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TERRY REEVES  May 2016
LEGAL HIGH
TERRY REEVES May 2016
They say that if you're not doping you're no-hoping
but without it I can say that I'm more than coping
maybe sometimes I might take a Polska beer
be careful - even that might make you feel queer

I tried hash but then started running short of cash
when you suddenly need something you make a mad dash
there's always speed, coke and amphetamine
but if you don't surface, you'll know what I mean

You just can't beat a decent *******
to give you good head and instant elation
I took all these aids and put them in the bin
be sensible and don't even try to begin

If I want ecstasy - then I'll just make love
it's the best feeling from heaven above
Anima Torch  Jul 2016
The EU
Anima Torch Jul 2016
Osterreich hat den Vontrapps
La Belgiquea leurs chocolats
Bûlgariya e nechuvano
Hrvatska je mjesto gdje žabe kreštanje
Kibris bir agaçtir
České čepování piva je z Czechaslovakia
Denmark er ikke Delaware
Eesti kividega
Suomi on lähellä Norjassa ja Ruotsissa
La France a Paris
Deuschland spreache Deusche
I Elláda échei kókkino - skepastí spítia
Magyarország éhes
Tá Éire ar thalamh de fearg
Italia odia quando si ordinal a pizza
Latvija izklausās tualete
Lietuva yra skystas
Lëtzebuerg *** nieft dee Belsch
Malta ghandha hafna ta ' maltu
Nederland wordt geschreeuwd toen Adam een doelpunt
Polska am Marie Curie
Portugal: Valentina: Hey que ê de on de eu sou !
România suná ca locul romanilor
Slovaškia pravi, "zdravo"
Slovenija je an prostem
Equipo de fútbol de España Es la favorite de Karly
Sverige har Minecraft
United Kingdom is leaving
Keep google translate handy while reading this.
Molly  Aug 2017
Polska
Molly Aug 2017
You kiss the soles of my feet
and tell me I’m beautiful

I flinch at the words,
recoil at the raise of your hand

squeeze my eyes shut -
you stroke my cheek.

I’m feeling panic,
my stomach is turning. I don’t

understand this feeling.
I want to push you away

but you hold on tight and won’t let me.
Thank you.
Mateuš Conrad  Nov 2016
promo
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
co hytre pod skurą jest iglą
         (what's avaricious under the skin is a needle)
na wieków, amen - co gdyby lwem
(forever more, amen - what's apparently a lion)
czy niedźwiedźem, czy też wilkiem
(or bear, or even a wolf)
da tchu! Vlach! ti i ten pierdolony lis!
(will give breath! Vlad! you and that ******* fox!)
eine fuchs! ich! ja stokroć i nocy nadam
(a fox! i! i the fern who will give unto the night)
imion bez konstelacji Achilles'a,
(names without constellations' of Achilles)
pozorom wbrew: na haczyku brwi
(under no pretensions: on the fishing hook of the eyebrows)
na tle pod imion: dobre sumienie
(on the canvas of under-names: a sound conscience)
wramah chszestu.
(in the boundaries of a christening.)
  a co ładne niech paraduje ze
(and what is beautiful, let it parade)
rzołneczykami!           bo to tfu!
(with it's little soldiers! because it's disgusting!)
bo to harfa i hu i true i Polska podbudjed
(because it's a harp and a ha... lost in translation)
is Rosyja i Я: anglo tomme, niet Яck m'eh?
  no kurva: Mongoła trombone!
mi non sprechen Deutsche,
nor operatic, nien moon-sweep tsar -
lovely, lovely juggles the Peckham
in all of us jubbly: day for the awaiting Trotter -
         or the spin frame Jenny my dearest:
spin! spin my spinning dūbblé / double-blah-blah-eh!
plocker / plonker two sons within graft of a blue
Peter sketch for the youngsters whining: or how's that
****** housed and i'm the one that should be
saying: the 'un that neva'h woz?
bites the Barnickle, that 'un does.
               says as much about cubicle cockers
in née said: Varlance: such that it almost sounded like
Versailles, and it too almost sounded likened to
umbrella when saying Paris or parasol.
       or on par: cubicle cockney poetry:
appellation and ***** hairs: stairs -
       needy and scythed: the frightened bunch...
          why then Versailles and squire?
and not: that ol' chip frier -
     fry err, Brighton on marble: succinct slating -
that walk of shame toward the ****.
     they always made the best foster parents,
that **** bumping, **** dumping crowd pleasing
hush for a Lincoln into linguo as Oslo in
libido -
          trucker tongue tie - gears in reverse -
randomised language replenishing that chaos of
became focus of larynx not cubed
but eyes three-dimensional: or cubism.
             and you sort of wish you knew how to
knot rather than not not not -
                your way into a Wahabi Lebanese
sentiment for truancy -
   which you never, really had a chance to get a
hard-on over.
                       this is how art sorta doesn't feel
that much difficult, more of a diarrhoea rather than
a constipation: less a skiing holiday in the Swiss
alps and more weekends spent on the Southend pier.
    well, we all wish to fish in the spaghetti lake
of verbiage: some of us get to,
and what we end up doing is hoping for
a second as cobblers in China, or beef farmers in
Argentina,    or cigar-rollers from Havana -
b'aah.... blah.... b'aah: i say jolted,
i say unsure, i say nervous b'aah - sheep's surrender!
why? it would sort out and destroy our
claustrophilia: as ever a cranium and an elevator...
         and the congregation,
                    and the dry throat.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
mój jenzyk, moja czystość, mój brat moja siora! kiedy ja tam w głowie pra dziada takim pod iglatym krzyżem żyda na równo brał?! kiedy?! kiedy?! czemu czekaniem w anglii?! czemu?! boje sie horyzontów takich jak tych! boże... czemu to marszem wydarzenie nagłe wprost na pustynie wyrytych narodów jakby kretów w mgle czerni? czemu ubogi w krakowie prosi mnie o czerń żelaza a nikogo innego?! gdzie ja w cebulowym kościele, gdzie ja?! na płacz... ja na płacz a nie na grób rodzinnym?! czemu... czemu?! daj mi chociaż wrót do ziemi! daj mi chociaż wrót do ziemi! ja lach z czynu i kości! ja lach z czynu i kości! ja werset bez czynu razy raz jeszcze raz! szfeda płacz. daj mi swego syna cień ciała, znania mieniem krzyż i pacior.*

szkło w deszczu
mówi więcej
niż mgła
przy ogniu iskry, czy tam
sfobody ćmy przy świecy,
bo kto pyta o wizerónek
słów przy lustra snów moża
czy tem narcyza
na tle jeziora bez rzeki
w gęsich makiarzu na tle
marszu gęsi szwastiki -
to o tyle pyta.
tyle mi mówi płacz,
ten izrael północy, ta polska,
z tym edynburgiem jako ateny
czy ten sankt petersburg
jako wenecja.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
ty czyń mi co polak polaku... a nie ten skórwosić bólo-błąg łamania oczy-dam mattce i reszte pśym-ganagu! ty z zapomnienia by teś powiedzi łamane goobye: ja ci kurwa krewnym? ja ci kurwa krewnym?! spirdalaj tam gdzie cie mongoł łaskocze czołem wyrytym ambicją modłu wersją w dywan; lachu'hu'ju! albo to, albo kurwa: Wieden.... ja nie tobie krewny! o! patsy! polska slachta sie obudza! chyba cas na: sejmik... tak, pospolicie mówie... bez akcentu: po wiejsku! czy tam szwinsku! krew we mnie zastygła: płynie jeno rtęć... ja sam putin kiedy wabie polskie media poza exodus w anglii, na swojskim gnoju.*

słów wedle ognia ojca
na czyn ten
          zapomnieć
   wtargwienie...
                   skupą u dna..
bez dnia...
nie ty jeden ubity
         oddechu martwy i
      warty braku łzu:
                krokiem kruka:
nie tyś ostatni wichrem na tylko:
                   by zaznać gnatom łomonym,
a wtór! kałczugą łamany, to co:
śmierdzi opałem, i piwniccą!
bodaj jutro, i chybył: rodzaj zza
       kwestją powiat...
     bo to ci gniew: bogiem zgra
            rękąpis wątek bydła,
ku wnet liczidłem w słowo....
    nadać iskr: szumu mieniem wiatr,
martwa skorupa oddechu da,
co o myśl wątku wyda tchłu: wakacyjna gwardia
    czołem i kolanem w pacierz,
zbyt, nabity, i tym, wymuszony;
           skragi: ostatek.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
i tak Polska nie wydobędzie Sienkiewicza na rój tych wart smarkań audencii co: by smarkań mość da! jeez Louise: is there a lack of bridges to make them into ghettos worth the man you just dumped?!*

- SH / SZ / CH / CZ never became Æ... clingy ****.

- you don't even comprehend how much
i hate you! sheer! is the word
  best descriptive? -

nie warta walka: bez łez.
  a tym lepi sie: śmiech:
a tym o wart(ym) człek:
          pomysleć w dłonie
   czekanie: myśl;
daj mi boże sfobode nad
życia: b mi grabić mą smerc!
ja mam naród i dziecko -
i matka: jestem, sumieniem!
o tul, o tul, kołysze...
                 Y the emptied
I...
                        czar na bill...
ja chamu zda na gawaridź!
              i am being european
frictive... sorry...
a game requiring a parsley-root:
je chemu sko!
                    gavi morde na mo!
  haczyk skubany wro!
                 skem! sput!
       szto? liter nie budjed czytaj?
patsy - ni budjed: cytatny!
      skavaree!
                a hejm i huja wart skor!
ska! Kazak i Ural i Mągol!
    co slysze? ałła -
                                 i o H w morde!
czerń, gnat i skir o grzbiet: psa!
kto: warczy: i ma tchu by:
                      wilczym brakiem:
                 dać szczak!
ha-o wtopić w moją dupe..
                   extensive....
giętkie: pravda?
                          nah nah nah nah...

                  ser gna w no
o tym co: kichać ma dać dar!
zbieg mieniem:
rady braku: brat...
                o chec...
     i no jemu Baltyk...
        sedno: raj...
                       o chec:
                 i skore zdzir!
                bym mu sprostac -
bytem o: gniew -
                   takim minia polozi -
nad Litwe: krew mi daj Ukiem!
daj mi bozy gnod -
  i warkoc hod! daj ze mi Kraine!
    i to czerpie: chod!
     tym postawie swe miem:
   o co warte skarg: Cerkwiew!
         Gzyms! bell-toll!
              rachunek zem jusz
dal... a reszta: albo politika zna
sie na czlowieku,
               albo czlowiek zna
sie na... kobiecie.
   NIE JA TEM HARANSZA!
               JA: GNIDZ!
   SZARAŃCZA!
jak jom każ ten Frikan...
   lublu liter wart slovo -
             słowik -
niech no, to żyd to przynęta:
i niech nie powi:
   nasze kamienice wasze
ulice... slovo co, co nie tak by?
nuda bracie: cierpiec
   i tez czerpać z historii -
dług: jot -
                 lullaby the
******* seal to sleep
you doughnut gangster by
                                 clapping:
last time i checked:
  the valet did sing
escorting a ***** napkin
  to be touristy "concerned"
  with a: meet-the-parents take on loo....
  doesn't blank urban slang look
just like so: well? because
i actually don't know whether
i'm speaking or speaking the current
year of London...
              which doesn't even
imply a grimmace: rather -
  a bewildered epitome of
                       stupendous: via no vs.
i want to imitate the nonsense of
making rap, music...
          scold me, fine...
              but no one will speak this language
for a need to be doctrined by:
coherently skidding on juicing
a "fascination" with blunt...
      apparently all language is
the most accessed...
         form of discourse...
                   painting is either
painted or sold...
              poetry?
                    better untouched
unread rather than commented on.
n jacobs  Sep 2019
Yellowhammer
n jacobs Sep 2019
Ragged, flimsy, thin, spotted card.
Creased with the tales of time.

Jaws equipped for a blow,
Ears higher than the mouth, just as God placed them.

Face structured like stone,
On the narrow shoulders of a boy, we lean.

And of all the 'siła' endowed to our name,
The windows gently lead to the soul inside.

Carry, drag, and crawl.
But never let an utter of hardship leave thy chest.  

Like a ‘Schnadel’,
More gold surfaces, as time does what it does.


"Spread your wings as I have told you,
God bless you, I love you."

Love from 'Polska' is different than words,
More doing than talking, build a house like the birds.


Stay true to 'Wiara' like a true ****** would,
John Paul set example, follow, do good.

"Fight like you’re dying, please lose the sad frown,
‘cause you can’t let the ******* get you down."

What a name you uphold,
Humble pride that is shown,
And like a good yellowhammer,
'Papcio' always returns home.
A poem written upon seeing an old photo of my Polish dad as a young child. Our last name, Trznadel, translates directly to 'yellowhammer' in Polish, which is a bird that gets more gold feathers as it ages.

siła-strength. Wiara- faith Papcio-papa
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
/ode to winrich von kniprode: bo polska: to jak kat, bez, niż przed: zło-wroge kazanie o samo-władze.

the part where they say
"who cares about your feelings?!"
the adhan...
synonymous with:
oh god forbid the next
pop song akin to
the teutonic: salve regina!
  because who is to usurp
a fidelity of a jewish brigida
with a christian
    cockroach slithering?
        the same the adhan
and the same the monkish chasm
of a slumbering requiem...
   and that's because there's
a cul de sac of argument:
NEVER, EVER,
   RETREAT FROM WHAT
MUSIC PRESCRIBES,
   HIGHEST MEDICINE
ABOVE PRAYER...
        what have you?!
              whatever prayer
i said, one song woke my slumber
heart to authenticity,
and carved from a rock:
a ladden wreath of commerce...
to you, darting shadow,
i leave a homage of a patron
heart made homage..........
konrad von jungen...
   srogo gniew pana na
niby rod wybrany gana:
do, i, od obory, warte schu!
homage in shadows...
      the rest, retort to tourism,
and exemplifying: CAMBRIDGE!
CAMBRIDGE!
intellectual retards...
     ****-wit-chicken-scratching...
dotted pigments...
    Winrich von Kniprode...
Matteo Ruda Brudy Wąs...
tabelle ohne "ausgebrochen" schenkelß...
AND, WHO?!
GIVES A TOSS WANT OF
CINNAMON FLOSS TO
MAKE ADMIRATION OF...
THINKING?!
last time i heard, i didn't
cry because i heard a sermon,
but... a song...
and subsequently i "heard"
no song, when i...
   "understood" it...
        thing about giving a ****
about feelings...
people do not cry from
a thinking being expressed...
a song?
   **** me...
    disney! disney!
                 rat nibbling
intellectualism...
******* unions of those
who might cry at talking...
hermaphrodite...
  what's that?
  trans-trans-gender?
              ******* quack worth of
quadratic?
              i love the counter
though to: who the hell cares
what you feel...
with...
  and who the hell cares...
what you think,
giving you,
      the alles-fresse?
   if you think so little of my
emotions,
why mind my punch,
when i'm supposed
to think "so" much of your
thoughts, dated,
and made entombed in
propaganda talk?
    WHO IS TO BE MADE
WRONG BY FEELING
WHILE SUBSEQUENTLY
BE MADE RIGHT BY "THOUGHT"
IN SPEAKING?
   divine is the talk of
tears from song...
  than, in the alchemy
of the Graeae from mere...
"thought"...
    for people who
apparently do not
care what people feel...
hardly a reason to
apparently concern what
one thinks...
within the confines of
making such concerns:
   invasive,
      and by translation,
sole testimony,
a version of: "talk"...
     free speech ≠ dialectics;
rigour of...
    unquestioned
   assurences...
          undistuped anaesthetic
   coverts of:
  next Sunday.
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
and thank funk, that the english (anglophones) say: i don't know how to pronopunce that... which is self-evident... they haven't applied the custom of diacritical marks... therefore they blubber-blab their words... if you base your language on syllables alone, you can't make distinctions with letters... e.g. why... i... very closely associated... well, with such linguistic darwinism as the number of accents in the anglophone sphere... why be, even remotely bewildered? and yes, that's a phenomenon, because, thankfully, the complete lack of diacritics (distinctions) on letter, is no noumenon... it's verbal gluttony; just keep intertwining the words: custard fudge custard fudge 1 0 1 0 0 1
                                custard fudge custard furdge fudge custard; *******;
or read some irvine welsh, or something.

i love the diacritical nakedness of the english
tongue, and my *mutterzunge
...
  e.g.?
           plot -      a narrative of some sort...
and then... płot...       a fence....
                                                     ­      ha ha;
i guess only i can find it funny,
or some respective bilingual, entreched akin
to the belgian trenches...
                   i already said, with my bias for
the authority of language,
  i'm either pinhead digging trenches,
      or the minotaur excavating a labyrinth;
god... i love these nano-nuances:
caryca (polska tsarina) is now breaking her
back to suggest alternatives...
         caryca? oh... a term for some peasant
woman married to a jew... new money, basically.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
my grandfather will die a communist,
he still marks his words
with a no sense of embarrassment
with regards to the regime,
Soviet satellites on one hand,
banana republics on the other...
    my grandmother's brother
always makes the point:
that he was raised by the church and God,
while my grandfather by
the P.R.L. (polska rzeczpospolita ludowa)...
oddly enough, you don't seem
to find old communist being hunted
by operations, notably paperclip...
the angel of death died of a stroke
while swimming in Argentina...
so much for the other horrible deaths
in his shadow...
          currently in Poland
you have a restablishment of
               the unholy communion
of the church, and state...
            macro Vatican of the north...
for any outsider who doesn't see this,
what the west clung to by
creating a border separating church
from state... is obsolete in the current
climate of this land...
   the church has somehow fused itself
with the state...
        of all the current city-states,
London, Paris, Moscow...
       theres but one church-city...
      which can only spawn Poland,
as being the first church-state...
like my grandfather, i'd honestly prefer
they grey bureaucratic attire of communist
suits... than this pomp & circumstance
of the piglet clergy...
            I don't know, I didn't exactly
live, through the "horrors"
   of the imposed Martiall Law of 1981...
but sure as he'll no Soviet tank
grinded its way into Warsaw...
  as the interpretation of Pharaoh's
dream: seven fat years, followed by
seven lean years...
                  point being, with due
comparison on everything premature,
notably premature birth,
   and premature dementia...
       communism of the 20th century?
premature...
     the fact that the ideology still remains
like an extended form of pedagogy
in "immature" adults...
and considering that communism was
first tested in Mongolia, before it took
the shape of something worth
a cold war, and the cultural exchange
programme of the Moscow-Washington
pen-pals...
             no one can deny
the cultural loot of the cold war,
the acting where one side pretended to
be evil, the other side pretended to be poor,
yet both sides played the cheater's *****
trick, of fighting proxy wars,
      and talking about collateral damage...
only that the Russians,  as was me clear
with the current climate,
had the audacity to show their
ergonomic tact:
                     Newton's third law:
for every action, there is an equal
and opposite reaction...
    mainstream media calls this
symmetrical, I like to call it:
                              dividere aequalis...
with newton as the far far away precursor
of la chetelier and all things
mannered upon equilibrium...
                         but talk of a universal
living allowance,  the onslaught
of an invisible Mongolian horde
of machines...
              20th century communism
was premature,
    how else could you make a frame
of reference to the current year
with children marching in protest,
               and the talk of late capitalism?
20th century communism
   was premature, crafted by Slavs,
hotheaded, infuriated unlike
the dull eyed tea and crumpet brigade
of the hibernian Isles of Europe...
          already the transition period
in Scandinavia...
                      I don't even know how
to write a critique of capitalism without
thinking about over-production,
subsequently waste
   subsequently owning a a pair of Levis
jeans where you could still read:
made in the USA... 20 years later...
             absolutely no authenticity
in any subsequent critique of this system...
but at leat during the cold war
there was a fertile cultural exchange
program,
                 a compatibility of interests...
if the Russians had a ***** secret
surrounding their nuclear programs,
Amricans can have their little
pharmacological soup regime... thing...
premature depression...
a term not widely used,
   insomnia, the mainstream illness
of being exposed to light pollution,
notably the lux measurements in Hong Kong...
countered with: I wrote this in the presence
of two flickering bellydancers...
comfy light, almost medieval...
        after all,
aren't there more than one way of
applying capitalism?
              there never is, one business
model...
               just because the Slavic
version of Marxism didn't work,
notably with the expulsion of Jews...
  doesn't mean that, in 5he current climate,
a germanic version of communism
isn't attempting its attempt...
              and still...
    the expulsion of Jews...
   if not in the mainstream guise...
well... horror and some other word
for it... a holocaust survivor...
    mireille knoll (85), stabbed 11 times
with her body set alight...
a ******* cherry on top!
              then again...
    maybe the current "revisionism"
of communism of the 20th century is
benign...
              boring and too safe to be anything
more than egoistic moral tripping...
hard to become intoxicated on words
when the past too close to comfort
had its neukleinabenteuer...
                  and we have?
   0 hour contracts, and a "work ethic"...
hard not to see capitalism enter
a dementia period of its own existence...
no wonder that when someone gets
paid Alice in wonderland salaries for
kicking a ball, that photobombing spam
reels is also begging...
     which can only mean one thing:
the internet's les miserables...
     because the authentic beggars,
on the street, seem to have *****...
                         not to mention that I was
probably the last of my age-group
that still bought ***** mags from newsagents...
which is something, the easy-****-access
generation knows little, or nothing of.

— The End —