin's islands
Write my story so that I collect new, unprecedented species
And devour the flesh of my find
Hide me in Antarctica with a monstrous creation of my own mind
Let me eat
Let me gorge
Then starve me
Show me Caligula
Show me Marilyn Monroe
Then leave me with Ed Wood
And force me to watch his films so that I may inherit my grandfather's fortune in comic books
Which, of course, will bring her to love me again
Oh Lord Jesus
Lord of Hosts
Possess me so that I may live again
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 4:56 PM UTC
It is said in Mahabharata that Krishna,
Who was an incarnation of Vishnu,
Was the Charioteer of Arjun,
The most expert archer.
And Arjun was among the Pandavas,
Pandavas're the legendary winners,
Of the epic Mahabharata War,
That killed uncountable men.
We observe several such incarnations,
In the Kalyuga's modern era as well,
Guiding those who seek guidance,
Showing path to those who need.
I was before joining Hello Poetry,
So lost - so confused - so troubled,
My thoughts so jammed my brain,
But now I find myself calm - so cool.
Here on Hello Poetry,
We have our own Charioteer,
Guiding our own poetry Chariot,
He is an expert, his name is York, Eliot.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Indian Legends.
The Legend of Triambakeshwar
The supreme Lords, Brahma and Vishnu
On that auspicious day were fighting for the highest milestone
For honour
Claiming Wisdom
Voicing out their mighty combat impale
At that very moment, a resplendant pillar
Emerged, took form before them
Standing tall into the skies and stooping low spearing the Earth.
Brahma and Vishnu saw the pillar
As an examiner of infinite Wisdom
They both decided to find either end of the pillar
to prove their supreme position.
Brahma took form of a swan
to find the topmost portion of the pillar
Vishnu turns into a Boar, being the land's wild driller
to discover the bottom part of this pillar.
Brahma returns and lies to Vishnu
"I Have Found My Goal, 'O Vishnu"
Lord Vishnu surrenders with a humble heart
A fruitless effortless failure.
This pillar is no ordinary pillar
The Legend holds it as the sacred Linga
The Lord of Lords, the destroyer of Evil
The three-eyed one, the blue-throated one
Neelakanta,Shiva,Mrida,Rudra
Dayakara,Hara,Maheshwara
The Lord with 1008 titles of honour
Ageless, timeless, formless,
Limitless.
Shiva cursed Brahma that day dusk
**"Your foul deceit smells above this land, Brahmadev
Punishment is a part of crime.
You shall never be worshipped under the stone-carved.
Temples shan't have place for you"**
Brahma, enraged, growled upon the Lord
**"Your greatness shall be pushed into this Earth
Into the same pillar, the Linga!
At the foot of Sahyradri, your abode lies
from now,
till forever comes."**
Dear Fearless Devotee, know this that you must
On the dark midnight of this hand-chosen day
Maha Shivratri
The Holy Linga takes form as the Lingodbhav Moorti
At the blessed land of Triambakeshwara.
From underneath the Earth,
Like a descendant from the skies
The ruler of the seven worlds
Bhu, Bhuvas, Svar, Mahas, Janas, Tapas, Satya
The invincible source of destruction
Of the Seven Hells, Paatala
*Atala, Vitala, Sutala, Rasaataala, Talatala, Mahaatala,
The Patala.*
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
where is my indian
is it in the way i don't use my palms as a medium to transport rice into the back of my mouth
is it in the way my face turns gloomy at the sight of spice and curry
is it in my skin color that isn't as brown as you need it to be
is it in my eyebrows which aren't as bushy as per your requirements
is it in the way my tongue twists awkwardly as i say happy diwali
is it in the way amma is the most fluent piece of tamil i speak
is it in the way i didn't know how to recite the words at my grandpas funeral
is it in the way i cannot, for the life of me, name you another tamil movie besides chandramukhi?
