"zee" poems
only an idiot like me, the rain poured down, my socks were wetted, and i looked at the pavement for glory, instead i found a £10 note and imagined my right shoe on my left leg, and my left shoe on my right leg... just to prove the luck.
it came from listening to rotting christ's kata
ton daimona...
i wrote the poem on two tesco receipts
numbering them no. 1 - .4,
it made sense to just give it a narrative...
the naturally apparent lisp of greek is due to...
lies between theta (θ) and phi (φ)...
check feta cheese... it might be less morbidly fermented...
that's why the greeks have a natural lisp...
it's theta and it's phi...
in english it's like chinese.... w & r...
something's rolling something's waving,
something's trigonometric...
harrison fowd was almost jonathan woss if i care...
the chinese in english debate with chin-chin-wanker
scissors piece of paper stone good luck on the handshake:
lost the price of interest being gained for excavation
purposes of dinosaur bones and inflation via the
ptertodactyl of the extended mohawk shave...
english dicionary makes me confused...
it places theta alongside the, than... but then
it's therapy... thermometer...
too many unique examples i'd have said...
that's the lisp there... sidelined phew and engaged in phew
in byzantine...
english linguistics is filled with too many "unique" examples
of expression... coupled with the celebrity culture...
i farted and a person took hold of a *** squeeze...
how's that?! english language in summary?
pleasing on the eye... but the spelling? a burden on the tongue.
i know that slavic linguistics would make enlgish that's written
ugly...
it wouldn't be pharmacology but farmacology...
then it made sense, i stopped asking the english dicta
written down, the greek θ wasn't a couple of th & etc...
a few athenains in death metal said it like i said it... the 2nd f...
it was απηθανoν - because it was simply athens - fern fence...
and not d... defence, or anything easily acquired as a prescription
of zee wee point of german scottish.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
/ although i'd love to go back to the cinema of, bell, book & candle from the 1950s in early technicolour... can i? don't think so... trapped the rekindled narrative of myth... i wish i could, do the supra-capitalist, drunk at 5 in the afternoon, and still pulling the strings... early nostalgia of what was late nostalgia of what was 19th century german concerning ancient greece... i chose 17th century france... because? because... why could it ever be england as primo optio?! am i either that daft, or as much stiff for waiting for eddie zee theerd?! well? well done, you guessed my thinking: write a fictive narrative, it'll last longer, like a photograph.
immigrant song, led zeppelin -
probably the only grand theatre
plus,
of thor: rangarok;
i still don't know where those
M16s came from...
and?
given they used
a led zeppelin's song?
i honestly, don't want to know.
i was honestly going to favour
a black sabbath oeuvre,
using only solitude
by the witches' congregation
ask, aspect,
or subsequent, marketing ponce
scheme.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:50 AM UTC
Zinging the zen-zone I was in
A zany request zig-zagged my way.
Princess Zinnia from the Zuider-Zee
Required a zippy line or two
To paint the zeitgeist of our times.
With the strength of a Zamboni-
With the power of a Zeus-
And an uncommon zeal I set out
To zap the doubt that slowed me.
With the flair of a Florenz Ziegfeld
And his zoftig choir of beauties,
I morphed into a zealot
Gamboling in the zephyrs
That wafted in from Zurich and Zaire,
Not to mention Zanzibar.
I felt like a Zacharias
When my zealous work went bust.
The writing turned into a zonk-
The accolades were zilch.
I felt like I’d been zippered up
Like a zebra in a zoo.
I lost my zest for going on
And slopped around in old Zoris,
Listening to zydeco’s beat
And feeling like a zit.
But then the Zodiac-
My zinging-singing sign
Came to my rescue
And I was marching off to Zion.
I was one wowie-zowie-zucchini
As I zipped across the pages
And zoomed from one idea
To an even zippier one.
So here, Sunprincess, is your verse
I’ve used up every letter zee
And gone from very bad to worse
But of this challenge, I am free.
ljm
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
You'll eat meat
And love a bacon sarnie
When you're ******
You'll smash a biryani
But when it comes to
Chopped pork, rinds and ham
No one wants to eat spam
In the Great War
We survived on rations
And beat zee Germans
With ******* passion
The lads didn't complain
About what they had to eat
Whether it was a le carte
Or mashed-up meat
But these days
That's not your jam
And no one wants to eat spam
It's great in a fry up
And ******* lovely in a butty
Get the kettle on
And get comfy
And enjoy
A cup of ******* tea
And eat your spam
Perfect with ketchup or HP
And don't complain
That it ain't real meat
Just get it in your gob
And enjoy this tasty treat
But most of you
Are to blame
And like the majority
Don't think it's the same
You're into avocados
Poached eggs and all that
And can't stand the thought
Of a chopped pig in a can
When you were young
You should've listened to your nan
Now it's a ******* shame
No one wants to eat spam
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
Thank you Shaun,
for the pictures and flowers.
Thank you Lily,
for the ray of sunlight.
Thank you Bry,
for psychopathic measure.
Thank you D,
for the feeling of good pleasure.
Thank you Tay,
for tea and bears.
Thank you Meg,
for Sherlock and apples.
Thank you Zee,
for robots and twins.
Thank you Carrie,
for fangirling and friendship.
Thank you Liam,
for support and superheroes.
Thank you Paul,
for understanding and ingenious.
Thank you Ceryen,
for fake names and shared tears.
Thank you Chiara,
for Italian cheese and fanfics.
Thank you Rod,
for fish and evil.
Thank you Lia,
for kitties and souls.
Thank you Stephen,
for gravestones and vegetables.
Thank you Christine,
for mercurial and poetical love.
Thank you Caitlin,
for product design and Poundland.
Thank you Jordan,
for weddings and Brenda.
Thank you Conaill,
for DT and Courbet.
Thank you Brendan,
for axes and aunts.
Thank you Tom,
for form time and Brittany.
Thank you George,
for philosophies and pigeons.
Thank you Morgan,
for video games and hearing.
Thank you Alice,
for Pokemon and tumblr.
Thank you Aliyah,
for hearing aids and help.
Thank you all,
for reading and listening.
Thank you, me,
for absolutely nothing.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Do you remember when we walked
into the sea
and on the sand ?
Do you remember
Liza with a Zee
as if she was here only yesterday?
And the people
in the ports of Amsterdam?
You loved them as I did,
As if they were flowers
someone had forgotten to water.
The moments with you
were the moments in my life
I could scarcely forget
even if I tried to shove them
into some dusty hideaway corner.
How many times have I remembered,
after forgetting for so long?
As the wind would blow and stop,
and blow again some day.
And do you remember
the seabird overhead,
trying to tell us
something about life.
With his voice full of anguish
and loneliness-longing …
flying high,
flying into realms of seagull joy.
Inviting us to join in heart
as we watch from far below.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
Hey, I'm not a lumberjack, or a fur trader there's only one pelt I'm interested in....
I don't live in an igloo or eat blubber, or own a dogsled Global warming has taken all the snow away....
and I don't know Jimmy, Sally or Suzy from Canada, i do know Partel, Kareem, Xi Chein and Steve
and they're really really nice.
I have a Prime Minister who is ******** not a president.
I speak English and a little French, not American though we like to mock southern accents...
And I pronounce it 'aboot, not about...
I can proudly sew my country's flag on my backpack along with with motorhead and misfits patches...
I believe in peace keeping, not policing unless you count the G20...
diversity, not assimilation, unless it's the borg...
and that the ****** is a truly proud and noble animal and a bald one is truely a wonder to behold...
A toque is a hat that douchbags wear all year round, a chesterfield is a couch that my dunken friends sleep on,
and it is pronounced 'zed' not 'zee', 'zed' unless its Zebra because Zedbra sounds stupid!!!
Canada is the second largest landmass that can be pilfered by multinational conglomerates!
The first nation of hockey!
and the best part of North America... except vegas!
My name is Josh!!
And I am Canadian!!!
EH?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
. *and today's prime concern of the day? i can't access the recipe site for Australia's master-chef... maybe it's Australia, and their restrictions, or it's the ******* E.U... but... come to mind... last year i could access Eliza's triple-fried tamarind chicken... my god! they're going after restricting access to food recipes!*
could i ever think any woman as being, "ugly",
neglected, yes,
but... "ugly"?
please...
all manner of things become beautiful
around the mandible zenith upon
the grinding wheel of the big O...
nothing quiet like deathly screaming
in the hollow of the night,
but some drunkard loser -
speaking in tongues and recollecting
a myth of a patriarch
akin to Abraham...
'it's just the moon, you shit-face!'
