"westerners" poems
I want to ask you what you know about yourself?
is it true that God doesn't know how he came about?
he claims he was always here
having no memory prior to his own existence
just like me
perhaps he has no memory at all
a Buddhist or Hindu
will tell you God only lives
in the ever-present now
a self-effulgent light that emanates from a great darkness
from a black mother,
she a vast formless womb
that takes up no space
who we westerners dare never speak of
the patriarchs may tell us
a truth that is a violation of the sacred
is a god a spoke of light deep within her?
archetypes,
**** and **** in love and war
like you and me
a perpetual delicious copulation casting the third eye
during an argument
In the beginning, there was primeval darkness
and she gave birth to light
and he is always everywhere within her
in ecstatic ******
like cherries in flames
their juices boiling oceans
all hot licks and *** soaked *****
a black sulfurous wave and a floating white swan
a howling crime and the remedy
a never-ending paradox
hissing snakes in love
a marriage of heaven and hell
a burdened breath
like a golden city under attack
in tuleries
of blood and glittering fruit
so i ask you what do you know about yourself?
living in this micro dream machine
like god
a creation that creates
by deeds
as trees that weave
and
rot to grieve
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
Do you see what I see?
Do you see the children in the streets?
Living on the streets
With no father or mother?
Do you see what I see?
Do you see the poverty and hunger and illness
Rampant
And the people, not Westerners, but the fellow countrymen
And women
In India and Congo and Uganda and Afghanistan
That work to put an end
To the injustice
Do you see the what I see?
The world
With glimpses of its entirety
Beyond the shallow bubble of existence
In a land of milk and honey and comfort
That hides its own injustices
In a closet where nobody wants to look
And everyone knows of
But almost everyone ignores
And in amongst that hypocrisy
Do you see the people
Speaking out
And fighting for you to see
What they see
Do you see the people
Reaching out to those in need
In their families and their communities
Out of compassion
People who understand
Really understand
What it is to love
Because they choose love
In the face of apathy
Ignorance
Materialism
and Individualism
That is what I see
When I look outside my window
Is this what you see?
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
For the first time ever; I truly do not care
if you, him, or her wished me a happy birthday;
But, I wouldn’t mind if you did. Though it is fair;
I am one of the lesser friends; I am a boring play;
A play so fake; I am of made up characters,
Sometimes I am the flattering villain in smiles,
And at times I am a copy of the Westerners,
At others, I am gullible, yet I never am;
I pretend to be; but I am miles away,
For interesting I am not; so funny at least be,
Says my brain; for maybe they will remember,
That my birthday was today; It is an endless plea:
I always remember and prepare pages of wishes,
For almost everyone, but all I get is 4 days late
One liners sent out of guilt; to stop the guilty itches,
Not out of care, love, or from genuine friendly state;
I deserve it; for again; I am merely a boring play;
A paradoxical headache of weird introverts,
And annoying extroverts; I barely even weigh,
To a normal person; I am made of endless alerts;
Alerted, focused, attentive; all on your acceptance;
I am what I feel you want me to be; a nice man,
A racist gangster, a diplomatic figure; I am resemblance,
I resemble everything I see in you and scan;
I am stardust that was never meant to shine,
I am a thread; intertwined as I feel pleases,
I am a road with temporary signs; I am grapes;
For you I squeeze myself into juice; or ferment
Into wine; I am a fake play where you write scripts,
I submit, because all I cared about is receiving,
A birthday wish. On that one day in the entire year;
I do not want even want gifts; because when you don't,
I feel like I am ceasing to exist; slowly deceasing
from everything that we were: teenagers ambitious,
WhatsApp stickers collectors, School runaways,
Kids deceiving; it feels like I am dead; for the dead
Do not receive birthday wishes; I feel peerless;
A white beans *** lidless, a body complete limbless,
A walking sickness, a moving flesh in stillness,
unpardoned by my faux and obvious silliness.