or
is it in the religious classes i took up until age 12
is it in the ramayana epic that i learnt, age 8
is it in the sanskrit bhajans i was made to sing, not knowing what they meant, age 10
is it in knowing that ganesh is the remover of obstacles,
brahma, vishnu, shiva - the creator, the preserver, the destroyer
is it in the eyeliner drawing a bindi in between my eyes when i
head to the temple, to present myself as indian
where is my indian
is it on a checklist, is there a passing mark?
where is my indian
please tell me,
because i am tired of feeling like a foreigner in my own skin
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
the deeper
i search within
the contours of myself
to find the real me
i only see you
the mirror
i hold
to my face
projects your reflection
my heart beats
rapidly
the rhythm of its beat
chanting your name
you on the other hand
seem to enjoy your stroll
away from me,
oh vishnu maya - mistress of illusion
when true knowledge
dawns
you will experience the truth
only i pervade
every pore of yours
© 2019
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 1:03 PM UTC
warped,
weird,
whirling,
wonder-filled,
a garland of words
eulogized by occidental cosmologists today
to deify the milky way
for five millennia,
in clandestine chambers of
the temple of the lord with a lotus navel,
oriental sages, finely tuned into
ultimate mantras of the cosmos,
initiated ‘twice born’ namboodris of kerala
into a mellifluous sanskrit verse....
a potent heart melting hymn
where our star-studded galaxy,
milky in complexion,
is seen as a spinning jagged-edged discus,
worn as an ornamental ring
around vishnu’s slender index finger,
from whose whirling lotus navel
originate the birth of inseparable twins:
warped space intertwined with flowing time
now this is a garland of exquisite beauty!
© 2019
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 11:29 AM UTC
Corina Junghiatu is a bilingual poet/writer hailing from Romania. She holds a Master Degree in Philology and Phychopedagogy and likewise she graduated from The Faculty of Letters and Philosophy in Bucharest. She speaks five foreign languages.
Corina has written and publishing two books of poetry: „Exile in the light” and „The ritual of a Sunrise”. She is Administrator and Publication Coordinator of Motivational Strips, editor of "Bharath Vision" website, and Chief Advisor of World Nations Writers' Union Kazakhstan. Corina has won many awards from international institutions of repute, for poetry.
Recently, Corina Junghiatu, together with 350 poets and writers from 80 countries, received a certificate of appreciation for her entire literary activity, on the occasion of the 74th anniversary of the Independence Day of the Republic of India. This certificate was was handed by the famous writer Shiju H. Pallithazheth the Founder of Motivational Strips, World's Most Active Writers Forum and Padma Shree Dr. Vishnu Pandya, President of Gujarat Sahitya Akademy, a government institution of the state of Gujarat (India).
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
“We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.' I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.”
― J. Robert Oppenheimer
Father of the atomic bomb
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
I am a thousand hooded Cobra
The king of all poisonous snakes
I can dance beautifully
And I live in India
from times immemorial
I am totally different from
Other cobras in the world
Though my bite is venomous
People continue to worship me
Because I have got
The religious sanctity
I adorn Lord Shiva’s neck
And I am the couch for Lord Vishnu
Many people try to squeeze
My poison out of my teeth
And some rationalists tried to **** me
But they can not **** my race
I will grow at enormous pace
I will continue to **** the people
But they will continue to worship me
The politicians continue to pamper me
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 2:56 AM UTC
sweet waters with mint fragrant hints,
memories flood me,
"walking back in time"
he describes it
of my early days of discovery,
this voyage upon the poetry ship,
with me, mere stowaway,
unfit by compare,
sailed to lands unimaginable,
friendships seeded in words,
sprouted like a field of summer sunflowers,
water weeping, for joy so joyous,
the mastery of his words
elevates, levitates,
the ashes of sadness now dispossessed,
floating on the Ganges
the drumming of my dreams,
of treasures of golden words,
in lungs undiscovered, unspoken,
leads me back to you,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram
April 10, 2016
~~~
Jun 1, 2013
Balachandran
How I love to say your name,
Rolling waves over my tongue,
It is must be said out loud
Two or three times to feel its rhythm,
Two or three more just for the
Spiced pleasure it conveys.