'yeah, and my grandmother sees
a Herr Tvardovsky in it from
time to time, riding a ******* cockerel!'
which equates to a banality of
two things (well, three):
1. she shouldn't have been given
opiates during WWII to shut
the **** up, as a baby, so my great-grandparents
could hide in the Polish countryside,
i.e war zone....
2. i shouldn't be drinking and reading
religious text /
listening to Finnish folk songs...
3. about that Hollywood thing...
how movies are getting ******** and
******** by the day...
see... in philosophy there's this point,
not a Hegelian dialectic crap,
a Kantian coordinate,
a starting point,
zee: res per se...
a thing in itself...
blah blah... noumenon...
i hardly think t.v. shows will reach this
level of "self-consciousness"...
i.e. will be making t.v. shows about
making t.v. shows...
English soap opera tide barrier...
but movies have certainly turned
to focus on this, "vantage" point...
the disaster artist for starters...
birdman?
eh...
and like any cascade of falling
down from an airplane akin
to the opening image from
Salman Rushdie's the satanic verse...
mighty fine looking up
and cackling while flapping your hands
in imitation of a Canadian goose.
ha ha ha... ah... **** never gets old.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Pull me in,
then let me go.
It's no big deal,
she wont know.
You have no strings
Your arms are free
To love me by the Zuider Zee
If you would woo
and pull me in.
I'd bust my strings for you.
But no strings on this boy,
just girls, keep playing pretend.
You'll keep raking them in,
like its just money to spend.
You're no one now,
ain't got no ties.
Just alone in the world,
with your greed and lies.
He's got no strings
So he'll have fun
He's not tied up to anyone
They've got strings
But you can see
There are no strings on him.
You play them
like they're your toys.
You'll **** with them,
but they don't make no noise.
You do nothing but use them,
and make them sad.
Then pull up with
a "oops my bad."
This is where it stops,
not going to pretend.
This is where I leave,
where the game ends.
I've got no strings
To hold me down
To make me fret, or make me frown
I had strings
But now I'm free
There are no strings on me...
Apr 13, 2010
Apr 13, 2010 at 3:25 PM UTC
The Flak hits the wings and body of the plane
506th Easy Company
Of the 101st Airborne
The leg bag
Tore right off
They jumped lower than they should have been
Tracer bullets burning holes through the parachute
Tracers spraying around in the air
Firing in every direction
Paul "Buck" Rogers
Lands in a tree
Some worked their way down
Through a farm area
To a hedge row
Easy Company captured and destroyed
The guns at Brecourt Manor
Saving countless lives on Utah Beach
They helped to liberate the Dutch
Angels from the sky
The black and white footage is amazing
The gratitude and love the people show
To the men is wonderful
Finally free after four years
Of Occupation by the Germans
Battling from village to village
Along "Hell's Highway,"
Easy Company crossed Holland to the Rhine River
Nine men of Easy Company
Lost their lives
Battling in Holland
By the End of the Holland campaign,
Easy Company had been on the frontline
For more than 70 days
On Dec. 16, 1944
****** launched his offensive into the Ardennes
The Battle of the Bulge would become
The largest engagement
In the history
Of the U.S. Army
600,000 soldiers would fight in the battle
Easy Company was told to hold the perimeter of Bastogne
Surrounded by Germans
Branches knocked off of trees
Holes in the ground
Artillery attack
88s, mortars, rockets
They jumped into foxholes
He could see all the shells hitting from the foxhole
The wounded got relief from battle
Maybe a ticket home
If they died they were at peace
At Berchtesgaden
They uncovered artwork
In Zell Am Zee, Austria
Easy Company helped secure
The surrender of 25,000 German troops
On November 30, 1945
The 101st Airborne Division
Was inactivated
Day after Day
They fought together
Fought for each other
Knowing some would not return
This veteran said,
"I cherish the memories
Of a question my grandson asked me the other day.
'Grandpa, Were you a hero in the war?'
Grandpa said no
But I served in a company of heroes."
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
De zon gaat langzaam onder
En zakt weg in de oceaan
Hier aan de rand van de wereld
Voelt alles zwaarder aan
Of ik nu fluister, bid of schreeuw
Alleen is hier pas echt alleen
De leegte van de horizon,
Slechts de golven om me heen
Ik weet niet waar het water stopt
En waar de lucht begint
De kleuren smelten samen
Mijn blik wazig in de wind
En met de zon daalt het besef
Het leven is als een oceaan
Golven en storm zijn relatief
Als je op het strand blijft staan
Ik weet niet waar het heden stopt
En de toekomst beginnen gaat
Zelfs als alles anders wordt
Is dat vaak te weinig, te laat
Maar als de zon haar licht onttrekt
Aan de branding van mijn bestaan
Verlicht ineens van achter mij
Het schijnsel van de maan
Zo leert een lege horizon dat
De hemel de verste zee verlicht
Zelfs in het donker van de nacht
Biedt U mij helder zicht
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
Call me honeybee one more time,
I dare you.
I love it.
I am so platonicly in love with you.
You are better than starbucks.
Maybe five times better,
But I'm contemplating six and a half.
I just want to make sure you're always super duper happy.
And bring you soup, and tea, and fuzzy blankets, and fab movies when you're sad.
You are the absolute cutest.
You no think I'm pretty.
So dot zee to you.
But I'll get over it,
And I'll never be over you.
No ****
With all the **** in the world implied.
I feel like I should insert some sort of suggestive emoticon here.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Life belongs to Monday morning.
Still, I'm haunted by Sunday teatime.
Scones in the parlour at the back of the house.
With mamma and poppa and sweet baby Jayne.
Toasted crumpets together,and drank hot cups of tea.
The crumpets were toasted upon a huge open fire.
Jayne had been sleeping in the cot by the door.
Too young to eat crumpets and scones, she's not allowed tea.
The baby still sleeping remains in the parlour.
It's warmer in there.
And so to the drawing room with round rosewood table.
Nature of the cloth thereupon changed.
It's marked with the symbols of a, b and c.
A painted on canvass that ends with a zee.
It's crimson, edged with gold.
In the centre a YES and a NO.
Centrally placed a wine glass.
Knock knock on the door.
Now there are five.
Tonight the table may come alive.
They're hoping.
A standard lamp, rather dated stood in the corner.
Had a scarlet shade with golden tassels.
They sit round the table.
It's just what they did.
Fingers on glass.
They're calling out.
"Is anybody there?"
The room becomes chilled.
Atmosphere stifling.
Glass moves around the circle.
A...R...I....E.....L.....spellbinding.
'Twas the spirit of the dark poet,Plath.
Darkness from sorrow, no more tomorrow.
Another spirit in attendance.
Takes Sylvia by the hand.
Into the light, escorted by guide.
Goodbye sorrowed poet.
Walked into the light.
Goodnight.
Sleep tight.
(c) Livvi MMCV
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
Recommended a new paradigm
Think I maybe dying all the time
They say using building
blocks of creation to
dream with you?
Inherent and obvious danger
In that darling
Pray a little simple
prayer for all of us.
Sacred
You must
We must
wait a while
language doesn't exist
Working on it.
Bards are here
We will babysit while...
They treat with Sultans of Song
The chemist, chirugeon,
the watcher, the statesman
on the Bubbahub
Zee's the lynch pin
He's holding it down,
With a little buckdance
He knows what I mean
Different language
Cadence, ritmo
Seven sicilian sailors
Sailing the seven seas
Storm is passing
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
...see me walk in the club.
Man,
They say,
"Is he for real?"
************
I ain't dumb!
Get out the car
and I walk in the club
The walk isn't far
not just a walk,
just, just, just
-just enough
Feelin' it on me, lights and a crowd
doors open up see, -face hit with that loud?
Get out my car
and I walk into my club
check on the til
*******
-this just ain't enough!
Ferrari, lake house, payroll and payments...
girls drop the attitude, I'm keeping you off pavements.
Now walk with me,
get close
no,
you ******* stay closer,
all these tricks here watchin'
now they see you as a grosser.
You throwing money down?
You know my ******* gonna take it
music is so loud,
now ************ you been breaked-in.
Tappin' that *** like Tappan Zee Bridge,
my girls made a connection and that's what it is.
See me get up, see me walk out this club
I got your whole paycheck, -maybe that's just enough?
Ferrari, lake house,
-and I own a club.
Living the dream, got a look and it's loud
I know you looking at me, I stand out in a crowd.
