Long Decapitate Poems
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And ignoble prize trumpeting hubris awarded to...
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"
red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate
for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts
equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate
government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birthrate,
every square inch of Earth
*****sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm
fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
damned, inundated, ossified bridgegate
checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of loins going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate
oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate
pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and sucking
every last vestige of bondage peoples extirpate.
I don't play god, i hate you all, a life made of lie i will slay today, nothing steps
ahead, i will decapitate satan for power, god if i must, i don't rules in a hole so dark,
i feel pain in my chest, so before i die i will destroy the world, more hate in me growing
so quick, my mother and father, hope to see you in hell, i'll settle up the score for
good, i love sins more than devil does, as a creator, i punish fear, blood runs deep, fear
runs deeper, love ain't here, not in me, never will, is like a fire inside my chest
punching the walls of my heart blazing, like a passion breaking, poison closed my eyes,
funny look towards the mirror look at all this devils besides me, i love this chain
holding me down, it actually challenge me to fight harder, take me to hell, let me see
satan face to face, let me spit on him, let me see god's face, i'll show him rebelry, now
every body reading this thinks im just confused, if you knew i am more conscious than
angels sounding trumpeths, i die slowly, years digging up the truth, days to grasp the
grass on top of the bodies, so many years, so many clouds, how heavy they hang the god
watching us die? Go away! im not a traitor, i just read the truth, so i will love to kill
you all, so stupid to think you know beyond but i cheated death enough times to tell you
how wrong you are, how stupid you've dealt this war, you let the world fall and dig up a
grave so sacred, let me kiss her farewell, my life is over soon, take me to hell, satan is
dragging me down, Mr. Butcher cut me on million pieces, take us all to hell, enter the
light ahead, fight the darkness inside, is all about violence, is the only way we know how
to reason reality...
How many more years will it take for my writings to make others understand how dark this
place is? How far will i go to show off my abilities? Why is this so hard? Is it real this
pain? For a moment we all bury truth to sleep besides the enemy, drag me to hell, take my
soul and bury my corpse, show me truth, show them death, take me to hell, take us all,
show me the truth, blood runs deep, fear runs deeper, take me to hell and show off my
world, i will slay the snake once alive, were did i fell from? Hahaha! Funny... How long
have you been alive kid?
Form:
Liberty, Equality and Fraternity, three precious ideals, blinded by the darkness of xenophobia.
The Republic, democracy and human rights are the pillars of a just society, but in the depths of Marianne, their fragility reminds us that nothing can be taken for granted.
Perhaps it will be necessary to decapitate a few heads again on the Place de la Concorde, so that the age-old splendor of revolutionary France can be reborn from its ashes.
Foreigners are constantly discriminated against and treated like cattle, their dignity trampled underfoot.
Illegal immigrants, without a residence permit, live in promiscuity, seeking refuge in a nation that rejects them.
The homeless proletarians, scattered in the streets of the homeland of human rights, are proof that equality is slow to become a reality for all.
Stigmatize Africans by systematically associating them with delinquency and drug trafficking,
It is to ignore the segregationist policies, applied in disadvantaged suburbs,
It is choosing to look elsewhere, faced with the cruelty of France's criminal shenanigans in Africa.
Racists, racialists and nationalist supremacists propagate toxic ideologies that divide rather than unite, creating deep fissures in a France with a legacy of slavery and colonialism.
Negrophobic xenophobes are chained to hatred and intolerance, they despise the salutary values ??of inclusion and the riches of diversity.
Enlightened pan-Africanist sub-Saharan Africans carry a vision of solidarity and continental unity, which advocates the search for the realization of Africa's potential.
Terrorism, capitalism and globalism form an explosive cocktail that disrupts the balance of the contemporary world.
Patriotic fascists, racialist stereotypes and colonial reflexes are infringements which hinder the evolution towards a community attached to egalitarian principles.
Under the lights of the slave trade, amnesia is a medicine for all those who want to forget the past and the horrors of the dark pages of the lugubrious history of sweet France.
The Code Noir gave rise to the transatlantic slave trade, and the Code of the Indigenous was the foundation on which colonization rested.