Bala chan dran!
My name harsh, Germanic,
Like the Black Forest,
Where my ancestors dwelled,
Until a harsher people drove them away.
Balachandran!
Under the ground beneath the temple
Padmanabha Swamy,
A temple dedicated to
Vishnu,
In the state of
Kerala,
the original spice country.
South Western sea board of India,
where miracles never cease to happen,
A billion dollar treasure discovered.
A treasure of words and sounds,
A language musical, every word a poem
Of incroyable elegance.
I am so glad that you were not born in France.
Perhaps someday I will courage summon,
To spicy lands, explore, and even come to
Thiruvananthapuram.
For now, I must be satisfied with the
Poetical musicale program I attend,
When I say over and over again,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram!
Dedicated to K Balachandran
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
I fell short of matching all of the stars in space with the raindrops that made its way to Earth
Instead, I matched the stars in your eyes with the old pain's last breath and otherworldly love's first
The clouds have opened back up for business, booming thunder and zooming lightning
Somewhere there, the flash of your smile
The beat of your heart
The coolness of your waters that quench my thirst for you
It's natural to look at nature au naturale
Like Italians and Nigerians talking with hands as expressive as Deaf lovers relay romantic verses
Clear, nimble fingers that massage my soul within the cumulonimbus and nimbostratus
Fueling, flooding, fostering the gods' apparatus
You
The final form of unfinished paintings
Give birth to worthwhile wishful thinking
On my mind like taxes and teacher's lesson plans
A soft brush adjusting to the sky's new hues kissed like ones we've missed or knew
A masterpiece in pieces of Vishnu's vision for when he returns to look for Lakshmi
Hopefully time will not be Shiva to end this for me
How does it feel to be adored by Indra, when showers descend and drench the deepest ditches to force creation of drawbridges for those dire to cross your path again?
- Ifeanyi N. Okoro II © 2021
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 5:00 AM UTC
***
When you think
Maybe, we ~
Are
Forlorn
For the time-
Being cruel to us
In most heartwrenching
Wonderful impossible
Way
love, Love, _
Never was I yours
To come at your
Thresholds
Blushed a little bit
Over my sunlit cheeks
Holding in my hand
A Damascus Rose
For my beloved~
For you
A jazzy blues done
None plus no one
Gets the whole bush
Unless walking hand in hand
Through garden divine
Loving
Like
Icecold queen n' king
Siddharta within our seams
Yet, I turn in my dreams
And look straight
In those lovely
Flames
Portruding in me
Fireflies lit
For me
To you
Cosmos exists as a play
Of darkness through
Light
Hurting me
Again
No
More
~~~~~~
Please
~~~~~
For a begining
You gently touch
My wrist, holding
It with desire
And say
- Here
You
Are -
My twin~flame!!
A
Long
Awaited
Wonder
This Day Is
Magnetic
Grip
. . .
Unutterly
Unyeilding
Pulling me close within
Your chocolate
Emerald wisdom
Vishnu Inevitability
Embrace
Emitting radiance
Embraced for as long
As we need to please
The almighty & amazing laws
Of physics
Nodding
In approval of
.
.
.
Weeee-_-omens
***
= =
Woed by
Thunderous pounds
Blood in our veins
Burning like the
Ocean waves
Rhythmic pace
Dreamy foams as
Satin
Lace
Overwhelming Us
Courageous
Navigators of
Our starry midnights
Building the arch of
Invisibility
For the rest
of the
World
Our tent
Under satin~silk
Is heavens
A
Relationship
Beautifully
Playful
Extraordinaire
& Serene***
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
The Chosen One of the Gods
The gods have spoken, the stars align,
A chosen one shall rise in time.
With strength and will, with heart so true,
He walks the path the heavens drew.
Yahweh grants his guiding light,
A shield of faith, a soul so bright.
Through storms and trials, fierce and long,
He stands unshaken, bold and strong.
Shiva roars, the flames arise,
His wisdom burns within his eyes.
With cosmic dance and fearless might,
He bends the dark, he tames the night.
Brahma whispers, fate takes form,
Creation’s breath, the world reborn.
With sacred hands and endless lore,
He builds the realm forevermore.
Zeus sends thunder, Odin calls,
Anubis guards where shadows fall.
Vishnu watches, balance true,
Ra brings dawn in golden hue.
All the gods, both old and new,
Have blessed his path, have forged him through.
No chains can bind, no foe withstand,
For fate is written by divine hand.
He walks with fire, he walks with grace,
A destined king, time can’t erase.
For gods have willed, and stars have shown,
That he shall rise—his name well known.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 6:43 PM UTC
Forget the school children
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Or the 1,000,000 dead in Vietnam;
60,000 dead in Iraq;
30,000 and rising in Afghanistan.
How many by our proxies
in El Salvador, Nicaragua,
Guatemala, Chile?
Forget the millions dead
in nameless civil wars
or of preventable
poverty and disease
in various hell-holes
around the globe.
The rest of the world
may be sorry,
but not shocked:
they have come to know
the smiling murderers
we have become.
20 dead of madness
in Connecticut
and the US wallows
in drivel, kitsch,
hollow words,
self-pity, and
media frenzy.
A little arrogance here?
Oh, we love our kids,
(just no one else's),
so let's put black ribbons
on our cars
and call that enough.
Again, the culture
of selfishness, greed,
shallowness
and patriotic stupidity
rears its
predictable head.
No country that murders
the world's children
with a shrug
should be surprised
when that violence
turns inward.
"I am Vishnu
Destroyer of worlds
My name is Death"
You can't have it
both ways.
"We must love one another
or die."
mce
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:04 PM UTC
your cell phone vibrates like a pixie on a train.
smooth as a glass baby's
loose Blue Tooth
in Vaseline
you were miles away from my empty pail of rain
a watermark on the moon, maybe
you knew every
thing ?
maybe you do, maybe i'm drinking my lunch.
you amuse the air i breathe through my skin
like a pearl soothes an oyster
in a bed of nails
and spring.
your ******* are amazing.
you are vishnu at harrods. an airy gorgeous.
a gourd of palpable kiss.
you are the meaning of senseless joy
and the engines
of yes.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
Balachandran
How I love to say your name,
Rolling waves over my tongue,
It is must be said out loud
Two or three times to feel its rhythm,
Two or three more just for the
Spiced pleasure it conveys.
Bala chan dran!
My name harsh, Germanic,
Like the Black Forest,
Where my ancestors dwelled,
Until a harsher people drove them away.
Balachandran!
Under the ground beneath the temple
Padmanabha Swamy,
A temple dedicated to
Vishnu,
In the state of
Kerala,
the original spice country.
South Western sea board of India,
where miracles never cease to happen,
A billion dollar treasure discovered.
A treasure of words and sounds,
A language musical, every word a poem
Of incroyable elegance.
I am so glad that you were not born in France.
Perhaps someday I will courage summon,
To spicy lands, explore, and even come to
Thiruvananthapuram.
For now, I must be satisfied with the
Poetical musicale program I attend,
When I say over and over again,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram!
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
Kailasa mountain peaks
composed completely of clouds
hover mystically across the
mauve purple horizon
I stare dreamily out the car window
this celestial impression arouses
a sacred memory that has haunted
my consciousness
since I first alighted 12,000 feet above
sea level onto the blessed Himalayan
mountain range
I don’t think there is any place
like this on earth
glaciers hang like huge crystal malas
around majestic white bluffs
the air ripples, tingles tangibly with spirits of
Sages, Saints and other sublime beings
ethereal cathedral bells ring brightly
in the crisp altitude
The road climbing from Badrinath
to Vishnu’s auspicious Footprint
continues ascending
to the very threshold of Heaven
everything is just so luminous
even the breath filling our lungs
shimmers
As I travel back in time to that holy place
I know a part of me still sits in padmasana
aloft those Godly hills
through the melting snows
spring rains and summer monsoons
lost in supreme bliss
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC
you know the avatar of vishnu
sitting pretty,
pretty calm,
he sat there, lost his hair,
became a bald & fat idol in china
miles away from nepal...