Gettin' in my Ferarr
as I leaving the club
Got a wife, got some kids
-cause,
************ I ain't dumb.
Get out Ferarr, get, -get in my club
man
Get out Ferarr, get, -get in my club
man
Get out Ferarr, get, -get in my club
man
Get out Ferarr, get, -get in my club
Check your starring *****
cause ************ I ain't done.
Get out Ferarr, get, -get in my club.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
what i understand as a definition of
the word complex,
it requires a hyphen as a
pseudo conjunction, in that it
coordinates words in opposition,
which is why freud's right on the
money with the madonna-whore
complex, but completely bonkers
with his oedipal fetishes,
because oedipus is a complex in itself
that cannot be excavated
and theorised for the sake of a
analogue... that's a horrid plagiarism
that might plagiarise awry,
for all orthodox necessities:
a complex is aqua- -marine
aquamarine... but in terms of theory
it's evident that the hyphen usage
is still retained, before everything
goes **** up perfect *** **** of
compounding the two words like a german:
Fernmeldeverkehr (telecommunication),
der... 'nurse! pass the syllable scalpel!'
'herr doktor, der silbeskalpell.'
'ah scheiße, 'ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go:
fern' 'mel 'dever 'kehr.'
the operation was a success, apart from
the silbeskalpell being left in the patient's body;
and i never understood why people
expect you to talk to them face-to-face
like you're reading autocue, the minute
you talk imagining off empty space
to invent a new language of comfort
they equate you with autism...
i once had a glance at psychiatric notes
sent to the bureaucratic doctor (g.p. / general
practitioner)... psst... they only care
about whether:
a. you're able to keep eye contact
b. you're / you're not biting your nails...
but that's what you get, the welfare state
policy of funding distribution of the infamous
n.h.s. (national health service)...
****** by the cartesian dualism of splitting
mind from body like the brain is some
gooey porridge mixed with cornstarch for
thickness... only 0.6% of n.h.s. funding goes into
psychiatry... i'm guessing at least 1% goes into
prescriptions for pensioners demanding ******
i already told you, cats are ontologically autistic,
hence their appeal to autistic children,
or just anyone not really into leashes, being
tugged or tugging, come rain or shine, come
7am or 7pm... they can be so inanimate sometimes
that they blend in will flowers, and when awake,
yes, like plants doing the kayan lahwi tribe's
extending neck with rings thing... ah what's it called...
ah yes phototropism... take the rings off the neck
a million swans with broken necks.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
This message is coming to you on the
Cee Haitch Zee. This is the
Circumstellar Habitable Zone
for those who don't know astronomy.
I'm god, see, from the other side of the sun.
Yeah. I’m the omnipotent, omniscient
and magnificent one, or, if you can look at me directly,
I'm the Dazzling One.
Now the reason for this xenology
is to tell you the secret of the suns
and to vent all that cosmic stuff,
including the terrestrial file
on life and death, the splendid and the vile,
religion, and why I **** innocent children sometimes.
There. That orta be enough for a while.
So look. I’ll keep it really simple here.
The reason for everything is,
it’s um, gosh. Well. Would you believe?
I don't have this immediately in front of me.
And anyway, it's been a very long time
since I dragged you out of slime.
Now don't go getting emotional here,
because I'll delegate this to Harahel,
he's the Angel of Knowledge, or maybe Gabriel.
Although I suppose we could leave it
till the Day of Trumpets, judgement and hell,
y'know, and go all traditional.
But I really don't mean to be threatening
at this stage,
so I'll get back to you on this one later,
and then I'll give you a shout.
Yeah. This is god calling,
over and out.
Mike T Minehan
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
(picture of feindflug's vierte version compact album sleeve not included.)
one day a compact silver,
might be worth more than a 33 1/3,
as tim wonnacott might say:
today’s youth are not into clutter,
they’re moby minimalists;
but i say: what sort of still life
would anyone paint without the clutter
of things, colours people?
i guess modern art is also anti-clutter:
throw in a black rhombus and
you get the end-scale of cubism,
like a single ****** contortion of
block-bulging triangle: a mixture of
them all: equilateral isosceles and scalene
(but not a pythagorean triangle in sight)
on the faces of les demoiselles d'avignon
(the young ladies of avignon) - ripped
off the page and given a whole new canvas.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
Fear of lack limits us more than not accepting limits does.
Our FOMO creates walls.
More brain cells must be grown, english needs an upgrade from inside its limits!
