She is a sop to insanity, a foreign minister that sounds off like a gong.' With such alien love
She is imbued, of all things strange.' And imported shoes..' all the time she's been around, we've watched living Aussies driven into the ground' hope assailed and
Men denigrated, women disenfranchised
My nerves; are by now raw grated, i've known cross-eyed mongrels, with a better view; of
Aussie values, ya-know? just things true blue..Like safe streets. And parks' like beaches and lakes, instead its
The chop-suey
Only; menu..Or an empty plate, I'll swear she trading noodles, for spaghetti sticks
As albo, creams of millions..
Its sick sick sick.' And things really won't
get better.' All the time this
Wong one, keeps.' Sending off; all
those loaded red letters.'
Unless it's an Indian gift from the karmic sky-gypsies
it’s not going to last.
Maybe you have lots of it,
but sooner or later
the 'told you so' pigmy bobble-heads of Mu
will make it known to you
that they are watching your every distracted move,
and their taking receipts
back to long abandoned thrift shops.
Amazon's plastic chop suey
will keep you spinning in circles like a drunk skunk.
The very wealthy flush it 2 times
just to clear their own much trapped crap.
Stuff is also for the downtrodden masses,
who renovate it to fit their cramped lifestyles.
In the end it’s all utter clutter
that digs the captive soul
deeper and deeper.
Best to gather together what no one wants
then wait,
until inevitably -
they do.
Their flesh is ooey
Their soft places gooey
Little boys say phooey
to girls and chop suey
You got what you needed
even though
it was an Indian gift from the karmic sky-gypsies.
“It was never enough for you was it?”
The 'told you so’ pigmy bobble-heads of hippo-Maya
declared with a wink.
Let it be known
that the bedazzling chop suey
of Chinese phooey
will keep you spinning in circles
like a topless drunk.
Wealthy Cats stick it up your nose
and tread on your toes on the way out.
They call it charity, but they also flush 2 times
so the crap takes an extra lap.
The Dancing Masters of Wu
commend you for your patience
and forbearance,
but that is certainly not enough
or is it?
A world full of syllables
Is so highly tillable;
they ebulliently buoy,
never leading to ennui.
When you’ve got Hong Kong Phooey
with a bowl of chop suey
and a glass of Drambuie,
what else do you need?
Or a wolf man named Gershon
with a camo tutu on
and he’s traipsing ‘cross your lawn,
asking more is just greed.
—————
H/T to A Playboy’s Toys by Gershon Wolf
If you want dreamer lessons you need to speak to Rufaliotwoey.
I wondered about this, for I had heard she was smooth as Chop Suey.
She knows more about imagination land than any other of our kind.
She has a whimsical, magical, up and down kind of mind.
She’s currently teaching a dream works class up those stairs.
She is honest, hardworking, down to earth, does not put on airs.
She is in touch with her child like self, more than others about.
Go up and see her, she is the one with the harbinger snout.
I ran up the stairs but stopped abruptly right at the door.
The entire class was snoring away, lying down on the bare floor.
Astral travel must have been going on all over the room.
The spirits of the participants flew past me in a high gear, a zoom.
You get what you need, but not what you don't need,
unless it's an Indian gift from the karmic sky-gypsies.
Maybe you have lots of stuff and it's never enough?
Then the 'told you so' pigmy bobble-heads of Mu
will make it known to you
that they are watching your every distracted move
and taking notes. Let it be known
that Amazon's chop suey of Chinese phooey
will keep you spinning in circles like a drunk skunk.
The very wealthy stink it up your nose
and call it charity, but they also flush 2 times
just to clear their own much trapped crap.
You get what you need, but not what you don't need,
unless it's an Indian gift from the karmic sky-gypsies.
Maybe you have lots of stuff and it's never enough?
Then the 'told you so' pigmy bobble-heads of Mu
will make it known to you
that they are watching your every distracted move
and taking notes. Let it be known
that the Amazon's chop suey of Chinese phooey
will keep you spinning in circles like a drunk skunk.
The very wealthy stink it up your nose
and call it charity, but they also flush 2 times
just to clear their own much tramped crap.
I met a strange young gal in St. Louis
Her favorite Chinese food was chop suey
This gal got her kicks
Twirling her chopsticks
I finally said, “too much kung phooey.”
written September 26, 2021
She said she'd make some sandwiches,
he told her he could do it better.
