Excellency Frenzy / Sexcellency

The ambassador 

to the Yonited Nations

is Sir Finger Dick

Mr Bean Ludwig Van Bacon

The Devil

the-devil

You are the devil;
the one who buys souls daily.
The media is your favourite demon,
feeding your every thirst for blood.
You are the mind-control.

To climb ladders of prestige,
people lose their souls to you.
Each one loses their sense of self,
renewing their sacrifice to you,
to be kept in the front pages.

You are a little less than inhumane.
Spirits and smiles die,
wells of passion run dry,
bodies become breathing shells,
when you make persons un-human.

You take the prize that has to be paid,
you make flesh your bread,
tears and sweat, your wine.
You are the media’s precious demon,
feeding its every thirst for blood.

You are the devil;
you are the mind-control.
Bodies become breathing shells,
people lose their souls to you,
to be kept in the front pages.

Between Worlds

SLEEP BY RENAT RAMAZANOV

‘Sleep’ by Renat Ramazanov

Do you know what it means,
do you know how it feels,
to be one of the living
at a time when you are dead?

To not be of that world,
the one you left behind,
or be fully in that one,
the one that is ahead.

You are able to move
but you can barely walk.
You are able to say words
but you can barely talk.
You are very sensitive
but you can barely sense.
You remember how to remember
but you can barely think.

You are able to hear
but you very barely know.
It’s hard for you to understand,
and so painfully so.
You are able to look
but you can barely see.
You’re hanging in midair;
you don’t have any wings.

To not be able to rewind
and start all over again,
or be able to move on,
and fly far far away.

Do you know what it means
when everything means nothing?
Do you know how it feels
when you cannot feel?

Fog

Earth Magic Oracle Card

Fog is simply a low cloud, a blanket of water crystals that has not gained the density of raindrops. The thicker it is, the more it shrouds in it’s damp, billowy arms. It can be so thick that it makes it nearly impossible to see directly in front of us. During those times, silence makes its own sound as we pause and allow ourselves to be enveloped in this shroud of impenetrable density. We may even feel as if we can do nothing but be still and await what is to be revealed.
Yet even within the thickest fog, we can be assured that it will eventually turn off as the sun’s rays infiltrate the veil. Once they do so, we can anticipate how the light and warmth will bring us welcome relief from the cold. As the sun continues to disperse the fog, our surroundings become illuminated, and we have the opportunity to continue onward.
You are enmeshed in confusion and uncertainty, and are unsure if it will ever clear up. This is not the best time to make decisions, particularly any major ones. Know that this foggy veil will eventually dissolve. Although there may be ways you are unconsciously contributing to this state, the greater truth is that this is simply a cycle you are moving through, and like all things, this too shall pass.
Allow yourself to feel confused – in fact, decide to be confused. No matter what attempts you make right now to make things happen or move in any specific direction out of impatience or frustration, you risk only creating more confusion and uncertainty. So, be still and patient. Wait for that first glimmer of awareness to life the veil so that you can see the choices before you more clearly and can then choose to align yourself with the will of Spirit.
– Stephen D Farmer

Tug of Peace

Peace
It’s a tug of peace

when you’re content
with no release;
you’ve lost total interest in
relearning what love is.

It’s a tug of peace
when you’re stuck in 
a state of painful bliss,
and you dread the old game
of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘please.’

Tug of Peace

It’s a tug of peace
when you can’t and
would rather not see,
and instead of trying,
you find comfort in dis-ease.

It’s a tug of peace
when you’re a fire rat
but you hiss at cheese;
you don’t take classes
but you pay the fees.

It’s a tug of peace
when you barely grow
but rapidly increase.
You’re scared of life,
buying 0 at 24 apiece.


Sir Paul McCartney’s ‘Tug of Peace’ goes:
No no, your troubles cease when you learn to play the pipes of peace
It’s a tug of war
No no, your troubles cease when you learn to play the pipes of peace
What with one thing and another
it’s a tug of war
No no no no

It’s a tug of war
No no, your troubles cease when you learn to play the pipes of peace
It’s a tug of war
Learn to play the pipes of peace
Pushing, pushing
Pulling, pulling
Pushing, pulling

Are You There?

Lonely

‘Lonely’ by Sangeetha Bansal

Tell me, whisper it,
I’m aching to know,
is it a yes
or a definite no?
Find me in my dreams
and make it known,
’cause I think of you far more
than I have carefully shown.

Do you still think of me
now that there’s no tomorrow,
when ‘we’ means absolutely nothing
and memories bring painful sorrow?

Do you still love me
now that you cannot stand me,
’cause we don’t talk to each other anymore,
about as distant as we can be?

Do you still hold me,
now that I’m out of your reach,
and our vow to love each other 
has come to a ghastly breach?

Do I still matter
now that you have a wife,
and old things have passed away,
and you love your new life?

If you tell me in my dreams,
I’ll know if it’s true,
and if you say it’s a no,
I won’t feel so blue.
I miss you and love you,
and although I’ve grown,
if you say it’s a yes,
I won’t feel so alone.

For My Lady

I Saw a Man

touchhd a man

‘Sandra’ by Shairi Turner

You are but a boy;
you made me a girlish woman.
Woman had the hots for boy?
I was naive- I’m only human.

You’ve run off to play your games;
yet, I know I will be just fine.
I feel foolish for feeling something;
I could have sworn you were all mine.

Oh boy, yes, you wore the perfect mask.
Now I need deep cleansing and a ‘no-costume’ ban.
‘Cause on the day that I first saw your face,
I was so damn sure- what I saw was a man.

{in numb, slightly girlish voice}
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
I saw a man
If I knew you were a boy,
I’d have stuck to my first plan.

{with crying and regret}
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
If I knew you were a boy,
I’d have said goodbye and ran.

{with screaming and anger}
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!
I saw a man!

{fades}

This is not a poem per se; it’s a song. I just need some help with recording it. I already know what it sounds like; I can almost hear it.
trans
Around 7.30 pm this evening, I found myself scribbling so fast, and the above is what I got after a few changes. I wrote so quickly, hence, the almost-illegible writing. If I ever get to record and/or perform this piece, I want the chorus to carry the emotions. I want it to be as powerful as the chorus in Patto’s 1970s piece, ‘The Man’
Listen to it. The chorus begins at around 4 minutes into the video:

Limericks are the Shit

There was a young lady named Sally
who enjoyed the occasional dally.
She sat on the lap
of a well-endowed chap,
and cried “Sir! You’re right up my alley!”
– Townsend, The Crown (TV series)

There was an old Countess of Bray,
and you might think it odd when I say,
that despite her high station,
rank and education,
she always spelt “cunt” with a K!
– King George, The Crown (TV series)

 

Hahaha. Good God!

It took me a good minute to figure out that the old Countess of Bray was not bad at spelling at all. King George’s limerick is very brilliant (and offensive, of course)!

The statement is not literal, and the first clue is in the ‘high station, rank and education’.

In other words, the Countess of Bray can spell alright, but she spells ‘cunt’. She has the characteristic of a cunt, and a major one too, since it’s with a ‘K’. There’s a bit of an emphasis on the first syllable of ‘Cunt’. Oof!  

Spell.png

The English are quite sly too. I (may or may not) like that. 

Limerick

The Most Beautiful Bird

Traveling-in-the-Sunflowers

The most beautiful bird
in the whole, wide world-
for beauty is in the heart of the beholder,
the bravest of them all,
powerhouse behind the scenes,
the one with the largest role
and the greatest burden,
whose praises are too many,
too heavy for my lips,
is the vulture.

They put the unwanted in their bodies,
decaying, dying carcasses,
the excruciatingly repulsive,
with odours so bad they sting-
pinching the nose, mouth and throat;
they take the defenceless unburied,
and make them theirs forever,
desiring them,
keeping them,

crowning the untouchables in themselves.

They prevent the spread of diseases,
cleaners and healers,
eating the painful past away
as we welcome the future,
the keepers of the flame

when the fire is long gone,
proving again and again
that no one and no thing is a waste,
even in their lowest states.

Vultures give the purest love
but they never receive the same,
seldom appreciated,
as they constantly save the living
and quietly serve the dead.

Oh, to be half as graceful and strong as the vulture!
Oh, to be as willing!
Oh, to be as brave!
Oh, to be as good!

095f733f4f24ebd3a82c14ad34d965aa

_______________________

Vulture Spirit

“What seems hideous has its own beauty, and the recycling and repurposing the vulture does is as important as any other activity in nature that supports the cycle of life. Vulture Spirit’s message is that nothing is to be wasted, for Nature sees value in everything that exists. What seems rotten and ugly has the potential to be transmuted into something beneficial, and you are reminded that any suffering you have experienced has not gone to waste. Wisdom and understanding that arose from the experience are talismans that will serve you on your journey wherever you go. What is decaying is only changing form and will fertilize seeds you wish to plant, turning that which has passed away into the substance that will support new growth. All that you might wish to deny or discard has value and can be repurposed and reintegrated into the new you that you are becoming and the new life that you are dreaming into being. No pain was in vain and no experience was wasted, for you have the power to use it to co-create something far better. This is the miracle in your partnership with Spirit.”
– Colette Baron-Reid

Murderers Should Eat Fish

Fish

Those who commit murder
and throw dead bodies
into the Third Mainland Bridge
should eat a lot of fish.

As soon as the body reaches
the depths of the water,
a delicious, fat feast,
doesn’t it become the food of fishes?

One fish will eat till she is full,
and go about her day.
The fish-killer will set a trap to murder her
in the early hours of the next day,
and she will be taken away.
Her children will become orphans,
very vulnerable to prey.

The man-killer will come along to buy her
from the fish-killer who,
whether he knows it or otherwise,
is also a fisher of men,
a fisher of late men, women, and children.

The man-killer’s wife will set the fish before him,
after it has been deliciously cooked,
along with some lobsters and crabs,
and of course,
since he contributed to the fish’s growth,
will he not taste so bloody good?

Still Feeling Good

pink-shells-bob-and-jan-shriner

Birds flying high
and pooping on me,
sun in the sky
and burning my skin,
breeze winding on by
and coming at me,
it’s the same day,
there is no dusk,
it’s the same life for me,
but I’m feeling good.