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Lorna Bradley Jul 2012
the sting your stubble left is still lingering on my lips,
like invisible mosquito bites that tickle more than itch,
as i wrap my arms around your neck, i ask:
just friends? and readjust myself in your lap.

so you pull me in closer, you nod to confirm:
the two of us, we’re nothing more than zookeepers.
throwing fresh meat in the den of the lioness,
controlling those animals lying deep inside of us.
would really like some feedback on this! anything would be great! even let me know if you absolutely hate it!
Flashbulbs light, an inspiration for the lion in the enclosure who then dies, too much exposure for the king.
That's the thing,
we want it all, can't live without it, then we get it and the paparazzi come to knock upon our door, it's such a shock, but then we die to lay or lie beside a king who didn't do a single thing and that's the thing.
Peter Balkus Mar 2016
Our zoo is not locked up at all,
and it doesn't look like a zoo.
It looks like there's no keeper in here,
but this is not true.

He does exist, he's watching us,
he doesn't let us escape before we die.

He makes us feel that zookeepers are us,
but it's not like that.

But I better shut up,
as he can overhear my words.
I better come back to my lair,
trying to hibernate.
And you better come back to your screeching,
your gibbering and neighing,
your whooping,
then the guard will be pleased,
he will love you.
Daisy King Mar 2016
Apathetic, acataleptic, anthropomorphic abstractions aided an anorectic.
Biology and botany, both broad, but bellicose blossoms bring banality.
Considered communication can conceal certain capabilities- cruelty without causality.
Delirious dreams of divination dwindle during daytime's discontinuation.
Echoing and eerie, ecclesiastical ecstasy eclipses eccentric ebullience in extroverts.
Face-to-face farewells facilitate friendships & fatigue families, familiar in fantasies.
Grace goes gardening, garnishing and ghostwriting, good god, glistening a glittery glaze over.
High, hovering, hallucinating helps habits' hardening and hiding in hazy harmony.
Introduced ideologies, indeed, illustrate ingenuity in idiosyncratic individuals I impersonate.
Jumbled and juiced juxtaposition of jitterbug and jazz justifies jovial jumpiness- jeez.
Karaoke on ketamine, a kettleful of kerosene, kindling kisses, knocking knees.
Last but not least, the lawless laying low are liberated, later learning large life lessons.
Mainly markedly meticulous, maids manage the meagerness of mess, mollifying mothers.
Namely narcotics, not either naivety nor narrow-mindedness, necessitates a nosedive.
Obligations to obtain n occupation only obfuscates obvious obstacles, and oftentimes objectivity.
Pervasive paradoxes parody people's past perceptions, predominantly persistent patterns.
Quick-witted quarrelers query quantifiable qualities, quotations never quivering or quiet
Rickety, raggedly radios ring with ragtime, rainbows remain a rarity.
Sick, staggering students suddenly spill, saucer-eyed, onto streets and scatter.
Thrown together, the tank top, the trousers, tempted and tongue-tied them, totally.
Underestimation ultimately undid the understanding of ubiquitous underachieving underdogs.
Variability in validity and value variance violates the valuer's viewpoint very vividly.
Wandering war-torn wastelands, wayfarers weaken, wait for water, wearily wonder at weather
Xenophobic xylophonist's x-ray wouldn't show his xanthopsia, xeroxed in the xanthic Xs of his eyes.
Your yawning and yelling is yellowing your youthful yearnings for yesterdays.
Zigzagging, zany zookeepers zestfully zone out with zoom lenses, to see from A-Z.
Rotting men walking rotted streets,
as rotten scents choke the pungent air.
Their tired, weary, restless feet
pound the agitated concrete,
which is as worn and weary
as the people who so rudely
stomp its grayed features.

They make their way to their jobs,
their means of survival, the place
where much like zoos and reserves,
they are poked and prodded, pestered,
and provoked by smiling, grinning men
who are above them on the evolutionary
totem pole that we call the rat race.