She said, “Here, I’ve fixed some cold cuts!”
All he said was, “nuts!”
She told him she could cook Chinese
he told her he could do it better.
She said, “Here, I made Chop Suey!”
All he said was, “phooey!”
So then she thought she’d take him out
he still thought he could do it better.
When the waiter brought roast duck
All he could say was, “yuck!”
She thought perhaps dessert would cheer him
though he still thought he’d do better.
She bought pints of chocolate mint
All he said’s not fit to print.
And so they married, Spoon and Knife -
she lived to feed him; he to cut her.
With that spoon, she dug her grave
But truth be told, he did it better.
There was an orange tanned douchebag called Trump
Playing hero on a bicycle pump
When inflating his Ego
Before sorting the Lego
The great wall crushed with a flatulent thump
London BoJo called Muslims a post box
Surely they spread contagion and small pox
We must rule the waves
Or else we'll be slaves
In isolation stranded on dry docks
Blame it on Putin and that Xi Jingpin
Produce a fake red yellow catarrh spin
Those bastards won't mind
Just one of a kind
Virus Vodka in a chop suey tin
Mexicans count their left over last grace
With Europe a mere historical phase
China meets Russia
As fake news' crusher
Xenophobes leave their vile virulent taste
Poets scribe of idiots in power
Just ink on sheets no Ivory Tower
Peace from a kind pen
Once more and again
United in truth and scripted power
05th April 2020
King Louis of France
Was looked on by many askance
Then the people said fooey to Louis
And made their selection: Chop Suey
Old King Louis got everything wrong
Told his wife in a touching swan song
“I think it’s for the best
Get it off of my chest”
Made his exit quite short, not so long
King Louis in or out of doors
Loved to dress in silky drawers
When asked “Do they feel alright?”
He said: ”Yes, when they’re pulled up tight”
27 August 2019
Clerimerick Couplets Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Sixties Secret Agent
In black and orange inks
some wag had stenciled,
"no need for tests -
for use on dinks".
Gung-ho. Can-do.
Make war, not love.
You hit puberty, and find
you're the biggest kid on the block.
Time to throw some weight around.
Buy yourself a Glock.
Damn this forest.
They don't play fair.
We'll catch 'em in the open
with our phosphorescent flares.
We invented cocaine drinks,
electric chairs, chop suey -
let's have us a little think:
claymores, napalm, hueys.
If only we could find a way
to murder all these trees:
if all this life were scalded, flayed,
and shriveled till it dropped away,
poisoned, sickly, palsied, grey,
then Charlie, skulking somewhere
out there
would show up in our lenses' stare
and we could bring our guns
to bear.
So. Get it done.
**Side Note: sometimes when I wrote poetry I would listen to music as one of the inspirations for writing poetry (A prime example would be my poem "Where The Angels Burned" the song Chop Suey gave me inspiration) the song that gave me inspiration for this poem was Leave Out All The Rest by Linkin Park. Anyway, please enjoy "Don't Forget Me". Please feel free to comment as well!
We were not meant to be.
So I left.
God took me to heaven.
Now you mourn me.
I would want you to be happy.
I want you to find another.
To love you.
Treat you like a king.
You deserve so much better.
Always remember that I loved you.
Always remember our friendship.
Remember the memories.
I will be in your heart,
And our love lives on.
I can see the light.
You must move on,
So the grief will lessen.
Everyday I watch you from above,
I am gone.
I can't rest in peace.
Please, don't forget me...
(This poem is one of my story poems, and when I wrote this during high school, I listened to the song Chop Suey by System of a Down and gave me the inspiration to write this poem. Anyway, please enjoy Where The Angels Burned and please comment!)
A white stallion stands on a cliff.
Staring at an orange, fiery sky.
The cool air brushes against his face.
Behind him is the cruel world.
He looks up, a miracle appears.
A white light shines upon him.
An angel from above comes to his side.
The stallion cries,
Streams fall down his face,
As the angel wipes away his tears.
Other angels appear in the sky,
Singing songs of harmony and praise see.
A blast from the sky; the angels burn.
The stallion runs away,
Running further and further.
Away from their red hot grasp.
Years later...the stallion continues to wander.
Never looking towards the sky again.
Running from the fear and coldness,
Away from the pain and agony.
Away from the angels that burned in hell...
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