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Fahredin Shehu Apr 2012
Black
Empty cans
No liquid evaporated
In the air full of pride
Polluted grains of soul
Lost their consistency
Pure fluids of light
Erupts as marshmallow bombs
Death squad penetrates deeply
Aiming to meet Anubis
A Tsunami whirled its wish
Passion and glutton declared independence
The dream of becoming a parallel nation
To co-habit with leukemia of creativity
A *** drive 4×4 retired
A crippled veteran of passion
Bags for the mercy of soulless utilitarian army of human entity
Better said plankton a ****-plankton of miserable creatures
Even worms and larva are disgusted by our hatred
*****, a skunk of fear
An eclipse of love that spans for ages
From birth to death
A spectrum displays its ripeness
******* liberty as blast
A dazzling dance of shaped and amoeboid forms of manifestation
Truth
Bitter the honey with suffer
Powder a chamomile with royal jelly and ginseng
All of sudden a wind blows
Spores of the old pines
White
The soul of parallel nation of Angeloid
Is striving pleasure of life?
Lives now
Perpetually woofs a rainbow muslin with
the divine light
Inter-woofed dress
Newborn immaculate fellows
Perfuming
Oh those smell of paradise
Mint, Neroli, Oakmoss, Amber
A bouquet of divine pleasure
And Acacia kissed by a queen bee
Yes the queen of Enneagram
Of course
The work produces sweet essences
Oh Sarmouni of our Millennia
Melt the cataract-ic lance so they may see the beauty
Heal the flu so they may smell fresh ozone
A charged circle of light and love
Overwhelm
Remove the pulp from the reed
So may divine tune perform light?
Tao
May be your torchbearer
In the dark valley and by then you may
see a spectrum
That encircles an infant fear
For an eternal life
Yet I kiss that that time sequence
Where Jin and Jang harmoniously co-habit
I a Feng Shui of Love
Defragmenter of hate’s files
Zipper of dark matrixes
Arranger
So you may know they do exists
So you try them in order to enjoy the sweetness
of life’s honey
In this porcelain valley
Where goodness and mischief
Hand in hand are gliding furiously
Alas pure the morning with dew of love
Oxidize hate with apple vinegar
Sing to celebrate both solstices and have a cup of vine
That swoon you
That filters all starry
Cells of brain and ganglia
Perfume her navel with rosewater and kiss, kiss, kiss
Do a divine Tantra
With all visible and invisible and semi-visible spirits
Kiss topaz of her eyes
Kiss ruby of her heart
Kiss diamond of her nail
Kiss cooper of her feet ankle
Kiss jade of her bones
Kiss sapphire of her cells
And a flame-y waterfall of hair
And a silky *****…
Oh…kiss and kiss and kiss whatever belongs to her
Make her a necklace
With your purest and noblest spermatozoids
Then call her as you wish
Wisdom, Hikkmah, Sophia
Or simply Goddess that makes you Angeloid.
—-
Arabic for wisdom, we disregard language we are concentrated
on substance on quint essence
Greek for wisdom
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
Created June 1st, 2011

I am not gay.
I am not straight.
I am not curved,
or warped or woofed
I am bent, cylindrical,
a burnt human.

but not weak, nah!

tempered stronger than
furnaced scarred,
hard-stained steel,
a fire shaped child of El.

The sum of,
the product of,
the multiple divisions of:

my hard-on
experiential, existential
hand to hand
combat learning,
life's red copper burnishing,
and my very own
genetic, tantric
commanded tablets,
my natural earnings,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


obedient factotum to the
twists and turns of the
curve ***** and spitters
life pitches at my head,
that end up as
body blows.

multiple contusions outside
worn with pride inside,
I award myself a
medal of honor,
and elect myself,
Most Valuable Person,
an All Star of David,
for having survived
one more battle scarred
game day,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


when I awake,
in the raceway courses
of my veins,
the speedways to my
heart and brain,
runs the bitter herbs taste
of fear of how
I shall yet again,
earn this day,
my body's keep and shelter,
earn some table scraps of
peace of mind,
that I may lay
myself down to sleep
if ever so briefly,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


When I prowl the mid of night,
the fever of combat fear,
my skin sears,
and there is no narcotic
that anesthetizes
even surficial  
the anxiety,
the ailment of
melancholia
that hallmarks my soul,
the overflow of which
spills over the ****
of my vocabulary

So every new day
is a new year,
and I start the diet
of my soul
yet again

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


Once I was a soldier
who wore the
black and white stripes
of the uniform that stretches
to the four corners
of the world.

I used to sway to the R&B;
of someone else's tunes,
prostrate fell to my knees
speaking someone
else's words,
touched my forehead
to the ground.

but the melancholia that
sterling hallmarks my soul
never disappeared and
renewal was a gift
denied and refuted,
by the lack of clarity
to which I was not
part and parcel

and l guess I am just like
{you, man}


Took a new oath,
swore allegiance
to the alliance of
I don't give a ****
and acceptance of
the infection of
flawed humanity
inside of me
lies buried in the
permafrost of my mind,

So every new day
is a new year,
and I start the diet
of my soul,
yet again

The first new words
daily uttered,
chanted with vehemence
of an out loud prayer
to no one but we two,
me and you, man,
unashamedly clear and enunciated
not mumbled,
not muttered,
seven parts blessing,
three parts curse,
are these words.

l guess,
I am just like
{you, man}


Found and founded a brotherhood of me and
{you, man},
one mantra,
you and I are just alike,
now we have a new
holy romantic empire,
we are human
{you, man}
slaves to
nothing,
no one
but each other.
How I used to write...when I was....
Monk tinks tonight
fine glasses clink
convivial banter
bubble pop blink

in breathing rooms
bit woofed and stirred
the smoke mint sound
we dare exhale

Monk swings about
a bell do ding
the huey blues
bird bops on wings

hips juicy moves
rubby mounds wet ****
slow drum rolls blow
dance steady bump

Monk rocks the house
the clock do tick
me feets be tappin
gonna busta trick

key ******* bounce
mouths all agape
we gettin down
like crazy apes

Monk’s muzik rides
a sonorous beam
levitatin hipsters
to places unseen

gosh groovy tunes
a **** good gig
we all stoked up
Monk we do dig  

Monk played alright
some swingin tunes
Happy B Day Monk
you over the moon

Thelonious Monk
(October 10, 1917 - February 17, 1982)

Thelonious Monk
with John Coltrane
Trinkle ******


10/9/13
Suffern
jbm
Mary Rosen Jun 2012
My boss always tells me to tuck in my shirt, but I have never listened until now. I never realized how wonderful it would be before I tried it. Now I know, and ask myself why I don’t do this more often! But I won’t tell my boss, because he’ll get fat about it. Yes, he’ll just get really fat. Does that really happen?

Today I learned that it’s always raining, we just can’t always see it. Or feel it. But if you’ve ever wondered what those little flickering things in your vision are, those are rain that we don’t notice very often. It’s even raining under the ground, so we can never escape. In fact, it’s ESPECIALLY raining under ground.

For some reason, even though I’m moving my legs really fast, I can only go slowly. It’s like I’m stepping through molasses. And everybody is impatient, and tapping their feet, but I just can’t move any faster. I’m stuck. And they want me to do something but it’s all in Russian, and I don’t understand. I’m not familiar with their ways. And why are they all on toilets?

God. It’s SO MUCH garlic. I cannot eat all this garlic. It’s mounds and mounds, and I could never finish it. Like, I’d just sneak it into my pants and shirt, but then I’d smell like it for months, and have to take a vinegar bath. I’m so embarrassed. God, I am not eating all this. Why do they keep giving me more? Don’t they understand? I want NO MORE GARLIC. I even made a sign that has a picture of them not giving me more. Clearly I wasted my time.

I am not mad, but I’m annoyed with a hyena. It put my left sock all over its mouth and got saliva and mouth on it, and now my left foot is on strike. I didn’t even know foots could do that, but they can and it’s annoying. A lot more makes sense now. Maybe it’s a part of growing up.

I got a school assignment to measure how many broccolis wide my **** is. I think that’s ****** harassment, and I told my parents, and they said if it is, it will help me build character. I’m mad at them for that, and for replacing my school bag with an eye clinic bag. As if I need an eye clinic bag.

Apparently, I’ve reached a point in life where I get to choose a life upgrade. I have a lot of choices. I can either levitate things, but only small things like chocolates, or I can talk to any animal including humans, or I can order the world’s finest cheeses. I feel very indecisive, so I’m not choosing any. I’ll regret this.

In the shower today, there was a bottle that said, “eat me” or “try me” or something, and I poured some into my hand to put it in my hair. But then, centipedes came out and I tried to scream, but all I could do was woof. Then all of a sudden, I was in front of a fat lady with a bun, who kept yelling and calling me Veronica Laugh, and then I realized that was my name.

A UPS guy came to my door to deliver the cheeses I ordered, but he just gave me a chia pet. And I told him I didn’t order one, but he just kept laughing and getting undressed. I didn’t like that, so I tried to yell stop, but I only woofed. He told me that was a terrible joke, and I shouldn’t do that. I didn't stop because I was scared. Now I have to be in purgatory, plus I get my pants revoked.

As it turns out, I have an ecleptic 4, which means my fingers on one hand are turning into sausage-like intestine looking things. I have a hospital bed with a gross looking teddy bear and a ringer I can pull if I want more morphine. My dad came in and told me this whole thing is my fault for holding in my ***.

There are clouds right out my window that I can ride! I always thought clouds weren’t solid, so you can’t ride them, but actually that’s just a myth. You can sit on them and jump on them and even eat them, but they taste like cotton. I tried to bring one home for my sister, but I dropped it on the ground and it got dirt on it and now it’s ruined. Dirt never comes out, even with oxy clean.
Literally, dreams I've had before.

— The End —