I do not care about not getting birthday wishes;
But I cannot not overthink what it means.
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 4:25 PM UTC
I can see them
Dancing in their fancy clothes
On the amputated arms and legs
That built their country
An unimaginable pain
Impossible to understand
By someone like me
The rich and prosperous
The westerners and the UN
With the help of media
Publish propaganda which we –
Arrogant and naïve –
Believe
And think our government is honest
Purely because it’s stable
And most won’t even be able
To locate Sierra Leone
Or Rwanda
In the index of an atlas
And this stupidity of
The age of unnecessity
And overflow of emotionless objects
Slowly kills me
And one finger after another
I feel those masters of the third world
Hack and saw them off
But they’ll never get my spirit
And my heart
And these words will resound:
Down with lies and hatred
Down with money and policy
Down with exploitation and death
Now feel my love reach out to you
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 9:22 AM UTC
Godless men wearing back
sit within blistering sun.
As they carrying their sacred book
soaked in an evil not from any GOD.
And they some how get
**** **** ****
**** for God.
As they ironically tell the
world that it is
blaspheming.
Come and join us
or be buried alive.
Yes come and join us
Let us brutalize and castrate
your daughter your child.
And give your son a gun while
we go cut of some heads.
As we rip out your heart
with blood and violence.
And ask you to spit on all
love and humanity.
As you stand within your shaking bodies
you look into the eyes of your
wife and only see terror in
her heart.
You know that you must
RUN
Thousands of you are swept
like the dirt into the sea.
Mothers and Fathers crying as
children are lost and drowning.
Someones baby washed up like
drift wood or a log.
Cut all with razor wire
climbing caged out fences.
As a heart cry's I only want a
new family home I will polish
your shoes wash all your loos.
Please they scream we are only
human
Sorry I don't think anyone
is listening.
Westerners wake up lounging
on their sofa belly's spilling
over their trouser.
Stomachs extended inflated
from just a little to much
extra seconds.
Looking on disconnected
at those who traveled risked
their lives even walked
a thousand miles.
And some how spill out with
their lager down their cheek
thieves ****** and
lazy freeloaders.
And those who succeed to
find a new home some how
elegantly find a dignity
in being unwanted.
And those who failed their
perilous path trust in God
has left them homeless
As they find the west
also Godless.
As we with a cool glare tell
them go back to your guns
bombs your not welcome
here.
Stone face matter of fact
immigration explained
take your children back.
As we try to through them
back like babies into a dog
or snake pit.
SHAME ON US
for this frosty reception
and cloudy perception
I hold out hope for a
better conclusion.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
i'll let you on a little secret... spaniards are gigolos to the slavs... cheap-shit, chinese rolex beauties, which is why the english are prone to vacate there: oiling up to get a quicker suntan than an essex lass turning orange-brown in the space of a weekend's session at a u.v. parlour.
westerners define western slav as cleaner material,
if not simply the plumbers and electricians,
got a blocked toilet? get a pole
to unblock it. but you see... the thing is...
the slavs see the spaniards as
euro-trash... cheap-shit-cancerous-suntan...
spaniards are cheap **** to the slavs...
western european nations (excluding
the germans) invokes a sense of self-worth
that, like a tapeworm feeds of the slavs migrating
without colonising... when the western
powers migrated and colonised,
never really preparing themselves for jihadis,
st. john the decapitating tyrant spoke to st. george's
dragon with a cockney accent:
oi bruv bruv up up mate! score us an eight's worth
of 20 quid!
so while the high tier of europe speaking deutsche anglican
rather than deutsche swiss keep time and
penny flip: carnal heterosexual or just plain ****
the slavs mock the same tier with a choice
of holiday resorts exploited... next to the fake suntan...
because spaniards are like albanians for the slavs...
oiled up cheap-shit material for even cheaper literature
of the handsome, blue eyed, dark haired (well oiled)
stranger... selling pomegranates... that a fair maiden
might succumb to... selling her virginity the fiftieth time.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
this time in Vienna
in my little nation's capital
a young Muslim still in search of himself
believes he has a mission
to **** as many infidels as possible
to avenge insults to Mohamed
and Allah by all those secular Westerners
armed with attack rifle handgun & machete
he shoots his way through the Vienna party mile
not knowing whom he attacks
killing four wounding twenty-three
driven by his duty to defend Allah
never questioning why the Almighty would ever need
to have his infinite greatness defended
by a confused youngster's shooting of innocents
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 4:37 AM UTC
Shoes of all colours and sizes
Shuffle by my N-A Middle Class House.
We are temperate, they walk in all seasons,
Down here, between the Great Lakes.
These S-Westerners look haggard;
Even the young...
All waiting... waiting for the veil to lift.
Smiles are cracking, making new lines
Like road maps to happiness.
And yet, it's worse
In Talibexas, Loseiana and Floridistan,
Where there are fewer paths.
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 8:37 AM UTC
Once upon a time, a long , long time to come
A man invented 'vacuum drain'. Yes, that's it's name.
It pumped out fat. Human fat. Fancy that!
He hoped to make a fortune slimming us
It oozed out ****
That poured in vats, all sorts of fats;
Brown and viscous, white and lardy,
He worked so hard he
Didn't think things through.
The vats just grew.
And then he knew what he could do!
He'd sell it on! He'd make a bomb!
It worked a treat
The excess meat
Could feed a nation
A neat equation!
Fat westerners just couldn't wait
To line up and donate.
They even paid its fare
To take it anywhere
But on their bones
So..... Lean and svelte and handsome
They gave it all....and some
To feed the poor and dig into their land.
The idea was so grand
That it caught on
And all around the world the fat was shifting.
So many westerners were gifting
That share prices took a drop.
First slimming world went bust
And all the diet companies shut up shop.
Cheap labour went back home to families big and hearty
Who probably had a party
To celebrate their luck.
But.. Oh dear me!
The poor economy!
A tax was levied on the draining oil
To try and spoil
The benefits of losing weight
The media filled its screens with chubby faces
Fat people now appeared in all important places
But still the people shrank
To be quite frank
They had to sell the fat
to pay the vat.
Fat cats ( now thin) jumped in to run the racket
They hoped to make a packet,
But now the tide began to turn
The fat was used to burn
As fuel. The oil wells closed, the mines shut down
And people learned to burn their own fat too
No middle men, no ads campaigns, no V.A.T.
Just drainage after tea.
So little waste (waist)
(Spell it as you like, it's all the same)
.......now play the game
And carry on this fantasy
Where could it end?
If you have more, just add it on, my friend.....
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
.and you never drink it as a mixer... between two shots, a sip of a chaser to, ready the palette for two more shots, and a sip of yet another chaser.
i've said this before, and i'll say it again...
Westerners don't know
how to drink ***** properly...
not a ******* clue...
listen... ***** isn't whiskey...
or cognac... you seriously can't
drink ***** at room temperature...
every time i ordered a *****
shot at a nightclub...
am i drinking puke, or something?
you only drink *****
when it has the consistency akin
to gomme syrup...
that thickly seemingly sickly
sweet look to it...
you need to shove it into
a refrigerator for at least 2 hours
before drinking it...
the cold takes the edge away,
that regurgitation bite to it...
plus... alcohol...
a lower boiling point...
means that... a lower freezing point...
roughly +/-30°C...
but who will listen...
Westerners don't know how
to drink *****
can you blame them?
i can't.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
Some went West
and others went East.
The ones in between
found they liked South the least.
The traitorous winds
carried news from the mouth
of a stranger who wandered
the dreaded South.
They said:
"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."
Those of the West,
those of the East,
and the Northern inbetweeners
listened with incredulity.
But the Southerner just repeats:
"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."
"If we fight not for glory,
then why fight at all?
War is a necessary evil!"
Those Westerners say, how uncivil.
"Peace cannot yield
without sacrifice.
Someone always has to lose their life!"
Easterners cry full of strife.
"Freedoms are protected
if you follow the rules.
Speech must be regulated, calm, and cool."
Said from those under Northern rule.
But the Southerner repeats like a record loop:
"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."
Then the wind finally stopped
spreading its message.
But the lofty seeds that traveled with the wind,
planted themselves in places they've never been.
And they started to grow into something more.
Freedoms and rules.
Peace and sacrifice.
Glory and War.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
Premonition comes
Like speedy lights
In the monitor of half-closed sphere.
Clear image of you registered
Out of nowhere,
Must be a dream, an omen.
I sat for a time to dinner with the PC
Hours to buzz the alien tongue on the floor
Where each post harbors the dagger of its original
form
Praise heavens the Pacific’s enormity half shielded
us.
A thought of you is a welcomed thought to begin
Before the phoned guests blurt their rants.
A moment to play the music of the keyboard,
A minute to cast the secret codes again,
Another chance to bask in the monitor lights.
But why did the PC did not wink back to flash?
And the why the codes only I know denied?
The monitor only gave a sleepy stare
Peered and scowled to the codes,
Nullified the words two of us known.
I had to call help, the Westerners needed to come
Dialed the numerals for assistance
Then there came you are.
Clear as the apparition was.
Bless the divine,
The vision turned to be a wish
They gave flesh for me.
I offered you my throne as you tapped the keyboard
To serenade the computer who has forgotten me.
Marvelous hands are they,
The moody PC widely opened its eyes to flash its
lights
Onto you and onto me.
Now recognizing me as before and the words we
shared for months.
I thank you.
I tell you again you’re marvelous,
For knowing as well the codes
That my own lock on the chest unbolts.
But why then open it up
If in the days that came
You closed up your own eyes from me.
Mr. IT
I have to lock myself again
Thanks for reminding me.
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 2:54 PM UTC
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Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
This far divided land
Where the rice grows free
Has always had corrupt men
Stopping their life's dreams
It's in their veins
It's not that easy
To make it flow on out
For a thousand years
The same has been
Even when a million men
Wearing blue denim jeans
Came marching in
To change our ways
It's not what this is all about
While the people we trust
Pop out of man-made holes
And look like they've been
Tunnelling like moles
Where the enemy lines
Have stood for a thousand years
During the day
We're all so polite
But in the night
We all have to go and fight
The un-invited western men
Always seem to lose sight
Their communist fears
Were ingrained in their mothers womb
And will always end in tears
Where the streets smell of Pho
As you pass on by
And if looks could ****
If you dare to say hi
The aromatic love incense
Wafts in the fog filled air
Where the market crowds come
And traders buy and sell
The lonely planet guides
Write of this unusual smell
The local giggles should tell you
That you don't really belong there
So goodbye Hanoi
This time we can't ignore the flack
I'm going home
And I ain't ever coming back
My wife is waiting
To mend me back in one piece
We've had that awful feeling
Since it all became so fierce
I want to head home so bad
Now they've invaded our embassy
When they don't want our help for a truce
And it doesn't bring the change
That the westerners wanted to produce
So just leave it in the hands of ones own chosen destiny.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 5:33 PM UTC
The supreme leader and overlord,
To his people, he is GOD!
He declares, and it comes to pass,
His nation worships him and westerners call him an ***
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
Shoes of all colours and sizes
Shuffle by my North American Middle Class House.
We are temperate, they walk in all seasons,
Down here, between the Great Lakes.
These S-Westerners look haggard;
Even the young...
All waiting... waiting for the veil to lift.
Smiles are cracking, making new lines
Like road maps to happiness.
And yet, it's worse
In Talibexas, Loseiana and Floridistan,
Where there are fewer paths.
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 8:54 AM UTC
There is a baby who is crying
like a lion caught in barbed wire
and he turns to me
and now he looks like
a cub who has just been snatched
The tour guide father shows the westerners Kaitak
to distract them from the fact
that his baby is roaring
he tells them to wear their seat belts
or there will be a 5000 dollar fine
I wonder if its just that he doesn’t want to
be held accountable for
if the driver flips
and we flip too
We’d be upside-down
sailing through the air
on a roller coaster loop
with no track there
and the baby would cry
The radio would play it’s canto-pop songs
The lady next to me with the beautiful smile would scream
The man with the purple glasses would be wearing purple glasses no more
My laptop would fly
Considering my luck
I’d probably take my last breath then quickly die
and how nice it would be to fly
just before I slept
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
By Jennifersoter Ezewi
Searched all over the globe
By his curious brethren
Who craves for a trace
On the minute of a sign or symbol.
Coast to coast has he sojourned
In search of this settlement
That baffles all.
Yet so symbolic to be identified.
What prompted the African search
Brought a bloodline to Nigeria
To view the striking identification
Their brother left behind as an easterner.
This mysterious remembrance has
Launched a helping hand to the present
Generation, intending to wipe the tears
Of a populace who hails from the east.
Having found the tribes of Gad emerges
A reunion of East and these westerners
Who vowed to find a brother whose position
Is the seventh in Jacob's court.
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 8:38 AM UTC
Shall her heroes labour go in vain?
There she lies again,growing older. Her mates are growing with bounty development but vast hope still lies in the thought of her children.
She is green and white; what a beauty! She has oil to her disposal, agricultural products within her reach or should we talk about coal and steel or the erstwhile minerals in her disposition. What a wealth!
She once rose in 70s, her currency going in a duel with dollar; a naira for a dollar. What a currency!
She rode all through that era among her Negroid family, her Congoid peers were admiring her stardom, the western was dismayed by her rise.
And she had heroes; her brave children. These children had fought her freedom from the westerners and started a revolution but there it was; she had bad kids; one who haunted her despite being their mother.
Her bad kids defied others of power, stole our mother's wealth and still oppressed their brothers and sisters with their stolen. Even went further in manipulating their siblings brains with cooked lies so as to get power and steal their mother's wealth and still opress their siblings.
Also, she had crazy kids; they believed in her downfall so they attacked her children (their siblings) for their selfish and unbelievable wants.
Mother Nigeria is getting weak day by day, some children wants to help but the brainwashed and bad siblings won't allow. Some children are joining the "train of destruction" of their mother because they don't to be on a losing side and feels it's a normal act.
Her heroes (children who fought for her) are going in vain, day by day, she is dying slowly by the activities of her children. No one wants to start a revolution because of those in poor.
The giant of Africa is gradually becoming timid and her tag being questioned.
And there her children has feud over their races and religion and bitterness grown over them.
What would happen to mother Nigeria while some of her children only have hope filled in her while others have ran away for shelter from other mothers.
Shall the giant of Africa rise again, shall her heroes labour go in vain, would her children unite in peace and make her great?
Only time and God can tell.
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 5:11 PM UTC
it really is an actual word, it's translatable as something
between nudist, and a man walking with his
torso showing...
there's a lot of idiosyncrasy involved -
etymology serves thus:
nagi - which has a male pronoun
differentiation -
the female counterpart?
naga.
Nagasaki?
toot p'ah... a french
variation into making a frown: hą hą hą.....
że sł'i!
so... the word of vector imbeciles...
nygus....
there's real geopolitik involved....
real places, real people... isolated people...
which probably experienced the wrath of
the wehrmacht and the soviets....
real people, real places...
hence the idiosyncrasy....
linguistics aside,
much more fun than talking about chimps,
in all earnest honesty...
chimps? chimps?!
only fools and broken branches?
by now i'm starting to think:
(i'm drunk, so) :
what the **** are you on about?!
i sense no use of l.s.d. - so... what the ****
i don't get them, those bewildered westerners...
they didn't see the second coming in 1945
with the unearthing of the nag hammadi library?
o right... the word in question: nygus...
nygus -
**** knows where that came from...
probably siberia, but even that is uncertain...
it could actually mean a half clad man...
a man exposing his torso....
nygus.... nagi...
(male)....
naga
(female)...
it's actually quiet fun watching western civilisation rot
in the linguistic hell-hole it's at...
i.e. how pronouns don't translate
or simply aren't incorporated into other
grammatical categorisations...
so... as a pole, if i had to resurrect myself,
would i place the genesis at auschwitz...
or at marienburg?
never mind the question, the word nygus still bothers
me... it's specific to a geopolitical locality,
it is locality, per se....
it has no basic meaning in
the location i now occupy...
and it has no direct confrontation
with being applied for a desirable purpose...
what i'm seeing in discussion these days
is akin to the seperation of church from state...
but on a more abstract canvas:
subject from object... which really is covert
for attaché:
and that's what it will always be, should the feat be
given a historical allowance of a century's worth of dispute.
it was clear in the first place:
church and state...
|
the vatican as a church-state;
but those are "real" bodies, in that they are
diplomatic, and therefore bureaucratic...
this next divorce? i.e. the subject from the object?
my intestines have no knowledge of my brain,
and my brain has no knowledge of my pancreas...
i do think the state segregating itself from
the church was a decent checkmate....
but enforcing this objective positivism...
i.e. ****** subjectivity?
the divorce is going to be as violent
as that in the historical framework of
the seperation of church from state;
although "less" violent,
in that: more suicidal among the young.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
My first impressions were mind expanding,
filled with crushing throngs of busy people
all moving, their clamor and noise unrelenting.
The enduring, evocative scents and smells of
a culture thousands of years old and thriving.
The wide mud brown life's blood Ganges
River flowing through the heart of the city,
filled with wooden crafts of all descriptions,
people on the banks bathing, washing clothes,
living, open funeral pyres burning, life and
death laid bare for all eyes to see as it has been
since Time Immemorial.
On the street's flowers and music in abundance,
women in colorful, to drab Sari dresses denoting
their stature, along with some men in western attire
but most in sarongs and open toed sandals. While
walking the streets every few blocks the at first
shocking sight of impoverished recently deceased
bodies laid out on the sidewalks upon straw mats,
swaddled in cloth wrappings awaiting donation
offerings enough to pay for their funeral fires.
Unaccustomed to seeing Westerners the people pause
and stare as if we were from outer space visitors, if we
stopped moving, unthreateningly and wide eyed they
would surround us, perhaps unsure what they are seeing.
A mutually curious encounter, Humanity visited up
close and personal. Aw yes, I fondly remember India.
Nov 14, 2022
Nov 14, 2022 at 7:30 PM UTC
All my feeling had been shoved in the ground ,
all though then i could not taste a hint of love to be found.
Birds and bees , figs and berries ,
Shepherds and lambs ,
Eating what is fed to them from palms of westerners hands..
Some will be articulate in representing their fam ,
Others get disrespected tryna survive amongst man..
If life was like the sea i would be floating with ease ,
when your figure heads a puppet mason highest degree..
I wish to hold the Sun so i can no longer see -
this evil that protrudes and eats the soul out of me...
Funny how we judge or kin as if our flaws were never there.
America will step on you as if you weren't there.
This way of shiest is in our blood as if we never cared ,
Hyenas deep they jump the lions life was never fair..
Feds progress and death will meet in the middle
like how the bow touches the string when you be playin the fiddle.
Or maybe how your faces touch when you be locking your lips.
I hope Mj up in heaven screaming rockin his hips.
I hope Martin luther is speakin bout dreams that he lived ,
Ideas of peace cannot sustain the the change from pain that we give..
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
The greatest fear
Most westerners hold
Is losing their conveniences
But missing art
And its grace unfold
Gets my trepid allegiances
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC