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Helen Nov 2013
Seems to me like the Grim Reaper would have some sense of humour... Just look at his job description....

   He was staring at the fire with a horrified expression on his face.

   I quickly hid the stick with the marshmallow squished to the end of it behind my back. I frowned slightly at the look on his face and shook my head, thinking 'Nah, he’s not ready for that kind of humor' and I just stood slightly behind him and let the firelight dance in the night.

It certainly was a time for reflection…

  I go to touch him softly and he slowly turns his head away from the fire and as his eyes settle on my hand hovering above his shoulder and he shudders and jerks away. I’m offended at first until I realize I forgot my gloves that day.
Opps, scary, bony hand. Right! A real turn off and I duck my head to make sure the cowl is covering my face.
No more mistakes!

   “Where am I?” he grits though clenched teeth while his head swings between me and the fiery conflagration upon the motor way.

   “Who the hell are you”

“Me?” I ask, exasperated. Like the scary, bony hand didn’t give me away!

   “Am I dead?”

Oh ****, he’s now hyperventilating… not a good sign

“Not yet” I answer slowly… Hmmm, how to explain? “ No, your not dead, but you will be. I took you early because well…” and I wave my hand in the general direction of the car that just exploded, which quite nicely scored a point in favor of my benevolence. “I just swooped in a bit early because, lets face it… do you want to be there?!!”

He throws his hands over his head and ducks at the loud explosion and looks at me like it was my entire fault. Well I wasn’t the one that thought I was okay to drive home after drinking all night but I’m used to being pegged as ‘The Bad Guy’… rolls eyes Sheesh!

   “Where’s Janet?” he asks quietly then with an ear piercing scream (I don’t really have ears but by the howls coming from the forest behind us (because I can hear animals, I'm not completely deaf) I’m assuming his voice ratcheted up a notch or two…)
JANET!!

"Calm down dude. She’s gone already."

   "Gone already? What do you mean gone already? You got me out and left her in the car?!?" He seems really ****** now.

"No! I didn’t! I mean that Gabriel has already been to collect her. Hey you’re a lucky guy. Gabriel doesn’t just shuck his wings to swoop down for nobody. She must be a real nice piece of… well a really nice lady for Gabriel to come collect her."

   "Gabriel?" He's shaking his head slowly like he's trying to dislodge a twig from his hair and his eyes are growing wider by the minute. "Gabriel? As in Archangel Gabriel? So she's going to heaven?"

He seems relieved which in turn makes me breath easier until he focuses again on me with a crazy eyed stare which makes me think he's about to get hysterical again.

   "Then what the hell am I still doing here? Why aren't I with her?"

Oh, tricky question. I hate the tricky questions. I'm so not paid enough for this **** and tricky questions. Why can't they just ever come along quietly?

"Umm" I hedge, with a little twitch right about where my eye muscle should have been. "I believe it has something to do with your secretary?" I deliberately leave it ending in a question.

   "My secretary? What the hell does that... Ohhh..."

Bingo, there you go. I love it when the penny drops quickly.

But I'm saddened because I know for a fact that his secretary was a scheming ***** that came onto him and he sidestepped all her advances at every opportunity but he was caught late night at the office with a big case and she took advantage of the late hour and even though nothing happened he still fantasized occasionally about the almost moment.

I pointed this out to Gabriel when he came to collect Janet and also advised that Janet was less innocent than she looked and he just sneered to me in that pompous angel way...
"Yeah? So what. We're really bored up there and this one is pious enough to escape notice but just enough down and ***** we can have some fun.
Back off Death!

You've already touched this one.


You just make sure you clean up the mess left over and make sure her man doesn't come sniffing 'round our domain or we'll make sure Lucifer hears about your little mistake with the last Pope and how you let him escape upstairs when he was meant to take the elevator south... Yeah, you know what I'm talking about...."
and then he was gone. All shining light and white wings and trumpets and fanfare.

Pfffttt... the mans exit is the most exciting thing about him so I guess Janet really is going to get what she deserves...

   "So what about me?" he said to pull me out of my reverie

"What about you?" Oh! What
about* you? Okay, well I can put you back in the car and you can be burned alive until you take your last breath and get just a small taste of where you are heading"

He didn't really seem to like that answer and by the look on his face that is when I decided to toss the stick with the marshmallow squished onto the end of it far into the treeline. I really didn't think I was ever going to be able to pull that one out of the bag. But I was still really ****** at Janet (on his behalf) and I'd ******* this one up to royal proportions so I didn't think my next suggestion would be any less worthy of the moment.

"Or, I could bust you through the windshield on impact before the car sets alight."

He's not sure but he's nodding his head slowly and he's listening.

"Now, you have to remember, you were traveling at speed and not wearing a seat belt of course so you have to know that where you land after skidding a bit.... well, there will be scars..."

   *"Scars, chicks dig scars"
he murmurs thoughtfully

"Yes, they do" I warm up to the thought. "And don't forget, you'll be a Widower too... Chicks dig that too"

   "Yes, a widower, scarred and tragically losing their wife. I like, I like"

He's warming to my idea.

I'm so smart!

Because he wasn't supposed to be the one I was to escort to Hell.
It was supposed to be his ***** of a wife Janet, but who in their right mind fights an Archangel for a soul? Not me, I'm the biggest wimp of all time. I just touch them and they fall! I'm not a fighter. Janet, for all her sins was to be mate to Lucifer tonight. I could have just touched Gabriel but I noticed he didn't get close enough to me to allow it and I didn't push the cause because I knew his payload wasn't anything he should gloat about and I wished him well...

So I really did '****' two birds with one stone this night. Janet got what was coming to her (Gabriel is the biggest sadistic ***** of the bunch) and her husband is a little banged up but the sympathy vote is scoring him some serious chick points.

Me?
I love my job :-)
Free Flying above
the clouds
Soaring above the Earth and through the stars.
Past all of the known planets
Those  out of our galaxy
The new planets I view
The new and hotter suns I see
Blaze more energies to fill the empty regions
of my mind
called "mystery."
Fuel my spirit and make it run harder
To new found inhabitants and their newer worlds.
Astral planes of spirit that don't require a vessel
or star ship to hold in or hold back
the soul that travels as it's own transport
Faster than any "law of physics"
Realer than the factual brought in by third party satellites.
I gather more and more brighter and true information
Later to bring such forth in my grounded and non-traveling form
Waiting to share my results to those who don't limit their beliefs
to any said "rule" or "fenced in logic formula"
I ride the waves to the calling gates of astral transport
As my soul escapes my heavy and limited physical self
Late in the night
The recordings of fact stored in the logics of my soul
Are vivid and ready to be replayed
to share such gifts of learning to those eager to believe in it's payload
and form.
The doorbell rang
I answered it
And standing at the door
Were two men
In their uniform
I knew what they came for

I knew right then
I'd lost you
I was alone
And you were gone
The plans we made together
Were now dust
The plans were done


Friendly Fire, what the hell
I don't know just where to start
Friendly Fire, What Is That
It's left a hole inside my heart
Friendly Fire, that's ok
I can't get it through my head
Friendly Fire, not so bad
I don't get it...dead is dead


You were killed while doing nothing
On patrol, on a safe road
When a soldier hit the button
Dropping his bomb payload

Sixteen men and women
Killed on their side of the wire
But, it's ok, smile now...
They were killed by Friendly Fire



Friendly Fire, what the hell
I don't know just where to start
Friendly Fire, What Is That
It's left a hole inside my heart
Friendly Fire, that's ok
I can't get it through my head
Friendly Fire, not so bad
I don't get it...dead is dead

Do you still die as a hero?
When you don't die in a fight?
Do you still go on to heaven?
Do you still see the same light?

You survived your basic training
You survived the muck and mire
To go and be a victim of
Something called Friendly Fire

Friendly Fire, what the hell
I don't know just where to start
Friendly Fire, What Is That
It's left a hole inside my heart
Friendly Fire, that's ok
I can't get it through my head
Friendly Fire, not so bad
I don't get it...dead is dead
Broderick Dec 2011
Shalt not crumble, pillars,
for you were constructed of strengthened metal.
Shalt not excuse yourselves, pillars,
for you have worked hare to receive
the payload bequeathed to you.
If others shall doubt your worth in silver,
show them the work you've made in gold.
Trust not in your cracks,
because others will test them to dismantle,
but hold firm, or may my wrath
(as wrath can bring a torrential rain, but is followed with the growing of life)
strengthen you further so you may intertwine caressed patterns,
implemented beneath your own fertile structure.
As my weight,
in both mass and meaning,
crushes down on you,
relinquish not,
falter not,
and hold the position you were molded for.
Shalt not crumble, pillars, and shalt not excuse yourselves, neither,
for your pride will always flow against the uncertainty of others.
Give me all:
Your hate
Your jealousy
Your lies
And all your deceit

I'll put it in a box
Wrap a yellow bow around it
And strap it to my back

Tomorrow, said the crying kid,
I'll ride this here red rocket
I'll fire it at the scorching sun!

I will not miss
I am true of purpose
I am pure of heart

And when I reach my target,
Burn my payload to ashes
Your kid of age five and three quarters
Will utter these final words:

Mom, dad, see.
I've set your dying love free!
I see a payload on the rocky road
and no one's crying wolf
we're a long,long way from Tipperary
but there's warships in the gulf.

The clock spins back,the lights burn low
and off we go once more
we're a long,long way from Tipperary
but it's still a ****** war.
K Balachandran Sep 2015
This precisely is the secret hour, that brings to an end
of the long wait of patient bats, now let them ecstatically mate,
mind, wakes up from stupor,in creative instinct,becomes a ******,
though peering in to own hidden shadows, from a pantomime past.
Silence of many shades reign in the mansion of magic beyond space,
along the labyrinthine inner corridor, lighted seldom or even never.

The dark nimbus clouds above, purge, thunder roars,victorious,
outside the cave rain in torrents lashes, winds whistle like possessed,
heart fills with an urge urgent,words fumble to express with verve,
blind bats, hanging upside down, wake all at once, shaking wings,
they arise creating a cacophony,then the transformation is quick,
what results is a frenzied ****** fight for colored words to mate.

The pairs suited most, in the crowded cave , intuitively selected,
commandeered, brought together, merged perfectly, without effort,
blending with the rare beauty of light filtering in, striking images
of different hues appear on the screen, moving pictures of creation.

Everything is still here except,a fecund sense, awareness in fire,
thoughts are in a churn, turn towards the starlit firmament,
and fertile red earth doused in the scent new rain roused,
blue water expanses, rippling moves as waves after waves
all finally settle, mind's creative pool now, is a placid reservoir.

Astonished he is, by the immortality of words, that acquire
an escape velocity to project, shoot up through the clouds,
it's payload, is carried by a  fuel, alchemy created propellant,
that ensures poetic transcendence,the fused golden words live long.

The creative moments, are pure  wonder, when within the folds
of primordial sound,he waves silk blending it with golden threads,
The poet becomes the word first and the word speaks through  him,
poem is a canal perennial,for the flow of desire, hope and pain concealed deep,all projected by the  mind continuum that never sleeps.
Ever did attempt, to try and  explain how poetic stirrings, begin and ooze, becomes trickle , becomes a flow, gushes out..
Shaun Meehan Nov 2014
air we breath
corroded by hate
the venom's bite pumped by heart
searing blood invading body, coursing vein
inciting rage, extreme acts unwarranted

grey, lost upon the world
grey, of dawn or dusk
signalling change though no more
bound instead by wretched cycle

where once was grey, now
black and white confused,
convincing everyone be right in cause
while all in parallel to err

hands, forgetting heart and ruled by mind corrupt
to be as children again, before ruin
innocent, curious to ask why

such horror to inspire and commit
cursed to look upon us
fear and wonder, admiration
false ideals the
greatest influence of their lives
robbing children their valour
by example we steal from them
most precious

ours, theirs
all victims, all destined to
victimize
tiny robots programmed to destroy
idea not their own
raised by fools, to become fools and raise fools

killing by vote and bullet
machine guns spewing streams of ballot
missile's payload concentrate of contrast opinion
artillery ordinance a rain of propaganda
bullets and bombs, on which scrawled
faith, race, and land
allegiance not to that which is them, but
to hollow party of privilege
for the sake of argument, not that which is right

teddybear victims,
torn, stained, growing
to ****—being killed before growing
made to suffer by dusty sin
like One-Third, atoning for the world

pray it not be them who judge as angels
recalling the misdeeds which hath befallen
innocent head

if had led the world
their demise, too grotesque for fiction
so far beyond cruel
most evil capable of their doing
might never see act

horror from depth so dark
drawn from plane beyond
to leave a scar on our own, a stain of remembrance
impossible to wash, despite deed's height
an ultimate violation of peace
so vile to make cringe the most stalwart
demanding shook from imagining

a moral guard must rouse
to stem atrocities' tide
volunteers, sacrifice ultimate and willing
an opposition to the perverse
who shrink from knight's brilliance
from that which is pure and valorous

soaring atop great raptor
choosing not to combat
but charge toward offering of self
for names unknown and person unmet

a breed rare, seeking neither fame nor thrill
but peace
to complete circle black that grey might return
that recurrence might see not light,
and chain be struck, obliterated

the highest of the low, display as peacock,
fanning to impress as they
from regal chairs rage debate, throwing a coward's stone
to err in belief knights harken their call
nay, never to those too crisp to combat
but, for them teddybears—
stuffing split, eye stitch torn, limp in anguish arms
never the silk necklace capable of sounding horn
knights heed only unspoken call

in defence of those without means,
incapable of further flight, to their arms they fold
being that in violent acquiesce of peace
that by threat of demise, and dauntless to see through
a commit to act of highest love
they might conjure to form the hope of hopes
that might rise—
the sepulchral dawn
Tim English Dec 2013
Infect your mind with inspected signs that discontinue what you were born with, forlorn this meme, obscene yet lacking in the tracking mechanisms displaced to outer space, there it is, gee ****, what'd I do now, have a cow, scientific inquiry as to *** was jfk, the cia? Information overload, a payload exploding in the brain leaves a stain that ingrains its image in your cortext (sic) contextual images supplied by visionary sources, get off your horses and dance in a trance can't stand ya burn forgotten ways of text on wood pulp gulped in by a mind left behind and signed for, designed for psychiatric cages as it rages for pages on the inequity of it all, fall, fall, morning star shines bright but it's all right, ignore that ****** and go straight for the sun, you're done, almost there, take care, truth or dare, can it be? See, and open your Mine(d) find it within outside the walls that define
Pat Broadbent Dec 2017
Weighted steel tugged by gravity,
A mile above this tranquil house–
its payload designed so carefully–
is yet unreleased from the mouth,
for there is danger involved:
I’ve hung Pandora’s box
And it, wont to fall,
Damns as it drops.
slowly swells desire–
a bloodlust is taking hold
for a world entombed in Fire.
The image of a once happy home
Brought with only a directed word
to dissolve into shadowed foundation,
Encouraged by petty quarrels endured,
Matures to become a palpable creation –
resentment resides within every thought
and fiery images are fanned ‘til they fuse
In a flash into sound, suddenly brought
On a table within a voluminous brew
of word, sentence, and ireful mind,
And the room is left in silence.
In the wake I stand, alone,
uttering penitence.
Westbow Aug 2012
A dusty black
Drop of grit
Carries a payload
Of promise, weaving
To my lips and
Into my hopeful
Muscle and bone

Today I will
Accomplish
Today I will
Move
Words, once set to open air,
Gain weight.
Like boulders they can roll
from your mouth down a
slippery ***** of destruction to
eventually settle heavily on the shoulders
of innocent individuals, the weight of which
often proving too much for their
fragilely constructed foundations to support.
Like a gun,
keep the safety on what you speak,
Don't point hateful words,
at anything you love,
unless you intend to **** it.
Because more deadly than any
lead based projectile what you say
will leave your mouth like
a tomahawk missile loaded with
a poisonous and corrosive payload
capable of entering a persons soul and eating it up
from the inside out.
They'll tell you your whole life,
"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."
Perhaps more people would heed this warning,
If they said,
"Your words are a thermonuclear bomb capable of disintegrating
egos quicker than Fat Man did Nagasaki, the lasting effects of which may resonate through time in a cataclysmic downward spiral you could not possibly begin to imagine, so be careful."
Mike Essig May 2016
Lightening from a clear, blue sky.
Random firing synapses. Fluttering twitches.
A moment where the eye and I diverge.
Mind rockets in flight, morning or night.
Become a twisted ball of rubber bands. Writhe.
Avalanche of trembles. Lungs in a vise.
Devastating payload of cognitive dissonance.
How long will this horror of nothing last?
Waiting is the worst. Paralysis of time.
     Sitting on a sofa on a quiet afternoon
     Hoping for a large slice of normal, soon.
coulorfulSmoke Sep 2019
Staring
just staring
observing the city
people moving talking
dramas comedies unfolding
get a glimpse briefly

Staring
just staring
don't have much going on
but the city does
endless action
movement
sound

Railings bridges buildings
big building with letters
H
E
I
N
E
K
E
N
must have lots of floors

People
phones
couple laughing
on the pier laughing
feet beating up and down
wonder why
in wonder

Why i wonder am i
just watching life go by
absorbed in speculation

Backpackers laugh
graffiti by a ladder
ATK   C
           R
           E
crane swings around
payload on a zipline
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
A crime buried without justice is never laid to rest
Those that where responsible never addressed

The exploding bombs had chased them to the basments
They thought women and children would be safer in this containment

But these bombs that droped did not explode
It had a much deadlier payload

The gas it trun lose was Sarin by name
This nerve gas played no games

So much heavier than air, it's deadly fingers reached down
Right to where all the women and children could be found

Quit and deadly, they hadn't a prayer
They where all so caught unaware

Until their lungs wouldn't work
Then the muscles twitching and ****

Mothers agonizing screams filled the air
Me and my Children are dying they declared

Bombs delivered the gas
Now families and children twitch in deaths dance

No real hospital for miles
Poorly equipped clinics filled up, people laying in the aisles

Frothing at the mouth, pupils only pinpoints
Death came to many that day, it did not disappoint

The dead laid in rows in clinics, mosques, and streets
Over thirteen hundred the lord had to meet

And as the living took care of the dead, in their graves they lay
Still no one is punished for this crime upon them, not even to this day
Syria in 2013.
Subject: gently ******

Hello Sin Come on In!

to you' re so cool
activated ma jaws to drool
who shaw hoops nod da tubby a fool
with a string of saliva may be a done deal
   and  could easily appear on your screen thin gruel.

can you prove to this dollar short day late man for all season's best friend is a female dog in heat?

he can attest that a new broom (or vacuum ******* device) sweeps the carpet clean.

my non-verbal action (of *******) speaks louder than words.

despite the fact that all men are not created with an equal size ***** tis when the lips (of a **** tree lass) part can willing import said pate tree odd **** soldier in a testosterone raging storm.

no matter beauty is only skin-deep beggars can't be choosers.

thus tis better to bend a fore gone ******* into soft pink ore than break fast making sure every dog (even my sputter little dachshund) has his **** day.

most all heterosexual men agree that every little **** helps, and everything happens for the breast reason if for no other reason then a ***** fool and his fantasy honey are soon parted upon the dawn of another day.

whence once again, i continue to build ****** castles in the pew bic lair hoping you let my little hot pig in a poke to be the first to ***, and first to be served.

if thee be a doubting thomas, ye will immediately discover that from small (flaccid) beginnings come great things that turn out to less hard that initially *** zoom.

thus will lay to rest heads, i win; virginity, you lose unless immoderation in all things ****** found thee were once bitten by countless vipers and therefore twice as likely not to be shy with me a mwm born in sin Cincinnati, Ohio.

from:: matthew's book of slightly salacious risque proverbs - any ****** innuendos purely intimating that seeing is believing and beauty is in the s eyes of the prickly beholder.

I thoroughly enjoy plying (like a baker kneading dough) these slender and smallish fingers at the juncture of neck and shoulders.

As many cumulative kinks would be ironed out. Muscles and tendons on either side of the spine (from stem to stern) privy to tender loving care. Special emphasis would be given to any particularly sore area.

Perhaps an especially noticeable ache exists along the upper or lower back? Just the appropriate amount of (gentle) pressure - from the heal of one hand or the other - called into action. Might forearms or biceps be in sore need of massage? Gluteus Maximus

saddle sore? How about thighs? Any other parts of your anatomy require skin nourishment? This willingness to manipulate knotty points of tension offered for passionate physical *******. Game fore play?

unsure what else this free thinker
   ~10 miles east of valley forge, penna ought to write
also not knowing if my rambling comes across as trite

maybe filled with angry undertones
   awash with spittle and spite
veering just left of the political right

which liberal democratic political leanings correct quite
with an attempt to come across as mature and polite
and hoping to induce some interest

   to get together some day or night
discussing somewhat profound or light

or...letting sexually intimate fantasies
   especially payload of ***** takes stratospheric flight
bulging and heady toward venus to alight.
I shall assume
That we really did go to the Moon
And I watched it on TV.

Back in '63 it was a dream
That's why I wasn't sure
But I guess the cure worked
And I don't dream no more.

No meteorites to fill my nights
With splendour and such awe
Life's becoming such a bore
I want more.

If we ever get to Mars
Or travel far beyond the stars
Can't see me being here to see
The wonder and the mystery
Unfold.

We are born,we live
Get old and die
That's the way it has to be
And sometimes progress is so slow
I see that now.
But I shall try to stay awake in life
To watch us cut through like a knife,
The skies above.

How I'd love to see
Men on Neptune.
Ain't going to happen soon.
And like '63
The Moon seemed so far away
Tomorrow's dreams were yesterday so let's get on with it.
Build a ship
Send me up
I'm going anyway
Just another payload to weigh you down a bit
Dying's ****
But we can outlive if they will only give
Me a berth
On the next ship leaving Earth.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2024
Continuing, in time, out of time, as mere thought,
ready for you to think, one thought
through, thoroughly
right, fixed pose, put so as
to stand up right,
here
on the mean point
of any grave object spinning,

in, or against, the wind. ROI. Invest an hour.
-------------------------- here it is 1:03 PM 1-1-02024
sunny, shady side of a local oak

Hear -- sense -- feel
agrere, ag re re feel mind heed,
agreed, as our we mind discerns
all around us noise
of us is louder than life,
we cannot hear our selves
think I am, and beside me, is you.

I think you being, made ware,
art effecting genius, magi-formed,
imagined magi-wise, presented phenomenon
of harmony and order in beautiful random reality.

How can one imagine two,
if one is such a one
as never was in ever before,
alone in all at once,
unique, solo uno,
you, in spirit
and truth

and this line,
and this line, establishing the shape
of signal sent,
line upon line, word by word filled
with mean common sense, consensus
on the spectrum of sense words make, meaning
things in spirit and in truth that allow
for colloquial we all uses you all fail to notice,
first uses of the fruit life requires, true science,
knowledge, birds and bees and ants and serpents,

first use, meaning agree, push comes to shove,
catalyst to payload, we,
become the bomb.

Oh, none privately interpret reality, we,
in fact exist to resist dying long enough
-infinite form- to
comprehend the winds of change, loosed
from fists imagined divine, scripture,
amusement themed re-liga-ment,
le-***-a-mental, right thinking,

in deed,
done so fast, we past all understanding

landing
softly
where wisdom contentment is tested.
mind
the rules
of order, noble souls,
rare incorruptible powers
that be,
as we so often proclaim,
beyond me,
as we so often contend
in pride, resisting heroically,
with the consensus, us
against all not us, alienated minds,
foreign reasons adhered
to for war, as reared,
indoors,
around the hearth,
absorbing value from your worth-ship,
expressed,
my most right mind, my satisfied mind, we use
when the authorized performance
of the formula, demands clapping
one hand of each kind, to synchronize our watches.


Divide the sky,
I look north, you look south
imagine we agreed already to look for life,
is it here?

You do know, few weigh mere words for worth,
a mortal, according to the culture adapted
from hunters served milk and honey
by pastoral people's adapted
to digest lactose.

Serious word use, with signs and wonders,
began when man assumed he was as wonderful
as life,
in truth.

Ask and you shall receive, the means to leave a message,
without a riddle.

The medium is the message, rub that in, what you are
speaks so loudly nothing else makes sense,
then
what?

Be, be on, go on, singin' in the rain, I happy again,
boppity boo, too, go on

Thinking worthy ideas rethinkable,

let me tell you prosaically, perhaps,

words with understood stick-to- bottom
like rice, re
think ai as art intuition, think
stuck
to the bottom of the ***,
some first word sense is held, still good.

El, breath, yes, alive am I, bverytrue,
I survived to look back and laugh,

thinking to myself, the augmented mind,
the unbelievable believed let go, be free
form
of human kindness, your kindness.

Most revered reading mind, read mine,
let it seem at home in your reading mind.

There. We did that.
This is after that, long after reality agreement,
this is it, Dr. Zorba taught all boomers,
birth, death, infinity…
Dr. Zorba, on Ben Casey…
I knew him first as Gunga Din, {deen}
I learned a certain lie, glorified, just if-I'd…
I gave birth to the emperically deceived mind
- trump mindghuck attention diversion attempt
- flaunted and foiled in one fell swoop.
Nike,
the feeling, wah who won, we won, raw raw raw,
Victorious Peace rush, whoosh we won
sigh
science is
fundamental heavy,
base mortal honed most point,
extremely dense, in every conceivable sense.

heavy, primordially pre next, post never,
that was the unbelievable part, never
was
we one, we was always we, at the base, fundus
mundus.
z bottom of all hell broken loose,
at points past
our peace, perhaps,
at the moment,
now is not all
of this ever after, we have in truth,

hope must answer to, in truth, eh, wisdom
makes
peace
possible, in you
in me, on time in time, we do

what the truth would do if it were you
in this wedom of words we all comprehend,
---------------
This old Vietnam veteran of the class still alive in 2023.
The entertainment deme aimed at -- action
with grey hair heros.
Long haired, bearded old dude, once
reported as having been a bearded youth,

Now, I am a rumpled specimen
of those media reflections,
my mind resighing,
interruptions are as sure
to come, as offences, pinched
nerve Patriotismismismismism sheisschismmmmm
pop.
------------------
I was walking on my reward, my own treetop deck,
thinking something I was doing was not right,
like low down right,
lowest known, right, which hand do you throw with.
Right, lefties, to this very day, exist,
to put a twist on things,

politics is polimental agreement formation,
monstor's are made this way, evil knowers, thinking
nothing ever after is real, any way,

we words to the wise, we say nay, laugh, knowing
science wins, by faith in wisdom's promise,

still
small
voice,
this is the way, first peaceable,
peace be with you, we say, amen,
you, too.

Like romcom love declarations, difficult
to make meaningful after alls been seen done.

Neurons that mirror amused mind states,
we contain, as wet ware, we feel emotions aimed
at us, at any age,
Fantasia at age two, for me. '
Formed the informed me.
And you,
now that I think about the qwerty guy trained
ambidextrously, that is me, I can type, on a keyboard.

And I know monkeys cannot, but many have imagined,
Shakespeare was Bacon, and Bacon, St. Germain,
and Julian Huxley's tech level made me think that,
link thinking to Aldous, 1957 M.I.T.
What a piece of work man is.

Gaseous we, the concept, passes as common knowledge.

I read as much, who cares, I ask, I wish to know, I say,
we must needs agree,
or our intent to implement the bomb

worked. This is 2024. I did not die in 2023, I think I am a thought
thoroughly satisfied with the seed I have sown and grown
into another hap filled future for however long it seems...
This is ever after all.
Thomas King Dec 2017
Thy elegance of form
Hast weakened my body and soul
As the weight of thy splendor and beauty
Hast become my payload

To carry thy love
Within my pitiful heart
Hast become my penance
For wanting more than I deserve

Pardon me for my weakness
But worry not for my struggles
For I have harvested thy bounty
And now must boldly ferry thy lading

I beg thee do not smile in my presence
For the weight of joy
It will add to my corpulent heart
Will surely be my undoing

Let me trudge along my road to happiness
And like an oxen who carries goods
Without complaint of discourse
I shall always be your love’s beast of burden
Robert Ippaso Oct 2019
God what a mess,
My head is spinning,
Each day more stress,
Am I still winning?

Wall street crashing,
The economy near stall,
The media’s constant bashing,
Pelosi’s new curve ball.

My plans are now in tatters,
Forestalled at every turn,
To do what really matters
Is all I truly yearn.

I’m gearing for a fight
The like they’ve never seen,
I use my mouth to bite
And care little if I’m mean.

I’ll tear each one to shreds,
Flail them side to side,
Get well into their heads,
Give them quite a ride.

Clearly they don’t know
The grief they have in store,
They’ll reap what they now sow,
It’s nothing short of war.

Like Bombers flying high
Releasing their payload,
Shells falling from the sky,
I’ll give them what they’re owed.

Cross me once
And risk my wrath,
Yours the choice
To take that path.

Cross me twice
And stay awake,
You’ve cast your dice,
What a mistake.
JoyBoy Nov 2024
Four hobbits are to do one thing...
Two flex and look commited.
Two whine, while clinging to a ring
They have been tasked to yeet!

How many hobbits must it take
To dispossess a nay-lord?
Up to what Gendalf can't forsake
Due to increasing payload.

I have become a tyrant beyond limits!
Man prostrates, elvish people begs.
Alas, I have a mortal weakness.
Short people with absurdly hairy legs.
There's nothing in this world beyond my power,
There's nothing in my sight beyond my grip.
But **** this helmet that resembles static tower.
I cannot register the men below 5 feet.
If only I could tilt my head a little,
I could have spotted little rascals go!
I could have stayed forever ancient evil
Whilst having healthy posture over all!
The super flyers are down to go
they ask me, are you ready to blow this joint
I smile and nod with a wink
then utter just two words, too right

It's going to be a blast
we are going to choke on our ashes
this is our time and place
as we dry the day of madness

Oh it's going to get messy
so ****** messy in mayhem
we mean to tear the sky down
and write our names on the stars

It's a rip roaring venture of deceit
a embryonic payload of might
never a dull moment as we.....
dry the day of madness


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
between incontinence and constipation

Irritable bowel syndrome i.e.
the former excretory bout I address
the above (polite way to phrase diarrhea)
and avoid moon efficient cheekiness,
yours truly doth buttress,
a literal warranted pain in ***,
diametrically up poses,
and disinvites loving caress,
nevertheless yours truly
experienced gastrointestinal distress

countless times experienced ****** duress,
when anticipatory anxiety triggered excess
indomitable heavenly gorgeous fortress
mandating visits to the porcelain goddess
else.. heavily soiled underwear
necessitating by George thoroughly good
scouring utilizing heavy duty gloves
nsync accessing generations
old washboard and handpress.

Nowadays more often than not,
I suffer incapacity to whoop
and holler at healthy excretory
system (of the down), but troop
hunkered over (think
Hunchback of Notre Dame)
at ground zero smack dab dagnabbit,
where birds of prey swoop

doubled over in agonizing pain
believe me you, this fickle fella
experiences excruciating difficulty to ****
mein life passes before third eye blind
and joie de vivre to exclaim L'Chaim
takes kamikaze nosedive and ability
to savor existence significantly doth droop.

Nevertheless alleviation when at long last affright
dying upon commode,
when colorectal **** orifice obstruction airtight
cursing posterior dire straits regarding
(you bet your bottom dollar)
occasions behind stricken with blight
worse fate than losing cocked cat fight
malfunctioning ****** scenario analogous

loosing life versus death dogfight
plummeting at warp speed
within psychedelic atmospheric Earthlight
recognizing demise (mine)
on par jeopardizing ability,
cuz jammed alimentary canal
disallows lightening payload Humpty dump
(Thoreau Lee walled din)
and doomed as endangered bumblebee's flight
and snuffed out as quaint sputtering gaslight
era when commercial gas became available in

early 19th century in Europe and America...
see - https://www.thespruce.com/
the-gaslight-era-2175011
to glean at least one more highlight
though gaining such spruced insight
contributes no more or less than jacklight
neither rhyme nor reason why
wily prevaricating good knight
informs ye to understand might

of Matthew Scott Harris this night
(April 27, 2020) no longer fraught
regarding his sorely overtaxed sphincter
he heromin vouchsafed and wooly vowed
to accept unconditional surrender
of body dysmorphia (mine) plight
resolved swallowing bleach
(a purgative he trumpets)
to eternally lived in peace quite.

Time and again liquified human waste
i.e. loose stools (mine)
flushing bowels unchased
down toilet shunted off to treatment plant
thick sludge consistency of (crust) toothpaste
repurposed for commercial
and individual use posthaste,

especially every resident of
Lake Woebegone Poker Flat outcaste,
who as token scapegoats
(no kidding) suffer tsoris
bullies unrelenting lambaste
harbor loathing, albeit strong distaste
towards those persons deemed
undeserving comprise untouchable caste.

— The End —