Oexperiment! Where?? connect zee dots hombre
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 5:13 PM UTC
she said her name
was: "Zeta Ampersand!"
"Wot?" I wotted?
her Da had named her after
some mathematical function
Ampersand she just liked the sound
she even signed her self
ζ (& ) "...the artist formerly known as
my self!"
"59 & 509...both primes!" she smiled
"30, 031...isn't!"
"!?!" I said
I watched a snake
of sweet sweat slither
between her cleavage
"...the Buckmisterfullerene molecule is
like a soccer ball...blah de blah.."
"Uh huh..yeah...I'm...eh...listening..."
to my heart beat
wildly out of control
she an Everest...I the foothills
said she liked
Daft Punk & kissing
"Now there's a coincidence..." I whispered
Daft Punk I didn't know but
I had a 1st Class Honours
in kissing &...stuff
we made love with
AROUND THE WORLD on replay
"Call me Z..." she sighed
*** with her was like
voicing alveolar sibilant fricatives
"Gee Zee...geeee!" was all I could say
I was an quantic entity
experiencing wave/particle duality
for the first time forever
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
(but will you) love me
in pigeon's pose when
my tummy rolls over
like rice paddies and
the dimples in my
thighs are as moon
craters on that 27th
spoonful of peanut
butter, orbit on my hips
squeeze the fat beneath
my arms to relieve all
your stress, when I'm
singing zee avi in the
shower and you realize
I once told you a choir
teacher said I was a high
soprano but my voice is
so low on that ceiling
mingling with the steam
in the silver vents, don't you
know that
heat
rises?
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
though strictly Fermi, and oh...(en Rico) plus sun
dre other parvenues, a rapture
surges thru me,
when audibly communicating, enunciating,
and speaking English words
as if hi ken run
a marathon, or zip to the moon,
(take as cheesy tong in cheek)
from this pun
gent, who relishes reading for my eyes and ears
asper myself, which purported nun
sense ink reese sees learn'n
den earn an award,
especially wash'n black board
den breathing intelligent dust
from eraser head could awk cord,
I utter Hieronymus Bosch, bing enamored,
and aye actually confess
tubby a model United Nations chimp
pan zee, and/or other
type of survey monkey hook can huff ford
Old Rotten Gotham horde
sliding down into the behavioral sink...
exclaiming "oh me jack lord"
and getting rescued then getting less on,
sans get'n taut how (muss elf George Eliot)
tubby comb moored
flossed, milled, and taut
tubby trained for Operation Ready Date
by a coop pull oof oot standing chap,
named Adam West, who poured
salty epithets (reminding me, as they roared
that life iz brutal, short and nasty),
part tickly ne'r the end
wharf hew scored
and majority got de toured
until emotionally, physically,
and spiritually enlightened
By Rabindranath Tagore and Burt Ward.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 2:11 AM UTC
Here I am standing all awake
Hailing storm inside my head
Lying ahead in front of me
League of lifeless bone and flesh
War, deception, chaos and greed
Kingdom of life is built on them
Once I saw closely at life
The death seemed peaceful to me...
It's a cold cold world out there
Under the glazing sun inside
Dreams turning into nightmares
Ashes started coming alive
Fighting, kicking and screaming
Every breath of waking minutes
When I saw the sleeping corpses
The death seemed peaceful to me...
We grow and grow like a tree
Magic bean high up in the sky
Up we go as we seek
Learning from A to Zee
Time passes with the ride
Mind rushes along the side
More and more I realize
Why death seemed peaceful to me...
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:09 AM UTC
Who drives the wind?
The battered steppes in the North
Stand mute with cracked lips.
Where the roar of ocean crash resounds,
The wind whips like some old tyrant.
He whistles, remembering her pleasant face,
Long dead.
Then he takes up the whip and whistles some more,
As he strikes lightning on the tattered shore.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
Tiger eyes behind
Silver lines and
Nonexistent badges of authority.
Your somewhat of a
minority without a voice
nowhere to turn,
But turn fierce.
Your teeth sharp as ever
Never better!
Your coat is Fancy,
Your story isn't
You ****** with some guy
to get where you are.
Not very far from where
you started .
So you started to pout
and pour your spout on
Someone else for 200 dollars
Incums great you
roll in the bills(dollars)
Smile is fake, but you make it
because you faked
your "O" face and recited
The other vowels
on their lips.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC