Boring old militant Marxist Farts
who blather on, in fits and starts
about class war and revolution
(demonstrably a failed solution)
rather than pitied should be scorned;
their websites tapped, subscribers warned.
Such talk begins as plodding fodder
dull as lead – yet even odder:
people read this wretched dreck!
History ought to hold in check
their pawn-shop plans to topple kings
they talk a good game – till it brings
armed madness, rage, the peasant wars
thugs and riff-raff looting stores,
death-camps, purges, civil chaos
union dues, returned to pay us
****** end to a treacherous story –
guns for butter and guts for glory.
Mao’s red flowers, Trotsky’s pick
Stalin’s bearhug – lies as thick
as honey dripping on a corpse.
Centralized control that warps
a free man’s mind. And yet they find
their audience loaded, pumped and primed.
In spite of numberless essays
the true believer bucks and brays
hee-hawing on, in Maoist jargon,
urging buyers to the bargain:
shining paths – that lead to graveyards
strewn with texts by Marxist blowhards.
Endless screeds by tenured traitors :
dialectic masturbators…
Marxist dullness has its edge.
Boring – yes, but forms a wedge
to split the status quo in factions
gaining time to plan their actions.
Arm in arms; so sad it tickles –
hammering plowshares into sickles
battering bewildered readers
(propagandized bottom-feeders).
Red conjecture never softens
pounded in like nails in coffins,
though their pipe-dreams burn away
when exposed by light of day.
Communist theory rings the blows
to forge the chains. The movement grows.
It’s lengthened, strengthened, link by link
ensnaring those who’re prone to think
they know what’s best for rank and file,
propagandizing all the while.
Agitating Marxist praxis
forms their struggle’s central axis.
Starry-eyed, they sing the anthem
plotting mayhem. Yes – I grant them
zeal, devotion, earnest madness…
but their ends begin in badness.
Brooding hate – their only god,
biding time to shoot their ***.
Nip their notions in the bud
before they blossom into blood.
Point them out for what they are:
faceless scribes of future war.
Worst of all: they’re as predictable
as their theories are inflictable.
Gaze into the hole of history
comprehend the tragic mystery…

Dry land,
quiet land
of night's
immensity.

(Wind in the olive groves,
wind in the Sierra.)

Ancient
land
of oil lamps
and grief.
Land
of deep cisterns.
Land of death without eyes
and arrows.

(Wind on the roads.
Breeze in the poplar groves.)

Village

Upon a barren hill,
a Calvary.
Clear water
and century-old olive trees.
In the narrow streets,
men hidden under cloaks,
and on the towers
the spinning vanes.
Forever
spinning.
Oh, village lost
in the Andalucia of tears!

Dagger

The dagger
enters the haert
the way plowshares turn over
the wasteland.

No.
Do not cut into me.
No.

Like a ray of sun,
the dagger
ignites terrible
hollows.

No.
Do not cut into me.
No.

Crossroads

East wind,
a street lamp
and a dagger
in the heart.
The street
quivers like
tightly pulled
string,
like a huge, buzzing
horsefly.
Everywhere,
I see a dagger
in the heart.

Ay!

The cry leaves shadows of cypress
upon the wind.

(Leave me here, in this field,
weeping.)

The whole world's broken.
Only silence remains.

(Leave me here, in this field,
weeping).

The darkened horizon's
bitten by bonfires.

(I've told you already to leave me
here, in this field,
weeping.)

Surprise

He lay dead in the street
wit ha dagger in his chest.
Nobody knew who he was.
How the streep lamp flickered!
Mother of god,
how the street lamp
faintly flickered!
It was dawn. Nobody
could look up, wide-eyed,
into the glare.
And he lay dead in the street
with a dagger in his chest,
and nobody knew who he was.

Soleá

Wearing black mantillas,
she thinks the world is tiny
and the heart immense.

Wearing black mantillas.

She thinks that tender sighs
and cries disappear
into currents of wind.

Wearing black mantillas.

The door was left open,
and at dawn the entire sky
emptied onto her balcony.

Ay, yayayayay,
wearing black mantillas.

Cave

From the cave
come endless sobbings.

(Purple
over red.)

The gypsy
calls forth the distance.

(Tall towers
and mysterious men.)

In an unsteady voice
his eyes wander.

(Black
over red.)

And the white-washed cave
trembled in gold.

(White
over red.)

Encounter

For you and I
aren't ready
to find each other.
You... as you well know.
I loved her so much!
Follow the narrowest path.
I have
holes
in my hands
from the nails.
Can't you see how
I'm bleeding to death?
Don't look back,
go slowly,
and pray as I do
to San Cayetano
for you and I
aren't ready
to find each other.

Dawn

Bells of Cordoba
in the early morning.
Bells of Granada
at dawn.
You are felt by all the girls
who weep to the tender,
weeping Solea.
The girls
of upper Andalucia,
and of lower.
You girls of Spain,
with tiny feet
and trembling skirts,
who've filled the crossroads
with crosses.
Oh, bells of Cordoba
in the early morning,
and, oh, the bells of Granada
at dawn!

They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
      from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
      with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.

They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
      to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.

Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
     Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
     The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
      A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.

     Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
    
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
      and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.

Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
      to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
  
Then one by one they steered their wagons home
      gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
      that we are more together than we are apart

Listen up, America!  This is the music of community.
      We are more together than we are apart.

*© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard

[On my birthday]
                
                
At low tide like this how sheer the water is.
White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glare
and the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches.
Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,
the water in the bight doesn't wet anything,
the color of the gas flame turned as low as possible.
One can smell it turning to gas; if one were Baudelaire
one could probably hear it turning to marimba music.
The little ocher dredge at work off the end of the dock
already plays the dry perfectly off-beat claves.
The birds are outsize. Pelicans crash
into this peculiar gas unnecessarily hard,
it seems to me, like pickaxes,
rarely coming up with anything to show for it,
and going off with humorous elbowings.
Black-and-white man-of-war birds soar
on impalpable drafts
and open their tails like scissors on the curves
or tense them like wishbones, till they tremble.
The frowsy sponge boats keep coming in
with the obliging air of retrievers,
bristling with jackstraw gaffs and hooks
and decorated with bobbles of sponges.
There is a fence of chicken wire along the dock
where, glinting like little plowshares,
the blue-gray shark tails are hung up to dry
for the Chinese-restaurant trade.
Some of the little white boats are still piled up
against each other, or lie on their sides, stove in,
and not yet salvaged, if they ever will be, from the last bad storm,
like torn-open, unanswered letters.
The bight is littered with old correspondences.
Click. Click. Goes the dredge,
and brings up a dripping jawful of marl.
All the untidy activity continues,
awful but cheerful.

Listen closely and hear our collective vernacular in a state of constant mitosis.
Live and see our language begin to rival our own complexity.
A myriad of inter-connecting word highways with more twists,
turns and travelers than that of any physical road.
A body of thought massing in our collective conscious,
an infinite man-made addition to our finite physical reality.
Every addition is another color, another taste,
relative to the user in enunciation,
becoming ever less limited by geography.
Emotion attaches and tints the tone of individual words as we grow with age.
Without it enabling us to define ourselves, we are left ignorant and insular.
Memory accumulates casting a shadow and adds depth,
communication cultivating perception to leverage change in corporeality.
Pulsating slang spreading locally with fresh life to be globally colloquial.
A wordsmith may use this power to celebrate
or condemn their perception of reality,
more still- will wield words like plowshares
and escapism flourishes with such an expansive field
where all of humanity is brought out to play.


And sometimes-
for me,
it is just barely enough to grip a word with impunity.

Ten Word Challenge: orphan/ gilded/ scattered/ fins/ library/ pavement/ plowshares/ stamp/ outcry/ tomatoes


Orphan books at the library
scattered on rickety tables
set up on the cracked pavement
await a new home at bargain prices

Books whose stamps
of classification are faded
Some with gilded edges
like the fins of goldfish

Books rich with knowledge
ready for curious fertile minds
like soil being turned by plowshares
for corn, wheat or rich red tomatoes

Books that - if not re-homed
if tossed or burned -
would rightly cause an outcry
from book lovers everywhere

we labor under an oppressive thumb
not realizing the very leaders
we exalt will use that power to
hold us down

we've armed them with
the greatest of weapons
blind conformity
empty apathy
unquestioning obedience
what we believe in is a puppet

as our so-called democracy devolves
we increase in callousness
masses designed with a singular purpose
to extinguish original thought

accept or die
embrace or be ostracized
belabor the point
that your purpose is to labor forever
another slave along the chain
another cog in the machine
bent-kneed
stooped before some
corporate conglomerate
a faceless superpower
pulling the strings behind the scenes

politicians bought and paid for
shouldering the burdens of the
Fortune 500 companies
who helped them purchase their office
beholden to back alley deals
and smoke and mirror gimmicks

artists traded rebellion for comfort
now they ply their craft for profit
to appease the brainwashed masses a
morally—and financially—bankrupt populace

they catalogue our every thought
metadata ensnared in the dragnet
mass surveillance a tool to bend the whims
of the people to their rulers

we **** black kids in Ferguson
as they walk down the middle of the street
shoot 'em down as the snack on skittles
and sip Arizona ice teas
they forbid us to feed the homeless
lock us in a jail cell if we dare to disobey
city ordinances designed to keep the
City Beautiful looking beautiful
but i see beyond the thin facade

expose war crimes
thanks for your service
Chelsea Manning
that'll be 35 years in federal penitentiary
hack a surveillance network spying on
activists and protesters
can't have that
that'll be 10 years at State
Jeremy Hammond
blow the whistle on the panopticon
thanks Edward Snowden
but we've grown to adore our own shackles

fear
24/7/365
fear this fear that
fear god fear death
fear Muslims fear blacks
just don't fear the rich white straight
males in their 4k suits and crooked smiles
pay the white-collar Wall St. Bankers no mind
the 1% who've left us all behind
as they lurk in the shadows
ruining everything

a fearful electorate will bow to the
whims of its masked dictatorship
and march without thought to the beat
of the war drums

**** them
**** all of them
ISIS Pakistan Iran Syria
all the Muslim savages in countries
whose names we can't even pronounce
render weapons to tyrannic despots
so we can pretend we
don't have blood on our own hands
torture extrajudicial assassination
extraordinary rendition drones bombing
civilians in record numbers
all cards we've stowed up our sleeves
in a war that is designed to never end
fight terrorism with terrorism
revenge not justice
but if our army is abusing children
then who the **** are the bad guys

confront the ambivalence that
roars like machine gun fire
violence is never the answer
and i refuse to stand by and watch
as we wreak havoc upon this earth

our leaders are liars
our gods are frauds
we're going to have to save ourselves

the answer does not rest above
a utopic afterlife in the clouds is a farce
we've been led like sheep to the slaughter
obedience and reverence have crippled us
if we want heaven
we'll have to raise hell

stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters
in direct action cooperatives
nonviolent civil disobedience
insurrection against the State
anarchy is the answer

beat your swords to plowshares
and seek peace

The Salvation Army Soldiers
Should take on new roles
Be a little bit more bolder
Armed with their three poles
And ******* iron pots
Venturing across the world
To put out fires in hot spots
And demand the enemies
To turn to making plowshares
Place their indemnity
Bandoliers and bombardiers
Into those ******* pots
Manned by the Salvation Army
r

I extolled them as they went about their
Menial tasks in suits of silk;
Sunday bests amidst the concrete, the earth,
The broken shards of
Bamboo splintered skin, hiding interiors
                          And further, the broken mirrors of
                          The broken memories of the
                          Broken histories upon the
                          Broken backs become names wrought ancient.
Though further from fractured, a family calls,
Beholden to the absolute intent, but one wish –
Eternity amongst the bountiful brethren left behind
Atop tea-brimmed Mountains and a
One malevolent, revered benevolent,
Mao.

One more saga prerequisite this newer dynasty red –
                          Witness the
                          Wives huddled plowshares,
                          The daughter scribbled arithmetic
                          And sons assumed thrones to legacy.

I scrutinize soiled  – smoke amid pear peelings,
The dirtied – unscathed and archaic,
So very fatigued – just one more nail,
For his eternity, with scratch and
Sliver of blood, a sanctity upon chin
                          Beyond cradled hammer,
                          Hand hugging thumb,
                          Thumb beyond nail, iron or the
                          Heart impaled homesick;
But I and hand asserting tie, freshly pressed,
Almost gleaming with an embezzled prestige –
Born unto Arcadia, a puzzle near complete
Continued to run, with only second’s pause to admire,
So very far from the fields of, “father,” or first blink,
While Sunday’s best weep, work and wither.

This man with joint autographed, “end,” and
                          Soon to be mound, history wrought dust,
                          A chipped Henan ceramic
                          And hours in attempt to breach;
                          Behold the back of Chen.

*The title of this piece was inspired by observing constructions workers wearing suits we'd typically wear for an interview. That being said, my venture in China is near an end - years in the making. What's next? Ecuador? Japan? Morocco? Montana? Either way, I could never thank China enough for all that'd become naked before I and my pilgrimage christened, "world."

You Gentiles,
Unwashed, unclean,
Prepare for war,
Come vent your spleen.

Beat the plowshares into swords,
Your harvest tools to mighty weapons,
Feel the surging doom and think you strong,
Gather  in the Valley of Decision,
The Valley of Jehoshaphat,
Where stand we all for judgment.

The Sun, the Moon, go dark;
The Stars remove their shine,
And full earth shakes beneath
The coming doom,
Before the lasting Peace
Descends on Israel.

They were down to less than a hundred
When they met on the battle front
That's when they beat their weapons back into plowshares
As each of them headed home

What it was that made the difference
Is they finally took the time
To really see the enemy
And themselves in each others eyes

All the peoples in the villages
Cheered their hero's back
Who brought with them sweet freedom
And in town center hung its flag

On the pole they wrote down the names
Of those who never would return
And all made a vow that day
That their lesson had been learned

the fissures spiderweb across
the glaciers, torn asunder
by invisible hands.
a rising tide doesn't lift all ships,
it capsizes them.
the fat cats will turn dead presidents
into sails to catch the earth's dying gasps,
but they will flutter, helpless
to progress in this disaster economics.

green business won't save us.
infinite growth on a finite rock,
a pale, blue dot circling until it, too,
burns up. the tires are spinning
in the mud. we've no other option:
we cannot reinvent the wheel—
we'll have to break it.

reformist logic leaves us soulless,
servants cowed by corporate forces
whose sole motive
is cashing in
on our projects.
they'll serve us up
without a second thought.
they'd raze the world
if they could make a profit.
fascism is capitalism
plus more ******.

we must admit our losses:
false hopes and letter-writing campaigns
are too little, too late.
a petition won't halt climate change.
beat their bombs with hammers
until they're shaped like plowshares.
the Earth will be consumed
by the sun long before
the State saves us
from our fate.
if we're to be prophets
of the future,
then it's time to ******* rage.

In  days to come the mountain of the Lord's house.
shall be established as the  highest of the mountains,
and shall be raised above the hills;
all  the  nations shall stream to it.
Many peoples  shall  come and say,
"Come  let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
to the house of the God of Jacob;
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his "
For out of Zion shall go forth instruction ,
and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between the nations,
and shall arbitrate for  many peoples;
they shall beat their swords
into plowshares;
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more.

See all things - gathered in one
The reign of joy has just begun
Gardens thrive in total peace
Harvests rich will never cease

The ancient fullness all restored
Plowshares made from every sword
Health and strength arise anew
Light and truth distill as dew

Kindness and compassion flow
Eye to eye we’ll see and know
Trials may come before this time
Just do your part, and I’ll do mine

Down in the valley of the fleeting stream,
Parched Syrian tongues are crying aloud,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where war took away my sweetheart.

She was bright, now she is blue,
Like the cataracts dividing the stream,
And the tearducts dividing my eyes,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where war took away my sweetheart,

Torn in our tumult
From the bleak parade,
Starve we all like her delicate face,
Now forever blemished.

Therefore let us dine on hardtack!
Suffer for the things of the marble world;
Fast along the toiling road,
To the land of reward, we go.

I compared her to a flower:
The fairest fragrance ever conceived;
To think her smile is a nest for ants,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where death took away my sweetheart.

Alone I sit, I weep,
        My face is clenched by nightingales;
A country stained by grief,
        At night, I hear their biting wails
From ill-wrought molten blades,
        Alike to man and woman;
How can I reason fate away
        By crying o'er her *****?

Change these feelings about me!
I am eager to see her again,
But I won't obey the winds
Above, above the sacred river—
As far as the fragrance is concerned.

No more mourning in silence!
Turn your plowshares into swords,
Let the weak say, "I am strong";
We may yet have the final word,
Before the vanguard departs this world.

Gods, guns, and gerrymandering.
That's the Republican Party today--
At least a large, vociferous group
That keeps progressive ideas at bay.

White evangelicals,
Tightly knit and fortified
By the perception that God hates the Dems,
Think that they have God on their side.

Claiming to know the mind of God,
They use their dogma to legislate
And ignore the fundamental idea
Of the separation of church and state.

Ah, their weapons. They love their firearms,
Of which they have collected tons.
Instead of beating their swords into plowshares,
They've beaten their plowshares into guns.

And gerrymandering has, of course,
Become their crafty survival tool.
They plan to manipulate future elections
By strengthening minority rule.

Through God, guns, and gerrymandering,
They hope to keep their momentum going
By building their power and also keeping
Their piles of ammunition growing.

-by Bob B (12-13-21)

Oh that wars may cease,
oh that peace might reign.
Oh that men may seize
brutes who are the bane
of societal peace,
so that peace and love
may never be lost
nor our fragile trust
become precarious.
May our many foes
be saved from death's throes.
May tanks be plowshares,
and guns harvesters.
May our daily cares
on neighbours be cast.
May all our youngsters
cease evil to learn
by working to earn
their wages by day.
Oh may the boisterous
child be not consumed
by his fatal fall.
Oh that people may
seek good roles to play
in a world so small
and shaped like a ball.
Oh that we may fast
comprehend the times,
as the clock bell chimes,
and all our callous
deeds be not resumed.

Respect is something to be given and earned
But if you've got crosses and money to burn
Y'all ******* are gonna have to wait your turn
Because you've got something to learn

See, I stand with the spurned
Yellow, red, pink and brown
gonna use my privilege
And put my boots on the ground
Revolt, revolver,
fight to turn it around

See you can drone on
With your dog-whistle cries
I'll be teaching my children to see through those lies
You plant bodies
While we plants seeds
Herbicide, genocide resistant weeds
Gonna choke you out
For making us bleed

You keep turning our plowshares into swords
So we ain't gonna work on Sammie's farm no more
So my elders in the hoods in the back of the truck
Drunk on power can all go get ******

There's more of us than there are of you
And when we all wake up,
What you think you gonna do?
We're gonna just keep firing bullets of the mind
And your armies that are fam gonna leave you behind

Or make you think they're yours for true
When their mind is turned on
And it's turned on you
You're in deep **** now
With no canoe

So I ask again, what the hell you gonna do?

We Pray Peace,
And Act War.
Beat our swords into plowshares?
Ah, but the world has closed to old ideas.

Lay down your arms soldier,
For who are you fighting for?
And for what?
And why?

The Tournament Of World Power
Is now into overtime.
And the players tire.

But the coaches move us,
With the pep of a teenager's drive and intellect,
Oblivious.

The blissful oblivion of conscience undone.

I’ve felt the stir of resolution
to throw off careless greed.

I’ve heard the soothing voice of reason,
long thought to be extinct.

So pound your plowshares into words,
turn your anger into votes.

Let’s march together towards sanity,
reclaiming fragile future’s hope.

It’s no one’s idea of paradise, this land of dust and wind.
Yet this is where God spoke to man and he  first conceived of sin.
The land is dry and stubborn, like the people of the Lord.
Even now I see them turning their plowshares into swords.
Ever since the Maccabees revolted against Rome
(Rome did not understand those Jews who worshiped God alone.)
This land of Dust and wind has known no peace
The men wield blades and staves.
In such a place the only peace Is the quiet of the grave.
How I long to comfort them, but where would I begin?
The people here have lost their way and lost their sense of sin.
The dispossessed now live in camps and old hatreds here still simmer.
It’s hard to parse the difference between the righteous and the sinners.

“And the Lord’s servant
must not be quarrelsome
but kind to everyone,
able to teach,
patiently enduring evil,
correcting his opponents with
gentleness”

Why is it
That passion,
Anger- named zeal-,
Rebuke
Reproach,
And doom
Fill the tongue
Of those
Called to be
Peace-
Do you praise the one who cut off the ear
Do you praise those who would not hammer their swords to plowshares
Do you praise those who slaughtered men for their god
Do you praise those who use guns to silence their oppressors-
Is there no understanding?
Is there only passion?
Is there no Holy Spirit?
What fruit is born from your actions?
-
We were not called to destroy, but to be destroyed
We were not called to hate, but to be hated
Not to be loved, but to love-
Do we understand what it means to take up a cross
Can we patiently endure evil
Or must we destroy all evil
And evil doers-
Do we relish in our fallen enemies?
Do you find comfort that evil people go hell?
Do you enjoy their suffering
While never having suffered yourself-

May
The
Light
Pierce
Through
Every
Dark
Secret
Corner
And
Precious
Conviction
We
Try
To
Ignore
-
May
We
Change-
Be
Made
New-
Be
Better
Than
Before.

Never summon the evil whales forth
lest they hunger for a salt’s ******
or seek to ravage their ship.

They cry out havoc, scream tempest
to the ocean and sky
so the illhveli hear not their name.

Their harpooned blubber
boils neither to heaven nor hell
but vanishes only inside the soul.

They fear only the steypireydurs
the Great Blue Behemoths,
the protectors of sailors and crafts.

The salts’ wives smell the devil in their remnants
and to keep the fury at bay they call
their men honeyed names clothed in peace.

The mates consign this sweetness
to the void, a sea of faceless women
to be left alone in their slumbers.  

At dawn, they  return
to the great wide green ocean
that hungers for their flesh.

They chum cowshed, yarrows, ash,
throw plowshares, axes and pots creating
a sacred din outside the incarnadine circles.

Cat Whales would come forth
with their devil-angel flukes
half in sun and watery dark.

They mewl alongside,
resting in the craft’s wake,
diving when the waters darkened  

And the roar of Bull Whales spouting loudly  
through their blowholes would scare
the distant  cattle to stampede the waters.

The Ox Whales, swimming
faster than hand and mind,
would devour the calves

Leaving only nibbles
for the belugas that trailed
behind in white silence.  

Bottlenose Dolphins after herding
the Ox Whales beyond the spray
would jump straight high

out of the water
exposing the sun and mountains
appearing underneath them.  

In the rest between breaths
a Taumur awaited beneath their crafts
for the opportunity to break them apart.

On the glint of the horizon a Ling Whale
drifting like a mirage of barnacles
waited to maroon them on her hide.

Today, the Great Blue Behemoth
heard their anguish and would gently
guide them back to their sandy, rocky home.  

In their unsteady slumbers
they would hitch a ride
on the back of a Heatherback

And dive with it
to the ocean’s floor until
their last bubbles floated up.

Around them all the dorsal waves
of the Sword Whale splashed them
while she sliced them in two.

Far away, the Narwhale sniffed
their blood in the water and
waited her turn to eat.

I love to watch you sleep, how at peace you are.
For only a brief stay from toil.


Perhaps you dream of taming lions or basking in your garden ? Or perhaps making love to your bride ?

I pray for one brief moment dream of being a man of sated need.
No more demand from ruler or man.
A free man of peace.


You will wake at tomorrow’s dawn to once more beat the workers class plowshares.

I love to watch you sleep.

In today's world it is an eye for an eye
My simple question for all...is this, “Why?”
Often I feel the desire to just cry

I thought that society had outgrown being a child
This upsetting thought seems so wild
For Christ taught us to be meek and mild

Why can't we live in harmony and in peace
Making many, many new friends with such perfect ease
Upon each special moment we should seize

The opportunity to grow
To the world we would definitely show
That hand in hand, together, a better life we could sow

New friends we would meet
A happier world we would create
Into plowshares, our swords, would we beat

This I don't understand
Why we hurt our brothers and sisters when they can't stand
Justice for all is my demand

White, black, brown, yellow, or blue
We all have our own special hue
For God created both me and you

His commandments we are asked to obey
It is not for us to disobey
This He had to say

That contention is the workings of the devil
It is nothing more than pure, unadulterated evil
If we continue to disobey, through war and pestilence, us, as a society, He will level

With my thoughts fraught with dismay
I turn to the babe who in the manger did lay
As once again I hear Him say

That we should have peace on Earth
It is something that we all deserve
I believe that it is time for a rebirth

Of old forgotten values
That Christ’s example should help us chose
To make amends, old habits and aggressions would we lose

To live as He would have us live
Family, friends, and neighbors, as if everyone was a close relative
Let this be our main focus; within us, our hearts and souls should it drive

Each one of us to be an equal, was His great quest, to this we should visualize
His dream for all of us today, we should realize
This earthly boat we should not capsize

We all need to lay hands upon the oars
When upon life's billows, we need to head towards the safety of those distant shores
And anchor ourselves once more to Christ's mighty moors.

Written by:
Jason Cheney
January 18, 2021

After the plowshares
have been turned
into swords,
and we have been
conquered by
make believe lords,

I will bend a knee,
take a boot to my neck
let you see me
be put in check,

just to prove that we
are brethren,
and we can stand
together again.

I will write
a sharp and
contrasting light
to provide
hope in this
damning night.

Sending sweet
splinters of my
being
for anyone to see,
I will sing
“I love thee”
and be grateful
for this chance
to live.

Delusions

If you dare not face the madness
That has nested in your core,
You'll be crushed in Hell’s own badness—
Where the mind exists no more.

We’re at threshold. Hell lies open.
Crowds are swarming, wild and loud—
**** all pushing, blindly hopin’
To be first among the crowd.

From our youth, the rot is growing—
Only few will stand and fight.
Most are wrong, and barely knowing—
That alone’s a bitter might.

“Education” means sedation—
Drills for cogs in slave-machine.
Madness passed through generations—
Is the finest cage they’ve seen.




---------------------



The Rant of False History

They say history repeats —
Wouldn't progress do the same?
No — it crawls through wild deceits,
Spurred by madness, press, and shame.

Lies decay us, deeply rooted,
While "the past" becomes a tool —
Used by "scholars", dull, deluded,
To control and to befool.

“Less is worse,” they preach of chains —
Twisting truth to fit their schemes.
Tyrants' filth in old domains
Now gets sold as noble dreams.

Was there ever darker slavery
Than the one we now endure?
CowID proved, with grim bravery,
Just how deep the filth can lure.

It’s the same old madness spinning —
Nothing new beneath the sun.
Only sarcasm feels fitting
For this circus they call “run.”




---------------------



Almost a Joke

Tricks bring pain —
Life’s a stunt.
Less you strain,
If you're blunt.

More of fight,
Less of noise.
Dare the light —
Not fate’s ploys.

Tricks are chains,
But you’re free
If you chase
Love’s path — see?

Walk, don’t juggle.
Truth is near.
Jokes may struggle,
But without them — disappear.




---------------------



Rewards and Reliefs

A bagel's hole — your grand reward
For seeking truth and staying bold.
Oblivion is the just accord —
This mad world’s promise has run cold.

The past will peel, the “new” will fade,
For nothing new is ever real.
It’s all a weary, cheap charade —
Just wait for Death to sign the deal.




---------------------



A Hole for a Crown

A bagel’s hole — that’s all the prize
For poets, writers who won’t sell.
The ****** in suits, with glossy lies,
Are crawling everywhere like hell.

Add countless traitors to the game,
And all the weak who kiss the boot
Of thugs who rise through bluff and shame —
Their “honors” soon will just pollute.

But here’s the twist — in days now gone,
At least they read. Today? Not much.
Now in this century, the pawn
Is tested by a viral sludge:

A stream of memes and TikTok reels —
Their minds were flushed by viral feeds.
The truth? Replaced by shouting deals
From armies selling junk as creeds.




---------------------



They sell you rot, then call it gold —
You speak the truth? You're bought and sold.
The prize is nothing, just a hole —
While lies devour the public soul.



---------------------



The Future of the Global Madhouse

Three-fourths here don’t deserve to breathe —
These ******* feed the coming lash.
Because of them, the fiends beneath
Will grind us down — no joke, no flash.

CowID paused — a war on hold.
New plagues are planned by wicked swine,
For empty minds do as they're told,
Still drunk on fear and fed with lies.

This herd of fools, in full decay,
Will drag us into chains and hell.
The beasts are betting all will pay,
Since drooling mobs obey so well.

They’ll grind us down with false alarms —
Just feed the filth to vacant brains.
What lies ahead brings no calm charms,
Just storms, just pain, just choking chains.

Yet there's a joy — a final spark:
This madness will not last too long.
The madhouse burns — and in the dark,
The sun will rise to right the wrong.




---------------------



Challenges in the Circles of Hell

Let challenge meet the challenge face to face —
Not by denial's sterile repetition,
But honor clashing clean, with no disgrace,
No fear, no doubt, no cowardly submission.

Hell's spirals twist, and trials there abound.
What once was wild, rebellious, blazing bright,
Seems tame the deeper down — where fools are crowned
For trading truth for comfort in the night.




---------------------



False Time of the Luciferian System

Is it a test of time — or weight?
Time’s worse: it feeds the Dark's domain.
We call it "time", but what we hate
Is slow decay of soul and brain.

This "time" is rot — a masquerade,
A cloak for entropy and lies.
And still the Beast is served, obeyed —
Both then, and now, beneath dead skies.

It isn’t time — it’s time’s disguise.
Above time dwells a higher sphere,
But we, the spawn of sunken minds,
Have made it custom to adhere

To lies — from priests and pseudo-thought,
Who ******* Space and Time with rules.
They sell their souls, then sell what's taught —
A creed imposed by mindless ghouls.

Don’t trust. Go deep. The path is yours —
Within you dwells the light, the key.
Let intuition open doors,
But keep your mind alive and free.



---------------------



The Union of Truth and Sludge

A mix of essence, filth, and grime —
That’s how verse crawls through modern time.
In worlds of ****** and creeping dread,
Our nerves burn out, the soul half-dead...




---------------------



Expanding the Bounds of Knowing — Together, Without False Science

The self — a cycle stuck in place,
A dull routine we all embrace.
Critical thought? They chase it off —
No space to question, all is scoffed.

The “atom” world — a beast’s design,
Born from lies fed as “divine.”
More cheese to trap, more filthy lies,
A bait to blind collective eyes.

Together only Hell’s escaped,
But all asleep — world’s night draped.
Will dawn arise? There’s just one light:
That Dawn will burn the shame, the blight.




---------------------



Information War

Tanks don’t fear the mud or grime.
But "divs" of leaks are primed to strike —
You must fight "divs" with cunning crimes,
Or lies will finish what they like.

Pour the sludge into the net,
Crush the dumb lies, no regret.
Bravery’s needed just the same,
Even if the pay’s so lame.

Fight as guerilla, free,
Anger’s fuel for victory.
All the fiends will get their due
When the world’s last hours are through.

(Note: “***” — a block element that marks a text fragment.)



---------------------



Create!

Create — don’t rot or fake.
Strive — don’t dream or break.
Wither, die, if forced to lie—
Truth’s the only way to fly!

Oceans drown in lies and slime,
Sold-out fools in darkest time.
CowID’s cult, the fascist reign,
Praised by ****, a vile stain.

But harsh justice draws its line —
Everyone must pay in time.
They’ll burn the madhouse to the ground,
Build new Halls of Lies around.



---------------------



The Purifying Fire

The Devil’s mark is branded here,
On all, it burns, sharp as a spear.
Fiends strike lies like scorching flame,
They scorch, they ****, they spread the shame.

They brand the souls with ruthless spite,
Bold, sly, they thrive in darkest night.
But now the game comes to an end —
A fire burns to cleanse and mend.

A different flame will purge the stain,
Bring joy to souls freed from their chain,
Destroying fiends in fiery sweep,
Awakening the pure to keep.




---------------------



Fair Winds to Your Stern…

Fair winds beneath your keel, take flight —
Escape this Hell, abandon night!
This Shame will vanish, fade, and fall:
Each vile fiend will answer all!

They’ll pay — even those who cower,
Silent, trembling, lost their power.
Salvation lies in flight alone —
So leave this Shame, this Hell, this Throne!




---------------------



Tales and Dances

Tales and dances, all rehearsed —
Wind-up fools, forever cursed,
Even old, the masks remain:
Puppeteers, the ****, the stain.

Clumsy lies the liar spits,
Only fools believe these bits.
Crude, absurd, a tyrant’s grin —
“Kind uncle” hides the sin.

Axes drawn ‘twixt good and ill,
Sew white threads to scare and ****.
Anything they’ll justify,
Pseudoscience to crucify.

CowID’s “science” fools the herd —
More such “wonders” will be heard.
This vile breed, a *****’s spawn,
Knocked at heaven — now it's gone…
Hell rejoices — demon’s dawn.




---------------------



Like a "Dream Factory"

So many films on cops and law,
But art? Almost none you saw.
The cabal sets the scene that way —
Gloss on freaks to make them sway.

Then “four-eyes” or “geek” in frame
Looks like fool to madness’ game.
Sheepish, dumb, sold-out in suit —
Like Holmes or heroes in old route.

Work goes on to "normalize"
Those who lose their sanity’s prize.
A “normal” label stuck on queer —
Nonsense from that dream factory here.

Souls derailed, humanity drained,
Reason turned to babbling, insane.
Watch that stew — pure carelessness:
Leaves a bitter soul’s distress.




---------------------



Lie and Finish Off...

Fuss and pointless strife,
Strife that’s never just —
Fuss feeds lies to life —
The end: a total bust.

Focus just on survival —
Kills the mind inside.
Lie and lie, revival?
The soul crushed by the tide.




---------------------



Cramming, Zeal, and Discipline

Youth’s bright fire burns to ash,
In cramming dull, petty stuff,
And zeal misplaced, a crash —
Not thinking’s roughest bluff.

But copying vile false gods —
Made just to drag you down —
Such fate for many clods.
If bold, you’ll see the clown.

To **** talent’s no great feat —
Make "nothing" idolized,
Lie shamelessly, repeat,
And with discipline, despised.




---------------------



Horseshoes for the Donkey

Jehovah’s just a horseshoe
For a two-legged ***,
He died — they forge anew
For all their worthless mass.

These donkeys—backs all cracked—
Drag pointless loads in vain.
A carrot dangled, sticks cracked,
Calm seas hide all the pain.

If you’re not a donkey,
They’ll hunt or cast you out.
These devils rule the money,
Slap horseshoes all about.

A real God is creation —
He needs no slaves or fools,
But died in witch’s nation,
Bound by their cruel rules.

For two-legged donkeys only,
Horseshoes hold such weight.
The normal ones walk freely—
Protected by their fate.



---------------------



Fertilizing with Ash

Don’t waste your breath on fools —
They’re lost beyond repair.
Just kindling for their tools,
They’ll burn it all to air.

But after night, at dawn,
The world will bloom with ash.
Like children, hearts will spawn,
Not minds that only clash.

If heart and mind align —
Then balance lights the way.
But how to teach the blind?
They’ll never understand, no way!




---------------------



System Corruption

Once you’re inside—the game is known;
No way to dodge decay.
Blind, mute, to speak is to lie shown—
Truth dies, replaced by sway.

Negative selection’s rule,
The system’s famed decay.
Once thieves were plain—now lies the tool,
Master deceit’s the way.

Each one’s bound tight with dirt and shame,
Control by blackmail’s grip.
Avoid it—every nation’s lame,
Fascism’s tightening whip.

We’re stuck so deep, no way to win—
The road ahead’s descent.




---------------------



Mirages of Corrupt Stumps

Spin your tales, Emelya, not empty lies —
No use in this world where falsehood thrives.
All empty talkers lay soft disguise —
But falls hurt deep, where mirage lies.

Their falsehood’s weak, can’t cushion the blow,
Their goal’s just to push you down low.
Truth here is moss, old and slow —
You’re mossed yourself if you call it woe,

And value fools who sell cheap breath,
Spin or believe — you’ll save your skin’s death...
For now... but you’ll vanish, lost in the fray —

“The soul must toil,” or waste away.
No mere illusion is Hell’s decree:
It’s mirages from corrupt dead trees.




---------------------



Failing...

The collective farm, "A Hundred Years No Yield" —
A metaphor for mind’s lost field.
The mind keeps failing, failing hard,
Soon all will vanish, leave no shard.

Total lies and dumbness spread,
An "industry" of fools ahead.
To bear this filth is crime so grave,
Yet ages pass — the cursed wave.

So here we stand, the end’s in sight —
The farm’s a desert, dead of light.
Those who don’t fight, they’ve lost their fate —
The fiend will send them to death’s gate.

The fighters may fall, yet save their soul,
While foul disgrace consumes this whole.
World rotten, vile, ****** to rot —
Your time is done, your fate is shot.




---------------------



The Core of the Chaos

The core of Chaos — deeper dread:
A world torn loose, by lies misled,
Where best among us falls and dies
Beneath deceit and dark disguise.

Lie bolder, sharper, full of spite,
Spread fear to choke out all the light.
Let fraud grow vile, more cruel still —
Corrupt the soul with poisoned will.




---------------------



On the Farm

Today it’s you,
Tomorrow me —
The cattle wait,
The swine foresee
The hour of slaughter near.
The whole Earth’s like a farm, my dear.
If not a pest, then rise, awake —
Or die, **** it, for Heaven’s sake!




---------------------



So-Called "Revolutions"

Leather jackets, flushed red faces —
Here come commissars to drown disgraces.
In wild hangovers, anger swells —
That commissar could never break his hell.

Stupidity rules here, all around,
And **** unites in packs, profound.
So all this madness drags and lasts,
The world’s a prison — no escape fast.

Red-faced mobs, obedient drones...
Are these humans, or just food on bones?
All "revolutions" lie and cheat,
Foam rising up from wombs deceit.

That shameful **** commands the froth —
Hidden deep, but leather croaks the sloth,
Peddling lies to slaughter’s gate.
Do slaves believe? Then that’s their fate!




---------------------



Producing Chaff

To write a “kind” and gentle rhyme —
Is not a task for fools with time.
Be courteous, precise, controlled —
But not a fierce verse to be told.

Consider all the aims and schemes,
Conditioned by deceitful streams.
Falsehood rules through every age,
No mind alive to turn the page.

They’ll chew the chaff of “goodness” fed,
And shove it straight into their head.
Add poison, but the fool won’t know —
That’s just the way the idiots grow.

They swallow lies spun neat and slick,
Dressed as “truth” in every trick.
Not fools, but crooks behind the scenes,
Cooking lies in ***** means.

Enough? Shall we then strike the flame
With furious verse to end this game?!!




---------------------



Cake of Filth

The more a banana republic rots,
The grander grows its symbol’s spots.
The duller crowds, the fouler breed—
The bigger grows the lies they feed.

This falsehood carries heavy weight,
Though threads of white still weave their fate.
A world of lies, a distant drama—
A glorious cake made out of karma.




---------------------



Steadfastness

Unyielding truth — unshakable stand,
Or else you’re just a twisted man,
In filth and stench where **** have found
Their “salvation” in the lies around.

Corruption thrives in vile deceit,
They turn the best to worthless meat.
Unyielding truth means to resist—
Let **** be shaken by the fist!

The world decays in madness deep,
But not the sane are far and few.
Steadfastness is the secret code:
“Friend or foe?” — it guides the road.

Though all may fall, don’t bow, don’t break—
Your soul alone you’ve got to save.
Listen to it, or you’ll be lost,
Drowned in the lies that count the cost.




---------------------



Psychiatry and Psychology: Adapting Small Madness to Grand Delirium

Adapting madness — small and blind —
To GRAND DELIRIUM defined.
Psychiatrists, dull and stark,
Escape the sting of biting sarcasm’s mark.

A tiny madman, just a *****
In a crazed machine askew,
If politics calls that “norm,”
No cause to question or reform.

Don’t believe their “treatment’s” success,
If money flows, no one’s left less.
All will march in ranks aligned
To futile toil and slaughter blind.

If the madman’s not unlucky,
That’s the “norm.” Just tip them—quickly!




---------------------



******* of Poems

Publisher to self,
Critic and fan as well —
That’s the modern way.
Only write this way.

If you spread the sweetened lies,
You betray, no compromise.
That must be purged, no doubt —
No falsehood left about.

Self-accuser, fierce exposer —
This today’s poetic poser.
If the world’s foul fascism’s here,
Smash the lies, or poems veer

Downward fast — no chance to rise.
Keep too quiet — madness flies.
Enduring evil breaks the roof —
A sharp, relentless crisis proof.




---------------------



The Foundation of Global Bedlam

The world outside is soaked in filth —
So boldly turn within, the wealth
Of answers lies inside your core,
While lies outside uphold the war.




---------------------



The Barrel and the Dot

Roll out the barrel’s final charge,
Light up the fuse — be bold, enlarge.
So mark your life with one last shot,
If resistance is your plot.

Gunpowder may be in words —
Explosive verses, fierce as swords.
But if fools read it as mere noise,
It’s nonsense then, not truth’s voice.

What you alone call powder’s fire,
Is only yours — no one’s desire.
If you spin tales that aren’t real,
Yourself alone will not forgive, feel.

Roll out the barrel’s final part,
Along the way, gather heart:
More powder in the night to burn —
A sudden clash will twist and turn.

Will dawn arrive? Who really cares?
You won’t await it, weighed by fears.
If you stayed sharp, unbought, and true,
***** the beasts — their reign’s on you.




---------------------



The Great Doubt

Dedicated to Tartang Tulku

Great Time, great Knowledge, vast expanse —
Tulku’s words described them well.
But worldwide **** decays to fascist dance,
A Tenth Wave of lies to sell.

It’s time to add a Great Doubt here,
To all these claims, long overdue.
The final debt to Reason clear:
Soon all will burn — cataclysm brews.




---------------------



Modern Villainy and Deception

Villainy? Oh, yes—
A liar’s game, no less!
Lie to the crazed,
No need to be phased.

Lies are total,
Toxic, fatal,
Worth a dime,
But with a blast—prime.

Flawed? You’re mad,
A fool, a cad—
It’s just pure
Nuclear lure:

Deception’s bite,
A deadly blight—
Simple truth:
A venomous youth.




---------------------



Old-School Vova and ChebuRashki

Uncle Vova’s flying in,
With his worn-out, rusty spin,
Shoving “Rusism” down our throats again.
This old tale’s not brand new—
Clumsy as it’s always been—
Only fascism here will reign.




---------------------



Not the End?

No "normal world" remains —
Just one that's flying straight to hell.
Enough of free cheese chains,
Enough of all — the end will fell!

Enough of selling out so cheap,
No soul to buy or sell — it’s dead!
Enough of traitors, cold and steep,
Who sell their souls to hell instead?

Enough? These words are just for grabs —
The human filth stays quiet still.
That filth from fools, the universe
Feels deep shame for, and always will.

There are exceptions — but so few.
So all is speeding toward the end.
Yet propaganda shouts anew:
“It’s not the end!” — they still pretend.




---------------------



The Zombie Box

I turn the zombie box and trust —
Its zombie mob commands my will.
I open doors to rashist dust,
Their “salvation” seeming still.

They'll save us all from CowID,
And lead us straight to war's grim pit...
The Kremlin slime speaks loud and free —
The fool absorbs the lying ****.




---------------------



Brainwashing

Brainwashing’s law —
For fools, their final cause.
The end’s always the same:
Down the toilet goes their name.

This path’s a highway paved
With stupid lies enslaved,
Dragging all to hellish plains —
Blood-soaked slaughterhouses’ chains.

They showed us CowID’s game
And war’s relentless flame.
When mind is dead and split,
You do with fools what’s fit...




---------------------



So-Called "The People"

Wake and repent?
But “the people” sleep —
A stupid mass, their intent,
Bound by fascist keep.

No consciousness, no crowd,
No spirit — just the rabble.
Few are sensitive, proud;
Without sense, you’re just a scrabble.

To feel the world’s deep damage,
Multiply by reason’s might —
To bear such evil’s carnage
Is simply not right.

But if they bow and trust those fiends,
They only earn their fate —
Fried in lies, their souls, it seems,
Devils feast on their hate.




---------------------



Sympathy for the Inhuman

Disposal of the fools —
Success is thin and slight,
Though fascist forces rule
With fake diseases, wars to fight.

The paradox is clear —
Fools should be crushed and reined,
But lost in blank despair,
They’re weak, confused, detained.

Tasks fail, all goes awry,
Stupidity derails the plan.
The inhuman writhes and tries
Amidst the wars and lies that span.

All that’s left — to pity them —
A task that’s simply bleak,
When heartless strikes the feeling stem,
And rotten fools are deemed unique.

A layer of the wise remains,
A factor hard to forecast —
In chaos’ storm, an attractor gains,
A stubborn block that kills at last.




---------------------



Ends and Messengers

The ends are breaking off —
Life’s no more, just one big trap.
Riders come? Or liars’ cough?
But Death’s the thought to map...

Death draws lines beneath us all —
Man, or just a lump of flesh?
Drive the ****, the vermin, crawl —
Cut the ends, ditch all the mesh.

Sharpen words with biting verse,
Or prose — it counts the same.
The madhouse round you, terse —
Is worthless, soon to flame.




---------------------



Are Our Tanks Really Fast?

Those “in tanks” at break of dawn
Built their armor just for show.
That armor’s fake, a flimsy con —
They plaster nonsense high and low.

Movement’s stalled, no way to fight,
Only spew their vile disgrace.
That giant lie won’t take much might
To bring crashing down from base.

Those “in tanks” bury their heads,
Like ostriches in the sand.
Those who broke free from their threads
Walk on light, they make a stand.

Few there are inside those tanks —
Most are caught within the cage.
Kursk’s curve? The clash that ranks —
All will lie in sand and rage.




---------------------



Mafioso’s No Real Threat

Mafioso’s like a thorn?
In post-Soviet days —
Mafioso’s just a morn’
Mimosa’s childish phase.

And is the traitor better?
I’ve seen the mob and hacks,
Politicians, all fetter —
But writers strike the facts.

Among them, just a few
Deserve that kind of praise.
The rest like bugs, they stew
In lies and sticky haze.

By custom, fools will stay
In dumb, wild crowds they bind,
Only adding chains each day —
Few leave the lickspittle grind.




---------------------



Global F#ckup

“A keen ear strains to catch a sound.”
But all in vain — just lies will rise.
While reason in deceit is drowned,
Worth nothing but a worthless prize.

And Nature shudders in her fear —
A monster sold to highest bid.
Soulless fools and mindless drear
Spew nonsense — babble, nothing hid.

Fascism’s filth is everywhere,
Genocide drags on for years.
For souls with spirit, shame and tears
Weigh heavy on their minds and fears.

Their ranks thin out — the beasts now swarm,
They fill the void, they rule the scene.
The end is near — the final storm —
This World’s ****** f#ckup, vile and mean.




---------------------



Blow the Horn, Then *******

Swords to plowshares turned to noise,
Metal scraps to iron pipes.
Blow the horn — no other choice,
We don’t care — all’s lost types.

If the horn should break and fall,
Then we’ll ******* through it all.




---------------------



Aladdin or the Djinn

Is Aladdin truly king,
Or the cunning Djinn who’s king?
No reason to trust fairy tales —
Darkness, lies, and endless wails.




---------------------



Creation

God is creativity,
To merge — the only way.
False knowledge, lies, deformity
Won’t help the truth convey.

Inside — the world is one:
Macro, micro intertwined.
But lose your course, you’ll come undone,
When falsehood grips your mind.

Cling tight to lies — a towering mount,
A Everest of deceit.
Wake up from fog, break from the rout,
Escape the common cheat.

The herd feeds on the purest trash,
While breakthroughs come from few.
Creation breaks the chains that clash —
The lies the masses brew.




---------------------



The Toilet

"The world has bent itself for you..."
— From some ancient TV pitch.


The world’s adjusted just for us,
But stinks and burns the nose.
The whole ****** world’s a cesspool now —
Where lies like poison flows.

And in our minds a total mess,
This falsehood drags us down.
No need for executioners —
The lies just multiply the drown.

They’ll march to slaughter, even sing,
Genocide’s their care.
The filthy CowID showed the way —
Deception everywhere.

The world’s adjusted just for us —
Dumb, cruel, and vile inside.
Our reason’s fading, crushed by lies —
By treacherous falsehood’s tide.




---------------------



False Foundations of Pseudo-Science

So much trash accepted blind,
As base for falsehood’s art —
Pseudo-science, fog designed
To fool the trusting heart.

Rotten grounds and cheap charades,
Liars vicious, cold as ice.
They can **** with twisted shades —
Their lies cut sharp as knives.

Take the filth we call a “plague,”
Brewing fast, a toxic brew.
Old fools’ "pioneers" will fade,
Killed off like a mere taboo.

Promises? Just empty bait,
What they bring is only ****.
Monsters killing reason’s state —
False science, frozen counterfeit.

If you want to join their game,
“Pioneer,” then learn the lies —
Drown yourself inside the shame,
Where truth and logic dies.




---------------------



Rot of Ideas

Rot of thoughts —
No tricks at all:
Devils’ madness calls —
Crush them all!

Plant the craze —
Lie even more:
Sheep, die slow
Under “Dawn”’s false roar!




---------------------



On Fellow Travelers

Idiot—hang him high—
The deadliest of foes.
Through their attacks of evil,
Your strength just slips and goes.

Here’s a trick: in mind, draw loops,
Then step away, be free.
From fools, death’s cold breath is blowing—
Walk alone, silently.

If no wise and honest souls
Cross paths along your way—
Loud fools swarm in countless hordes,
Not comrades, but decay...




---------------------



CowID’s Claymakers

An idiot’s a stick of TNT —
The fascist power’s crude device.
He killed the dark, made misery —
A model carved in sacrifice.

A reckless scumbag — mind destroyed,
The whole world reeks — disgrace and shame.




---------------------



CowID Filth

CowID filth —
A shame, a blight.
The world’s dumped down
A sewer’s night.

Mind and Spirit
Rot inside,
Lies cut deep —
Now multiply.

Another CowID —
“Found” and slain,
You’ll be crushed,
Abused, in pain.




---------------------



In Hell

No money left — just worthless notes,
No truth remains, lies choke the air.
Few humans here — just crawling motes;
If you believe the lies, beware.

Exceptions scarce, truth drowned in slime,
Generations dumbed and blind.
Downward spiral, fear and grime,
Darkness spreads inside the mind.

Degradation hits its peak —
No further fall, no depth to seek.
"Life" is empty, aimless, weak,
Monsters hold the power they seek.

The fiends must smoke away,
With slaves they bind and make their play.
Who wakes in this new hellish day?
Just few. That’s Hell — no other way.




---------------------



The Citizen

A beastly mind built up in layers,
Where only lies from news prevail.
A nauseous citizen — no prayers,
Don’t touch him — or your words will fail.

Any sane thought is his foe,
He’ll see you as a threat, no less.
The Spirit’s yearnings? Slime and woe —
His skin alone commands respect.

No more than skin — no man remains,
A wretched shell that drags along,
His pitiful life dull and drained,
A weary, endless, pointless song.




---------------------



Solar Apocalypse

The Sun’s bright flare, in just a span
Of two-thirds century, has grown—
It means swift death for mortal man,
A fate by fire, harshly shown.

The cause of heat is clear and one:
The Sun and Earth together burn
All spawn of evil, come undone,
Their shattered heads in fire churn.

But cows just ****, factories spew—
Yet fiends keep spouting lies and spin:
“The carbon trace!”—the tale they brew,
Blaming all for nature’s sin.

They’ll force herbivores to cease
Their natural gas release,
Claim to wipe the “footprint” clean—
But select few slip between.

Into underground domains,
With beasts enslaved, they’ll creep below.
This brazen nonsense feeds their gains,
Devouring truth in shadow’s glow.




---------------------



Law-Abiding Citizen

A cloudy fool —
Brain like jelly.
Fear beneath,
Nonsense out.
Feed him well —
He’s blissed out!




---------------------



Creative Race

A race? Thin ice —
Pain will tear.
If it’s sharp —
Salt in the tear.

The meaning’s core.
So race ahead!
If you chase the crap —
Then drown instead.




---------------------



The Craft of Verse

Trust in verse — the base,
The craft’s true core.
A fool can’t grasp —
He’s just a bore!

Don’t fear — the first line
Will come one day.
If you’re not dumb,
The rest will sway.

The race is rhythm and meaning,
Rhyme leads the way.
If stuck on a line —
It’s fine, don’t sway.

Keep moving forward —
Onward, always!




---------------------



So-called "Being"

To loosen skill —
Endure it like a gift.
But mind’s eclipse —
No lift, just drift.

What matters most —
To **** is trash.
"Earthly being" —
Souls’ decay and crash.




---------------------



No Luck...

Greed, dullness, shameless vice,
Cowardice, and ruthless spice.
*******, rowing for their gain,
Loving only self’s domain.

Here’s the sellout, idiot’s part,
Traitor, snitch with poisoned heart.
Almost all the rabble’s bred —
Now that rabble’s soon outdead.

Sun blazes stronger, higher—
Marking end of days most dire.
No more sobs or saving lies,
No more falsehoods in disguise.

Rank by rank, for all the wrong,
To the New Hell they belong.
What has luck but evil served?
Just a few—none well preserved.




---------------------



“Miracle”

A "miracle" will come — in frightful tales,
No story’s whole without such scales.
Clues lie scattered all around,
If deeper in the "woods" you’re bound.

Partisans grow thick and strong,
Old crones kinder all along.
More the toadstools will arise,
Water spirits bolder, wise.

This “miracle” will forge the beast,
The real badass, to say the least.
But traitor’s voice within the tale —
That badass means we’re doomed to fail.




---------------------



Almost a Fairy Tale

Old crones wait upon the path,
Leading to the darkest woods.
Hold on tight, endure the wrath —
The oven’s set, the demon broods.

Take some salt, be sly, compliant,
Serve the **** with wicked grin.
Made for joy—your sad defiant,
Feeding rot, the foulest sin.

You’re their meal, the dumb and low,
Serving those who breed the blight.
But the rot will face the glow—
Flash of Light will end their night.




---------------------



Freaks and Their Masters — The ****

**** can’t match the freaks who crawl
Into the filthy halls of power.
Those mad sellouts take it all —
They’ll be charged for every hour.

All accounts are subtraction —
What’s destroyed by wicked fiends?
Hell itself? The soul’s retraction?
Rot and ruin fill their scenes.

Into New Hell goes the ****,
But humans — their remains rise.
Humans are the ones who come
With clear minds and spirit’s prize.