Category Archives: poetry

Empires

Posted on by under non-rhyming, poetry, solemn

This world’s a snake built on politics
and the second you think you’re safe,
it will bite.

This world’s a communion of men
whose deeds you’ve forgotten, forgiven;
who calculated you’d forget, forgive;
who will bite.

Freedom is to build your own fence and cage
and to fight wars on paper over paper.
What has patience bought us
but time to kill in the hope
that one day our luck would suffice
and it would be that time that would crumble our walls,
not the spearhead of some thrall of pride?

None more vile than men who’ve learned to wipe blood
on their hands, across their face without feeling the hate,
without needing the red haze set before their eyes.

Next time you watch your Kings,
your Presidents, your Overlords…
Picture them in warpaint, in kevlar vests with blades in hand.
Picture them in camouflage and balaclavas, their mouths the mouths of sharks.
Picture them in suicide vests, with a billion bullets laid at each of their feet.
Picture them with dirt under their nails from digging a mass grave.
Picture them wearing your worried face as their common mask.

Second to Last Day

Posted on by under experimental, humorous, non-rhyming, poetry, short stories

I went to get a sandwich and coffee;
the barista won’t look at me,
gazes at the sandwich (chicken caesar)
and mutters: “Four ninety”.

Hey, I’m over here, so how about screw you?

Her spoken afterthought: “Anything else?”
I want coffee but still say “nah”.

It’s my second to last day before holidays. I’m still here.

I pass a maintenance guy. His reflection looks back at him from the maze of glass doors he is cleaning. Then I realize it’s no reflection but another guy talking with him, joking with him, mirroring him.

Damn, I give way too much credit to the glass doors of this world.

I head for escalator. This woman walks diagonal to me. I think: “oh shit”. I begin to see a pattern emerging here, detective Columbo.

I reach the escalator first. Feeling her behind me, tailing me. Spy stories, eh.

I make for the door, push it and not hold it open for her. I pretend I dunno she’s there.

It ain’t the first woman I’ve pretended I didn’t know was there. I was there, now I’m here. How about trying to be less of a dickhead every now and then?

On the street, she passes me by and becomes the one pretending she don’t know I’m there. My my, how the tables have turned.

(Actually, if I’m honest, I don’t know if it was the same woman.)

My breath steams as I exhale. As I walk the street up to the office. It’s 3.5 days till midsummer. So in conclusion: fuck!

P.S. I wrote this down in the bus, some old dude sitting next to me. If he saw what I was writing, he must’ve thought “this guy is hella weird”.

But still here, man. I’m still here.

Voluntary Full Disclosure

Posted on by under experimental, non-rhyming, poetry

My favorite color is blue, my least favorite color is brown
My favorite person in the world is none of your fucking business, my least favorite person in the world is oooh apathy and indifference I dunno too many to choose from I suppose
My favorite team is Arsenal F.C., my least favorite team is FC Barcelona because fuck dynasties
My favorite pope is I don’t have a favorite pope, my least favorite pope is all the reactionary turds to have held the office and the funny hat that goes with it
My favorite kind of thing is a shirt that sees thru just ‘nuff to show her underwear, my least favorite kinda thing is foolish pride

My favorite town in the world is Ghent, my least favorite town in the world is ummm I dunno maybe nnnaah really dunno
My favorite person to have sex with is yo momma, my least favorite person to have sex with is yo daddy aaah what an obvious joke
My favorite number is 2 followed by 10, my least favorite number is nnnnnine
My favorite book is From Here To Eternity by James Jones, my least favorite book is Dan Brown’s Hidden Symbol or Secret Symbol or whateveritwas
My favorite beer is pretty much most beers when I’m in the proper mood, my least favorite beer is Bishop’s Finger because that stuff tastes like cabbage, yo

My favorite English word is “vicarious”, my least fav English word is “fav”
My favorite German word is “Selbstvernichtung”, my least favorite German word is “doch” though I can live with it
My favorite food is spaghetti bolognese, my least favorite food is some milk-based vegetable soup so repugnant I haven’t bothered to find out the English word for it
My favorite song is “Friend of Mine” by The National, my least fav song is prreeetty much anything of the mediocrecore shit In Flames have been churning out in recent years
My favorite adult playground is London, my least favorite adult playground is Helsinki

My favorite artsy playpen is Berlin , my least favorite artsy playpen is there’s no such thing since artsy playpens rule by default
My favorite American prez is Clinton, My least favorite American prez is Dubya
My favorite Ameri-prez I can’t really have a proper opinion on is LBJ, my least favorite Ameri-prez I can’t really have an opinion on is any segregation-supporting dickheads in case there were some
My favorite sex position is every position, my least favorite sex position is are you stupid or what it’s seeeex just enjoy it
My favorite car is who even has a favorite car I mean you just drive it from A to B, my least favorite car is your car you keep spouting on about even when nobody clearly gives a flying fuck

My favorite rapper is too many to name, my least favorite rapper is ahdunno Lil’ Jon maybe pretty overrated, you know
My favorite painting is “Nighthawks” or maybe “American Gothic”, my least favorite painting is “Mona Lisa” yeah you heard me it’s boooringsauce
My favorite real fake real fake real star is Lana Del Rey, my least favorite real fake real fake real star is Lady Gaga hey your schtick got real old reeeeal fast
My favorite Latin word is you know what fuck this shit, my least favorite Latin word is did you not hear me I’m done with this one null and void over n’ out go home nothing to see here police line do not cross no comment as of right now ok clear the room this press conference is over

Fuck da Pulitzer

Posted on by under experimental, humorous, non-rhyming, poetry

Anyone who’s ever braved to pick up the pen and write something
– for realz, like –
has at some point concluded that *everything* they write is shit.

Imagine Shakespeare throwing his quill around,
rocking that ruff look, screaming:
“Shit shit shit! Fucking fuckety fuck!”

But hey, fo fuckin’ shizzle,
just keep doin’ yo’ thug thizzle, Billizle.