So they laugh off the abuse labeled as 'jokes',
they suffer and endure countless injustices
from their fellow animals and their zookeepers,
all so that they continue to earn their measly peanuts,
all in hopes that they can save their nuts,
and maybe buy something that will
give their own existence some new meaning.

A new car, a new TV, a new bit of restless noise,
new white static that will fill the void of
emptiness that they all suffer inside,
and then when the new becomes old,
the process starts anew with another
new trinket or new toy to make more noise.

And so they return home from their misery-laded
job, to a home of misery where their wife
chides them and chastises as a way to
vent her own frustrations at her own personal zoo
where she was poked and prodded and made
to question her own self-worth, her own happiness.

She yells at them for forgetting to put the clothes
in the dryer, although she had clearly said the night
before that she would take care of it and then
she fusses at them for forgetting to put his cup up
even though they were JUST getting ready
to throw it in the dishwasher if she would just
give them a minute to finish their sandwich.

It takes all their strength to not just scream
right back and give her something worth
yelling over, but as their teeth clench,
and their eye twitches, they simply nod
and yes dear until she is satisfied, and leaves
them to go work on their sudoko after-dinner.

With the dishes put up, the clothes in the dryer,
as they are sure to not make the same mistake
twice, their children approach them, begging for
attention and affection, and while they can't blame them,
right now they just want to take a minute to relax
and not hear any more voices of any kind.

But as the child raises their voice to scream,
they wave them off and give them what they wish
for hours, until they tire themselves, and mercifully,
most mercifully, they can be put to bed and put
out of mind for the rest of the night.

The midnight hour fast approaches,
and so they resolve to enjoy the last few hours
of their night, but right as they prepare to
enjoy the newest episode of the newest tv shows,
their smartphones bleats its high-pitched ring.

Its their zookeeper, asking if they can come
into work tomorrow early, even though its the weekend,
and they were promised to get the weekend off,
for the fifth time in as many weeks, but they REALLY
need them to come in and help the cause.

They want to scream, they want to shout,
but they know they can't refuse, because
the first time they dare to, they will be treated
like even worse dirt on shoe if not outright
replaced by a more willing circus animal.

So, through a forced grin,
that can be heard over the phone,
they accept and thank their keeper
for giving them the opportunity
to work once more, and as they hang up,
their wife asks who it was calling at this long hour

They explain it was just their work,
wanting them to come in again, which
makes the wife mad, as she yells at him
for not spending enough time with her
and the kids and why can't he just say no
every once in a while, it's not like they'll
fire him for not showing up one time.

The wife doesn't understand that
his job is what funds her spending,
her lifestyle, their lifestyle, for that matter,
in spite of their best attempts to explain,
and so they fight, and fight, into the night,
until they just decide to give it up, and go to sleep.

The sun rises, and they get up, and
eat their eggs, and put their cup up, and
get dressed, and get ready for one more day
at work hoping that at least sunday will be a free day,
but they have an odd sick feeling in their stomach
that they'll be called in once more early in the morning,
and be forced to make that same rotten walk
to their same rotten old miserable job.
They talk all the time
Like woman in the office
About the weather
Or the zookeepers being late for their supper
And the new rhino that's arrived is discussed
Whilst the Penguins moan about the water
The camels have got the ****
A parrot gets a sore throat through talking
Lions have become vegetarians
Monkeys think swinging is beneath them
And the electric eels are shocked at what they see
Zebras have an identity crisis
The elephants want nose jobs
And just to top it all off
The giraffes think their to small
Zoo talk don't you just love it
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
less ****,
and more
a fetish for the german tongue...

krächzen zwischen krähen...

i seem to purposively
delete "over"-worded
poetics

of an ambitious narrative...
****!
gone... the end...

but this is a ******
proverb:

  krächzen zwischen krähen

croak among the crows...
i.e.
speak their tongue...

   i don't have the sort
of money a Russian would
enjoy,
i was "told" to... mingle...

das gleiche...

but there's still
the element of ****...
hand more like
****...
            **** more like:
a ******* easy take
on a squeezed saxophone
and...

   symphony...

being the immigrant
i always forget:
what do these zookeepers
want of me,
to allow the: believable me,
in terms of imitating
behaviour?

so why did these natives...
take away
the metallurgy culture
of my burden of birth?
blame game who's who?

i am this: |    | close
to suggesting the wording
of a wilderness,
and animal...

here...
yout tongue, ingested...
my tongue gone,
gone, gone...
oh... right...
not replica of the same
assortment
of ontological curiosities?!

speak your tongue:
i can...
but behave like you?
not a chance
in the most self-evident
onslaught
of a coming hell.

i can speak this tongue:
but behave like
you do in your export
form-variant
on the ***** holiday
away in Croatia?

so here... the so-called
spoken variant of
the universal spreschen...
but then the particulars...
shrapnel of:
what glorifies accents...
Welsh, Pict, goat...
but seems to avoid
"knowledge" of applying
diacritical markers...

i too, am late to the wordings...
i too, just, assumed...
   how one is to hide a
H from a sharp object...
within the confines
of šarp...
                              no object?

but easily: hush...
und: ha ha ha ha... aah...
      believe me,
being an immigrant,
i do not have the same facets
of other immigrants,
who... can march proud
into foreign territory...

i am using a language
i should not have an understanding of...
i deem the term
immigrant in the same
light of...
            yes... the natives...
i'm more about
the IQ of the natives
than a trans-IQ stature
ascribed to Africans...

          cushion,
spider,
                 web...
a handshake...
or what is...
   Irish immigrants in
the outer-east-London...
  me?
  i'm a farmer-land outlet...
i script my life along:
foxes and owls...
like some
          wordsworth fan-boy...

weird ******* scenario...
i don't know what to do
with it, exactly...

fiddly like an itch
or a: get given
                 rubik's cube...
or...
a heart for every
sylvia plath poem...
  and... whatever implies
sanity these days...

croak among crows...
kiedy wchodisz między
wrony, musisz krakać,
tak jak one
;

and yes...
whenever i go back "home"...
to visit my grandparents...
i am precisely
back, in a place that
resembles: a place of no
origin...

       just like "i'm back"
resembles a "home"...
i short-circuit
and think of all those
lovely people with
a past and a future
where...
   tourism is their only
source
of fathoming migration...

and... like any migrant...
i am not teased
by having to succumb
to tourism...

       i doubly anchor
myself
into the experienced
contradiction
and watch...
it is said in a tongue
i can understand,
but i'm not here
to play the nuance
game...

         i am... simply...
bored of having
to regurgitate
the script...
      like there's some "grand"
scrutiny of
me being:
the constituting
remains
for having to invest...
in...
the ronin idea of:
society...

society told me to ****
off around 10 years ago
for smoking marijuana...
being suspect
for... a deed of doing
no wrong...
   well?
       now society can
**** itself...
and... i don't even have
the energy to laugh
about it.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
funny, "that",
no jihadi was ever supposedly
ever, associated
with, mental illness...
empathy is a bitter
fruit to taste...
   isn't it?
suddenly muslims become
a protected
class... and we,
the zookeepers...
  have to ensure...
they remain so...
upon the shoulders
of dwarfs of easy assumptions...
that's what the majority fear...
i'm listening to more
and more diatribe...
and all i'm hearing
is the shock & awe tactic,
left, right, center of
the "debate"...
      excuses come
second...
          whatever groundwork
being established for the right,
some outlier comes
out and does the horrific...
******* clowns-run-the-circus
type of pandemonium...
what's lacking?
oh... right...
   so this is what empathy feels
like, to reply to Manchester,
Rotherham, etc., etc., etc.,
so...
this isn't o.k.?
yeah, yeah! what sort of idiot
finds success in mawling down
49 innocents,
when 3 jihadis fail
to take down 10?!
  ******* idiot...
off his rockers...
      yeah, yeah...
    wrote in the kind of cipher
that only mercury rising
autistic children are able
to decipher...
   complete ******!
let's insult him some more...
a BIG no no
for anyone listening
to choir songs...
          who? templars...
akin to salve regina...
now it's bad...
it's all bad,
it was always bad,
it was supposed to be bad,
and... i...
somehow...
was expected to feel:
good about it.
                 now?
now the pendulum game of
waiting,
  for the reply...
it usually takes around a month,
for the geniuses of Raqqa
to come back at us with
a compliment...
  until then...
  no stupid low i.q. jihadi
warriors...
just some stupid,
psychiatric evaluation prone
examples of piglet-skinned
outliers...
               well yeah...
thanks for the congregation...
for congregating the orthodox
schizoids with
the authentic, world-stage
killers...
   nice...
     ******* pristine aesthetics!
******* protected class...
what?!
  they were imitating performing
**** with their god,
looking at the way they pray?
****... if i supplied myself
to a confirmation,
i'd be performing
              ******* on my knees...
how many jihadi "warriors"
have you heard of,
that also supplied the general
public / journalists
with a, manifesto?
             can't name one...
but now, that's a bad thing,
a big no no,
              you can't do that...
you can't provide a genesis
of a narrative...
obviously...
not one jihadi was suspect
of a psychiatric disorder...
but... all these white counter-terrorists?
the whole lot of them
are schizophrenics...
now... i can understand
the general public processing
the disease on ground of metaphor...
then again,
the supposed the ratio of example:
1 case every 100 people...
how many of those 1 per 100 people
are blamed?
easily confined in a category reserved
for psychopaths?

no problem...
deflect...
      but the standard is already
settled:
no jihadi is mentally ill...
but all counter-jihadis, are...
  shame isn't even on the table
when playing this poker-game...

didn't you know?
jihadis are perfectly normal...
they are expected
to behave thus,
as whatever thus is,
in later installments...
    but the terrorist within?
instead of the 72 virgins,
he gets 72 insults...
and a pseudo-medical
    statement...
no jihadi was ever considered
mentally ill...
but... every white
counter-terrorist:
is a mental nut-job...
         look! look! he wrote a manifesto!
****... he's not dyslexic...
he's a meme aggregate...

like i already said...
what he did?
   it would probably take 3 jihadis
to complete...
no... wait... 137 divided by 7...
around 19 per head...
   (paris, bataclan)...

        ha ha...
mass ****** and the i.q. of
the mass murderer...
   sort of, deviating from the i.q.
debate concerning blacks
and whites...
more like...
   lone wolf attacks and jihadi
attacks...
   what?! it's red nose day!
              you just, 'ave to laugh!

if they're going to place
mental illness and stupidity
on brenton tarrant...
   legally: isn't he allowed
the warrant of defence?
          so i'm the objective scrutiny
of retelling comparative
counter examples...
      
              as stupid as 49 dead per head...
a jihadi gets...
          around 20 dead per head...
i forgot to condemn,
and succumb to outrage...
like: it would give me a better
moral compass to navigate
through all the social outrage...
i, simply, forgot...

   but look on the bright side!
at least he managed
to spread a revised concensus
for the appreciation
of empathy...
at least now...
innocent muslims,
can appreciate what innocent
christians felt,
when they were attacked upon,
indiscriminately;
and with the same, "bias".
Bob B Mar 2022
Elmer and Lima, two male penguins
At a zoo in Syracuse, New York,
Are both excited after having
Been paid a visit by the stork.

The two had built a nest together.
Obviously, they couldn't lay
An egg, but still, the two birds cherished
Their little home, come what may.

A breeding pair kept breaking their eggs,
Which kept them from hatching their own little chick.
And so zookeepers devised a plan
To solve the problem. They had to be quick.

They gave a phony egg to the pair.
The REAL egg was placed in the nest
That Elmer and Lima had made together.
The two penguin males were put to the test.

The dads have been "exemplary parents,"
Says the zoo director. The two
Do exactly what you'd expect
Successful penguin parents to do.

Yay! Hurray for Elmer and Lima!
Once again their story shows
That non-traditional parents can be
Super-parent dynamos.

-by Bob B (3-15-22)

— The End —