became an idol with that famous waving cat
(maneki-neko): ola ola... hello to you too.
so the avatar of vishnu is sitting
peacfully pretty,
but this avatar of shiva ain't...
he's on a windowsill... head-banging while
the supposed meditation takes place...
he's on to it, the next vogue of mindfulness
and feminism... he's like: **** it...
let the zeppelins in, london on the fork fried,
give us bacon and other assumptions
of king above all beasts.
but at the bus stop i met four would-be ballerinas,
four lolitas nonetheless,
aiming for a party, went into the shop
were asked for i.d., but the look of them
no more than 15...
smoked my cigarette in the umbrella of
the bus shelter... true to feminism got *****
'can you buy me some vodka?'
i don't care about your lies, you don't
have to lie to me,
'but honest, i have a picture,
i'm over the age of consent! look!'
my moral compass is missing on this matter,
plus you're so petite one of your musketeers
gave you away, flesh that never grew to the bone...
'but please! we're going to a party! we can't
go empty handed!'
o.k.
took the 10 quid note and went in,
they wanted a medium sized bottle,
under 10 quid of ***** and 4 women?
no chance. put the note in my wallet
and bought them a 70cl bottle of *****
3 quid extra so they could, just, shut, up.
apparently there was no party when i handed
them the confidant compliment of uncle...
you know that bit where nietzshce criticised
socrates for engaging in dialectics to create
a rude society? i think not engaging with dialectics
creates rude societies... where children
are above and most opinionated...
and the elderly are below and exposed to sadism:
as england row row rows the boat for an iceberg
to thus sink.
yes, the four of them, happy enough
to be believed to have discovered the ********
and happy enough to have almost lost it.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
There’s a corner of my basement
I can see it from the couch
It’s a doorway of light
Opening to a stairwell
A light is on near my bed
It’s small
A phone perhaps
I have headphones on
So It’s hard to sleep comfortably
I like to nestle my head into the crook of my arm
I stare at a worn down drop-ceiling
Those two lights are on either side of my vision
I keep waiting
I keep rolling into the cracks
I’ve had to adjust the cushions far too many times
A smile
A warmth
My eyes
I don’t want to swallow
The jar is closed
Pandora’s box of light opened while I streamed blues on Pandora
And I see the lights go static
They bend into each other in the dark
I wave my fingers in front of my face
I’ve probably killed a few brain cells here
Definitely.
Sorry Mom
I was bored and rubber cement is only 3.97
I’m drunk on a cleanse from oxygen
I’m sure my nostrils will thank me later
My brain could use an adhesive
Flexibility would bond loose ends
And repair the divisiveness
I have my hands in everything
And I can’t remember the last time I stepped in dog ****
But a hand in phylogeny is a backhand to Baptists
A hand in salvation is a slap in the face to the Darwinists I love everyday
I have a toast!
To the moment the rapture brings about our extinction my friends!
At least everyone thinks I’m stupid.
Right in the middle of the room is the right place to be
A bullseye for stone chuckers and monkey *******
A hand out for the druggies
And a jab at the churches who aren’t doing anything
A round of applause for cruel irony
And a finger turned up in a creative way to everyone who’s laughing at the episode
Vishnu would have a hay day
And I could use the extra hands.
Jesus’s are tied- I mean nailed up at the moment
But when miracles don’t happen anymore
Go read first Samuel, and you’ll see all this **** went down before
And there’s another cycle
History repeats itself
In through the nose and out through your mouth
Just keep a nostril over the jar
And don’t die
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC