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When Winchester races first took their beginning
It is said the good people forgot their old Saint
Not applying at all for the leave of Saint Swithin
And that William of Wykeham's approval was faint.
The races however were fixed and determined
The company came and the Weather was charming
The Lords and the Ladies were satine'd and ermined
And nobody saw any future alarming. —

But when the old Saint was informed of these doings
He made but one Spring from his Shrine to the Roof
Of the Palace which now lies so sadly in ruins
And then he addressed them all standing aloof.

'Oh! subjects rebellious! Oh Venta depraved
When once we are buried you think we are gone
But behold me immortal! By vice you're enslaved
You have sinned and must suffer, ten farther he said.

These races and revels and dissolute measures
With which you're debasing a neighboring Plain
Let them stand —You shall meet with your curse in your pleasures
Set off for your course, I'll pursue with my rain.

Ye cannot but know my command o'er July
Henceforward I'll triumph in shewing my powers
Shift your race as you will it shall never be dry
The curse upon Venta is July in showers—.
Rayne Victoria Oct 2018
How dare society make us women feel like
Our very own bodies is a prison,
To be locked up behind the metal bars of our *******,
******* by the chains of our curvy figures
And the sentence lying between our thighs.

And the sentence is brutal.
Consent is no longer existent
When the *** is too tempting for a man to say no
And for you to say no.

Our butts slapped,
Chests groped,
Cheeks pinched,
Thighs squeezed,
In this prison we had the decency to call our own body
We are handcuffed to the degrading appetite of a man.

Women are not a display of things to touch
We are not a dessert menu for a man’s hunger
To be ordered by catcalling:
Want a taste of a woman’s behind?
**** that ***-!
A taste of ****-
Oh, baby, put on a show for us!
Or just the full course meal-
Hey girl, ow ow owwww!

It is about time we strong women break free.
The jailor of men- I stole the key.
It is about time we change out of our prison uniforms of
Bikinis and mini skirts and stilettos
And break down the locks that confined us.

Our prison sentence is just about up,
And when we are let loose,
Us women will no longer stand for such debasing behaviors.
And when we’re free,
It’ll be time to teach the men a little lesson

This cage of our body does not define us, boys,
Maybe try finding the prisoner behind the bars-
Her personality,
Charming smile,
And brilliant intellect,
Instead of demeaning our existence,
Objectifying our importance-
We are not your tools, your toys.

We are humans, too, you know,
With- get this- feelings.
Try manners and kindness rather than
Feeling and groping your way to a woman’s heart.

We are not a play museum- we are the artifact,
The masterpiece- Mona Lisa, Starry Night, the Sistine Chapel-
You must stand behind the red velvet ropes and perform
What the English language calls respect,
With a thing also known as consent.

This- my body- is also known as my body,
It is not his, it is not hers, and most importantly,
It is not yours.
Please try to understand this- I know, it’s super complicated.
And if you gain anything from this, let it be this:

We are not here to satisfy you-
Women are not prisoners to a man’s every need.
We are not objects- no-
And we deserve to be heard.
“We are the US government”
We can print out of thin air
Mister Sherman says aloud
Which should be quite a scare

But yet he says of Bitcoin
(Amazing that he can dare)
That bitcoin isn’t valuable
But created from thin air

Bitcoin has a cost to make
A cost that can’t compare
To fiat’s cheap and easy flow
Debasing the saver’s share

Thank you Mister Sherman
For making us all aware
Of your Cantillon privilege
Printing money from thin air

Study what a bitcoin costs
To make one - with work & care
And you’ll see Bitcoin’s value
Come join and get a share

Thank you Mister Sherman
For helping us to prepare
As our dollars get debased
Since they’re printed from thin air
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery054OutOfThinAir.html
Look up Representative Brad Sherman Out of Thin Air
Allan E Bartlett Jan 2012
keeping warm by that old stove
kicking back shots and
always a beer in hand
we lived as if nothing could
ever matter for nothing ever
changed the same man sleeping
at six or seven having passed out
from half-a-days work
and a hard days drinking
sitting around there for warmth
some kind of something men
don't often talk about much
women there were hard to
find, not for lack of trying
they just always seemed so
out of place when they
did actually appear
extending the night was
the main concern making
the most out of the ample
time given to us
trying desperately to squeeze
out juice from every instant
with anything free at hand
retreating back to sofas
for sleep waking up with
head aches intolerable beer cans
all around going hard because
there was no where to go
debasing our minds with the nights
succulent spoils tabbed pilled or
powder madness feels like sanity
at the right moment
knowing full well it can't
be caught as it slips
through your fingers only
to be inhaled the following
friday then blown away
once again at day break
a perpetual mind ****
was the goal with actual
******* just secondary reasoning
living to forget what it
means to be alive in
this world where identity
has been distilled to mere
pages in an infinite book
that doesn't really exist
what  else to expect from
shattered youth abused mainly
by design but also by choice
you could class it all up
increase the age and ornament
add black books, black dresses
black ties champagne & chandeliers
still dormant at its core
as time passes and falls apart
the fire still there burns
even in museums at midnight
Dionysus consumes Apollo
so warm your hands for as
long as you can it
only grows more insipid
increasingly cold and bitter
both the truth and the liquor
till everything’s but a pause and black
2010
George Krokos Aug 2019
WARNING:
This is a true story which might be distressing for some people
and hopefully may also be a kind of help or revelation for others.
-------------
It was like a cut or rift in the soul which seemed to be fuelled by anxiety and the sometimes innocent presence of others where the sufferer or victim would mostly come out second best or worse still, as with a sense of loss, going away with the feeling of anguish knowing that one had somehow absorbed sponge-like all the negative vibes and crap of those who were close by or there around regardless of who or what they were and then later on having to pay the price alone by taking it out on themselves with the almost near endless and uncontrollable self expunging torture of the bad habit.

A living daily hell of pain and self doubt, lacking that much needed acquired gift of self confidence and assurance that all would be well in the hope of the future where one could look back here on the current situation or malady like a bad dream and perhaps even laugh thinking how could that have been happening at all and the causes of it, if there were any, so that it could be reversed for one to make amends or at least be normal again and not have to go through this problem any more which in some ways very much resembled the taking on of someone else's curse where no matter what one did to get rid of the **** problem they were confronted with, it always kept coming back at them like some merciless relentless demon that wouldn't stop until it stopped.

Only then would there be peace or a semblance of it after coming to one's senses by sensing the extent of the damage caused by the feverish non-stop action of the bad habit which they didn't want or need to do; thinking or even saying to themselves with anger or utter frustration that this has to stop once and for all and then regretfully attempting to cover up or hide the all so obvious affected area that was the result of the distressful action which targeted that prominent part of the body indiscriminately and then having to get rid of all the evidence and now useless pieces which once covered and formed that well rounded part of their body wondering with stark curiosity if anyone else in the world had the same condition that didn't seem likely to go away. Or, even for that matter, if one could have a period of time, for it to heal long enough for them to make some recovery and be able to get on with their life, whatever that now meant or was; at least to live and prove to themselves that they were in control of it; and if all the so called powers that be would grant them some kind of reprieve from whatever the hell was causing the problem to continue without any clear purpose other than that of self abasement and an apparent denial of their own worth and potential which was their precious birthright which many people would call, say and affirm to be a God given existence and inheritance where no one had the right to take it away from anyone else regardless of whatever had happened in the dim past, being now more or less forgotten, not having any real or tangible reality other than that which one thought it may have in their mind and soul by a deep psychological wound like that of perhaps a post traumatic disorder where the original harm of whatever happened in the past still lingered in some way and had not been treated or healed.

Yet there were days, weeks and even months that would go by seemingly and  surprisingly relatively free of the problem but it would gradually once again find its way back to wreak more havoc and dismay on the already fragile life of the individual who had been suffering for most of their life with the unusual condition in a shroud of silence unseen except by those who were helpless to do anything about it only to ask questions of why and how was it going on, not really suspecting for one moment that they themselves were contributing to the ongoing pain and anguish of the person suffering with the above illness and were also somehow partly responsible for the cause both mentally and physically of the condition called or known in medical terms as “….............”, a form of ADHD, which was also known as the “Trickster” because whether one liked it or not and regardless of what one did to avoid doing the **** thing, it would sooner or later find its way back to plague those who were afflicted even though they knew that it was something they didn't want or need to have anything to do with at all.

Healing eventually came gradually after that person's immediate family had passed away when living by themselves for a few years but still in the same house where all the action had been taking place previously over most of the years, though it even occurred elsewhere as well irrespective of where they would go but seemed to abate for a while at least when away from the rest of the family and other people, and it also seemed upon reflection that it came as a blessing or some kind of reprieve from beyond the grave because for one thing there was no one else around to thwart one's effort or self determination to stop and live a normal life without the intermittent and unwanted action of the self debasing bad habit when the person afflicted then began taking some Chinese nutritional supplement that they had originally bought for the well being of a relative who had passed away a few years before, of which packaged contents were found partly unused and stored away in an area on the kitchen bench.

Another factor which contributed to the healing of the deep psychological wound was the use of, it seems, various powerful brain hacking software in the form of binaural sounds that some entrepreneurs, pioneers of a new science of awareness, had discovered, developed and made available under different guises with their own creative genius or interpretation, which had to be listened to by using a set of headphones with eyes closed as in meditation and under specific instructions that the user was not to do anything else while listening at some convenient time of the day or night, and to drink some water before and after the session, whenever they could find the necessary time to undergo the building of new neural pathways between the right and left hemispheres of the brain which was emphasised as being the beneficial action taking place by listening to these sounds that were played together and along with other relaxing music to avoid the monotony of the repetitive nature of the binaural beats or sounds in the form of mainly: alpha, beta, theta, delta, and gamma wavelengths that represented the normal and deeper levels or layers of consciousness that were scientifically proven to exist by years of research monitoring those who were in fact either Buddhist monks or some other neo, pro or non-denominational class of meditation practitioners that had participated in a scientific research program.
----------------
Sometimes healing comes by itself when a person learns how to be their own best friend and works with nature rather than against it away from exposure to unnecessary or overwhelming negative influences and undergoes that discipline which facilitates the much sought after healing response in a conducive environment.
________
Written early in 2018. Based on actual first hand experience. If anyone would like to find out more information on anything mentioned above or is seeking help for a similar personal problem or perhaps is trying to help someone else just let me know with a comment or send me a PM.
Debasing money is not just wrong
And generally suspicious
It’s personally destructive
It’s insulting and malicious

For those who store their value
The hard working and ambitious
To have their value stolen
Is insulting and malicious

Whether it happens quickly
Or slow and surreptitious
It’s pure and blatant theft
It’s insulting and malicious

For those who don’t have assets
It’s particularly vicious
But for ALL who use the fiat
It’s insulting and malicious

That dollars can store value
Over time, is quite fictitious
In not much time, the value melts
It’s insulting and malicious

With Bitcoin, we have a choice
It’s purpose quite auspicious
You can choose between the two
I hope you’ll be judicious
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery115InsultingAndMalicious.html
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2018
for Lys


1. Born and bred
2. Do you like it?
it is: as harsh as a tundra, as dangerous as a jungle, as hot as Singapore on a bad summer Sunday, not as mean as the West Side of Chicago gangbangers random violence, but much more beloved as a target by terrorists, a grrrreat place if u got money to burn, or know how to live off the land on five bucks a day and don’t mind standing in line for days to get cheapo tickets to Hamilton and can learn to like standing room at the Metropolitan Opera

the subways ****, most people are overly wired, highly competitive and peace of mind sometimes come when you cut somebody out of a parking spot or slide into that last seat in a. crowded bus cutting off that little old lady who crowns your success with an eloquent and loud *******, god bless her!

if you slip in the slush and fall to the ground five maybe 10 people will pick u up, call you an ambulance or wipe you down and if you are cute and single offer you their real cell phones numbers

the people are now normal, as in normally crazy, and the average speed is less than 4 mph in midtown and u gotta go five and god help you if you think you can walk in a meandering course while looking up you will be anointed publicly as a ******* tourist

where that gorgeous girl is a Broadway dancer who is likely broker than even you and listens to your spiel and shtick with an open mind if it means you can supply her with a decent dinner and some glimmers of decent possibilities

where romance dies by a thousand cuts a thousand times of day but oft is anew reborn walking home in deep despair cause of that ugly tail that your coat is too small to cover and if you are brave and keen and value yourself  the chances of getting what you want without debasing yourself are much much better than the
Powerball lottery by a city mile!

Do I like it?
it is all I know, shoot no clue, like most places, happiness is 98% *what’s within you no matter where you are
, 1% luck and 1% learning not to give a fk or rather to mastering the skill of letting go of crap quicker and quicker and telling the truth to your heart

3. Could anyone like it?
well new rats arrive daily as thousands depart for less stressful pastures. And who wants to live in a pasture? But the true answer is no, just anyone could not like it but a million someones do...maybe the answer is in of  my 1500 + poems and with a little bit of luck you will find a few where my love/hate for the city comes shining through and get a better answer... so it is past midnight on a Sunday and I looked quickly

try this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1619503/2-years-ago-manhattan-vignettes/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/664969/a-commissioned-poem-just-another-nyc-saturday/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/459773/911-distilled/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1512685/a-love-poem-lush-is-the-quietude-of-the-early-saturday-city-morn-­true-quiet/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1621192/artist-working-by-candle-light-neon-lights-coffee-shop-lights/

or this

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/794183/the-creed-of-new-york-new-york/
city of confusion and disorientation
exists not in pixels or imagination,
but in full color absurdity

close upon each other,
we hear remotely adjoining living lives thru thin walls,
humanoids of ilk and kith,
yet say nothing volubly lest we
discomfiture confirm each other's existence

there is much sound, noise, confusion,
masquerading to cover an agreed upon
profundity of silence
between every living individual,
even if blood, bed shared

all silently hum the city's song,
perhaps, hoping someone will hear us,
proving us right, or wrong, or extant,
this being not a credo, but a creed

if no one hears us,
no matter,
we hear our own machinery humming,
loud and clear,
for awhile,
it is sufficient
"I love...to scribe about
the city I love
where I was born,
schooled and fooled in,
by many a woman.

The city where I named
and raised my children.

Will probably die in
this city, and when
I am long forgot,
my name never uttered,

you,

as my designated
rememberer,
will think of me
whenever someone says,
he was such a rascal
I've been doing some integrating                                                      ­         of  the parts I've lost contemplating                                             if  I  was  really worth saving                                                           ­                after  years of you being so debasing                                                         ­   I  had to fall before I could ascend                                                           ­      Had to disconnect to stop the pretense                                                 Endured  your painful smear campaigns                                                        ­ you  didn't have the sense to feel ashamed                                      Called  you out when you knew you lied                                             maintained  class when you rolled your eyes                                             I  never let you see you hurt me deeply                                               walked  away when you threw dirt at me                                                   You  act like you're surprised I'd leave                                               For  once I'm rejecting you and embracing me
Do you feel you’re running twice as fast?
But only getting half as far?
Do you see your money doesn’t last?
No matter how diligent you are?

Do you want to know a better way
Than the dollar’s debasing plan?
A saving method - come what may?
Well with Bitcoin you surely can!

Save in a money with staying power
Not in money losing strength
Bitcoin’s yet young - a budding flower
And will open full bloom at length

Or, just keep on running twice as fast
Yet not going far at all
While the money printers have a blast
And your savings continue to fall
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery061RunningTwiceAsFast.html
jeffrey robin Mar 2015
She was so proud of herself !

She had turned her soul

Into such pure despicable ugliness

That all the girls were jealous of her

Mastery of Misery !

||

They would gather before her

And with worshipful songs

Would *******

To her image

And sing praises for her

Magical malignancy

And self abusing prowess





( it was the golden age of HELLO POETRY poetry ! )



to

THE BOYS

it was the very epitome of WONDROUSNESS

The total
Marriage

Of *** & DEATH

Of

POWER & IRRESPONSIBILITY

//

EARTH & HELL

Of

MAGIC POWERS

&

SELF DEBASING HUMBLENESS

//://

to me

It was just

******* BORING

••

as is all display of

STUPIDNESS
Rip Lazybones Feb 2015
I was walking down the street, but wasn't alone. The person in front of me  was myself, maybe it was him that wasn't alone. I was the shadow. Nervously, I asked where we are going. Myself told me we were going to this girl's house that I had long time feelings for. After answering my own question, we pulled together into one entity, as if my consciousness was playing catch up to my physical body.
We are now outside her house, I knock on the door and she answers. After inviting me in, she sits me down at her table and prepares tea. It was a dark blend, strong aroma yet a weak body. A few silent moments pass of us just sipping tea. She stands up and informs me that she has to take a shower. She request that I wait and relax here for her.
She goes off to shower. I notice there is a stack of small saucer plates in reaching distance. Slowly reaching, gripping, and pulling the plates to me, I hold them in my hands close to my chest. My arms slowly lift the stack of plates up to my mouth and I bite into the stack of plates. Chewing the shards doesn't cut my gums, but I can feel the pain in my teeth. After a hard swallow, I take another bite. This continues until the stack of plates are even halved.
Suddenly, I begin to worry what she will think or say about the debasing of her plates. Greater fear fills me when I begin wonder what she will think when she sees that I didn't finish eating them and they are being wasted. I convince myself to continue eating the plates. Before I can take the next bite, I begin to worry what will happen when these shards pass through my bowels. Anxiously, I set the plates on the table and continue to sip tea while I wait for her to finish showering. She never returns.
jeffrey robin Dec 2010
say what ya wanna in yer own way

the wind blows thru the barren-ness

of our deserted dreams

--------

the young are so bitter!

__

the youth of our dreams

----------

reading newspapers and magazines

watching tee vee

---

such nonsense there

debasing the people's lives

with purposefully gross distortions

---------

say what ye wanna in yer own way

someone will say they speak for you!

say what ye wanna in yer own way

------

breathe!

the wind blows thru the barren-ness

the breath of yer own sanctity

blows also

----


breathe!

in yer own way
Humans are fallible in many ways
   One way human weakness is shown
      Is by inevitably debasing a money supply
         NO human has been able to resist the short
            Term gain for those in power, but only pain
               And suffering for the majority of the people
                  Therefore
               Since we can’t make infallible human beings
            We must move the money supply out of the
         Control of humans completely.  We do this
      Through cryptography and mathematics
   Bitcoin is the rules based decentralized
Solution for this human fallibility issue
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery071Fallibility.html

— The End —