A soul that's hungry and never well-fed,
is always searching for something much greater,
a great love whose meaning is ne'er misread,
or destiny whose time arrives much later.
In God and thee I find a hopeful fate,
a future that restores a quiet grace,
and moments in time's endless, flowing state;
where I embrace your beauty's radiant face.
But if the heavens and the stars above,
and all the world were drowned in seas of gloom,
my lines still live forever in thee, my love,
beyond end of days, beyond even doom!
If love transcends all seasons and all times,
then your spring lives on in all of my rhymes.
Clay and dust made food
The sloth must be fed daily
Consciousness enslaved
Why is Congress infected with socialism
which only creates division and schism
Seems to me it’s 'cos Congress just rolls over, plays possum
to forked-tongue liars like Obama, Biden and Trump
The electorate is finally fed up with representatives who won’t fight
against emperors without clothes like the aforementioned chumps
So now they’re voting for charlatans who shout, yell and scream
~ hard-core commies who'll kill forever the American Dream
Partaking of the gifts of grace,
where each indulgence we release,
leaving no trace of love’s embrace,
we flow thus with nonchalant ease.
We have an unfair advantage,
being charged with bliss magnetism,
so we are free though in this cage,
of illumined mind-body prism.
As God’s child, each wish is fulfilled,
provided of course heart be pure
and the fertile soul of love tilled.
Our vibrant persona demure,
we seek nothing and yet we know,
divine entwined we are secure.
Let’s parley about pasta as World famous as the rasta Bob Marley
With potato rascal parcel not American Italian stallion like Rocky
Cocky stubby not ice hockey puck but stocky chubby soft gnocchi
Pizza is also a master blaster for those who chose good food faster
Cool old school cellar creamy mozzarella dreamy stellar mortadella
Better also for pancetta regatta bold umami tsunami of salami army
Drunken rapscallions parmesan medallions gold from sunken galleons
More is less finesse caress expedient ingredient largess will impress
Motto in gourmet grotto wins the lotto is of course Goddess risotto
Totemic signature vinegar star Balsamic the talismanic tsar in a jar
By the way we're told they say come what may ever day "agrodolce"
There’s something in our entrails knows this dread.
You hear it scratching – that’s alarm enough.
That snorting half-suppressed, that flagstone scuffed,
a passing shadow of a massive head,
and we scent darkness, dark beyond the dead.
It hovers like Unreason. Does it know?
Canals of self-containment overflow,
like wits’ weak walls, at that approaching tread.
Our fingers, feeling for that flimsy thread,
Seem senseless, unresponsive: can’t perform
the simplest act. No order now, no norm.
The Void insists. The Hunger will be fed.
With locusts of the Labyrinth in swarm,
the mitochondria of Panic sprout and spread.
We are spoon-fed by touch divine,
transmuting body-mind,
orchestrated by God’s design,
for those with love aligned.
As such, without excuse,
it’s up to us to choose,
the flavour of our muse.
By bliss beats led ~
We are spoon-fed
Being fed when corrupt
agents gather junk sick
fentanyl addicts functioning
only by giving false confusion
in exchange for a cup of
coffee at Denny’s bus tickets
from Alabama to Nashville
to Chicago where informants
are being tossed in front of
moving cars faceless
unrecognisable finally the
ultimate what’s in the box
it’s a human skull on a sidewalk
trick of treat jay Townsend
Johnson Henry swooning
Special agent Paula Brand
where does it all end increase
in fentanyl overdoses deaths
in Chicago being FED rat poison
Suffocating fear envy and denial
stop exploiting mentally Ill fentanyl
addicts homeless hoarders in Chicago
Have a happy Halloween check all
your candy for fentanyl
.
Top what hern exposed
top that swollen mound
Top
Her mamma
mine eyne
unto hern excited
bulbous mammillae
Mine anxious
eyne
duke's digits
Mine
lips
tap
they call it our independence
we were never dependent
they'll rape our only mothers
make us repent it
they'll sell our land
and bomb us when we tent on it
they'll condemn our freedom
after forcing us to shoot for it
morals are futile to the fed
to the hungry
well,
different story
—Tony O'manachain
You cannot take the country out of a corn-fed Iowa girl
You cannot pull the straw out of her teeth
You cannot take the “yahs” and replace them with “yeses”.
You can try to pull her off the tractor, but she will not come easy.
You can try to get her to stop eating fresh sweet corn
But I would not give you a nickel for your life afterwards.
my horse
knees buckling ~
Hershey squirts
many more lies said
laid with women while in bed
more bull us has fed
was kind and thoughtful
a natural born nice guy
you would want to meet
Lincoln supported
by many he never knew
who would need much help
another rumor
Trump has been put to get us
many more sickos
death and destruction
buildings torn to pieces
losses and chaos
The tears are bursting from my eyes
Still choking on your spoon fed lies
From scars and pains my heart has bled
No love remains from all you said
The cold indifference in your voice
Has left me now without a choice
Our chance to reconnect is gone
It's best for me to now move on
And though I know my mood is black
I say that there's no turning back
So here I lie my eyes still red
I pray there's better days ahead
Fed up of giving everything I have and nothing in return. Feeling like affection is something I need to earn.
I crave to cuddled to have his arms round me tight, a kiss on the forehead, a love letter, that’s how it’s supposed to be right ?
All these thoughts run through my head, sleeping alone whilst sharing a bed.
To be held and felt loved that’s all that I have craved.
Where is he? Where is that love that I wish I had saved.
Feeling like this it can be kinda tough , I’m fed up but I won’t give up!
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