Woke up with a headache
Throbbing to the beat
Of that song on the radio
Always on repeat
Sung by a masochist
Written by a creep
How I love when I’m criticized by the meek
By a rickety white man
That’s morals are constructed
By hate and inequality
Love that’s paired with scrutiny
Plus constructs that are weak
Trust my lovely brother
He’s funded manipulation
For a proper nation
Where the homos repent
Where the women are mothers
Where the church is forced on the troubled
Where naturalism is turned to ash
Where equality is taught to be bad
Woke up with a headache
Throbbing to the beat
Of the rhythm the soldiers make with their feet
Reciting orders told to them
Mistakes will certify being beat
They learn the steps to a dance
Named the atrocity
Oh ye the Man
Listen!!!! For the King’s palace has got burnt
The chiefs are being hypocrites
For the Queen is the source of the living,making the King looks mighty
Oh ye the Universe
Look!!! For you shall start a journey where you have no consent to start
And a journey where you have no Vision to stop
But a journey that consists of dried and fruitful Missions
Oh ye the seventh floor
Where thou shalt looked unto?
Should I Sblood to figure my comparative analysis and evolution of the Homos?
Oh ye the tiny waves
Listen!!!! For we shall create disperse and nightmares in the form of lucid dreams and hallucinations where the fears,tears and scars will be wild with a little road
Oh ye the Serpent
Do you really believe you’re the most beauty in the face of humans but ugly in the face of Holiness
Now here we laid our Truest
No matter how diligently you've mastered Kung Fu
You can never stand the force of a great typhoon.
If you try, you're only calling yourself a nincompoop
For it will sweep you away as the wind does balloon.
Among the homos, none can, not even the baboon.
You can only do it when you're in fantasy like cartoon.
So just play your role, like the sun and the moon
Because you can't solve it all; morning or afternoon.
eye borne two wright storeys four yew wit tiers,
tails suite tolled, sum purls wit pane;
Fore yew two gaize, hale, prays.
____________________
April 26, 2015
Poetry/Kimo/Nearly The Same
Copyright Protected, ID 04-667-057-26
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Only Homos Allowed
sponsor, Jerry T. Curtis, NA Judged 2015
Bred by Bread
I was told in youth I was BRED by BREAD
To eat and full my skinny frame
And I ATE at least EIGHT slices of bread
Until my hunger could be sated
But there was some bread I really hated
I don’t know why but when it came to RYE
My expression came on very WRY
When that day comes that I will wed
I’LL walk my bride right down the AISLE
For sure the reception’s down the shore
And there’ll be food and bread and more
and afterwards we'll rent a SUITE
To be with her will be so SWEET
Only Homos Allowed Contest Jerry T. Curtis
Ralph Sergi March 26,2015
I am sitting over the mount’s top
On the highest rock
Watching the city’s scene;
As the bucks in countries
In summers do,
Rise to the highest point and stare down the dale,
Seeing in the side
Their beloveds live.
Oh come on! And I will show
How pigeons flutter round the tall domes of shrines;
Swans swim in the calm lake;
Kites diving in open sky;
Lovers gossip in grassy gardens
Under short shady trees;
People walking as toys, in the busy streets;
And wide walls of ancient king’s palace have half–fallen.
O Pir’s daughter
My love! My love! My love!
What are you uselessly so scared and coy?
Honey! We are not any American gays!
Lesbians, homos or bloody bi’s.
I am also a religious guy
A God-fearing father’s son,
Though, you are an overly pure woman!
And remember, we had fallen in love—
God willingly.
Pir is like a clergyman, a Father in kashmiri
The wresting groung for old homos
Is full tonight
Because we spilled so much of our youth
In endless repeat anonymous encounter
That it was not enough to end the world once
More than a thousand medieval nonyears ago,
That spun off revolution in the sixties
Into reactionary shaved heads in the ninties.
They're scratching their old heads
Saying what have we done when we were young
enough to know better
Than dad
Because we had more fun than zoot suits
That women diddn't catch on
Until they got mad enough at us
To start their own rest home
For the partiers who came too late
To catch onto the disease that followed
Our young release
At the old new
We now are.
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