One quick snap I'm
cognizant, no
standing in this
place, in pitch black
dark I lay can't see
my hand before my
face,
my wingspan's non
existent, cushioned
wood up by my
head, the sayers
nay have fine'lly
gone and buried me
for dead.
They should've
checked my pulse
before they shut the
coffin top, attempts
to leave me like
they do these
young'ns off the
block,
but haters are so
sloppy otherwise
they'd know for
sure, my heart is
truly still before the
final coup de jour.
I don't know how
much time has
passed since I was
buried deep, the
casket lid is weak, I
feel the dirt and
moisture seep,
through cracks
unseen, it's
blasphemy to think
that I'd succumb, I'll
resurrect my being
cause I'm nume'ro
dos to none.
I use my knees to
break apart the lid
atop my cage, the
soft'ning soil
drizzles down onto
my suit clad frame,
I claw my way
through earth
ignoring parts that
scream with pain,
my right hand
breaks the plain to
feel the rush of
streaming rain.
The nighttime air is
filled with all the
power of my core,
they left me dead
and buried so I'll
give them all what
for,
and resurrect
myself to fit the
image of the gods,
a total
metamorphasis in
spirit, mind and bod.
My words will wrap
around you
anaconda, squeeze
you tight, enough to
make your ribcage
splinter til you bleed
inside,
don't hide behind
requests for mercy,
it was meant to be,
which may
convincingly convert
my friends to
enemies.
Committed sins I
will atone to climb
life's hill alone, with
skills from off the
dome I turn my foes
to skinless bones,
a mind as warped
as mine will kill em
all and steal the
throne, decapitate
the king and have
his cabbage sealed
in stone.
I sit now on my
grave with fractured
personalities, which
comes from me
ascending through
the world of R.I.P.,
I then begin to
scream out to the
thunderstorm I see,
like Al Pacino on
the steps, the end,
GodFather 3,
and though I love to
joke, wait til they
get a load of me!
Poppy
by Michael R. Burch
“It is lonely to be born.” – Dannie Abse, “The Second Coming”
It is lonely to be born
between the intimate ears of corn . . .
the sunlit, flooded, shellshocked rows.
The scarecrow flutters, listens, knows . . .
Pale butterflies in staggering flight
ascend the gauntlet winds and light
before the scything harvester.
The winsome buds of cornflowers
prepare themselves to be airborne,
and it is lonely to be shorn,
decapitate, of eager life
so early in love’s blinding maze
of silks and tassels, goldened days
when life’s renewed, gone underground.
Sad confidante of worm and mound,
how little stands to be regained
of what is left.
A tiny cleft
now marks your birth, your reddening
among the amber waves. O, sing!
Another waits to be reborn
among bent thistle, down and thorn.
A hoofprint’s cleft, a ram’s curved horn
curled inward, turned against the heart,
a spoor like infamy. Depart.
You came too late, the signs are clear:
whose world this is, now watches, near.
There is no opiate for the heart.
Originally published by Borderless Journal
***
Virginal
by Michael R. Burch
For an hour
every wildflower
beseeches her,
"To thy breast,
Elizabeth."
But she is mine;
her lips divine
and her breasts and hair
are mine alone.
Let the wildflowers moan.
***
If Love Were Infinite
by Michael R. Burch
If love were infinite, how I would pity
our lives, which through long years’ exactitude
might seem a pleasant blur—one interlude
without prequel or sequel—wanly pretty,
the gentlest flame the heart might bring to bear
to tepid hearts too sure of love to flare.
If love were infinite, why would I linger
caressing your fine hair, lost in the thought
each auburn strand must shrivel with this finger,
and so in thrall to time be gently brought
to final realization: love, amazing,
must leave us ash for all our fiery blazing.
If flesh’s heat once led me straight to you,
love’s arrow’s burning mark must pierce me through.
Keywords/Tags: birth, light, love, love hurts, flight, flying, life, heart
Every year for seven now I’d helped me mate Tom Cooney out,
along with Laurie ‘Fitz’ and Barry Dore when asparagus did sprout.
We worked our shifts ‘til knock off time, then off we’d quickly dart,
to cut the spears and stack them up for Tom to load his cart.
But this year the crew Tom had so long was now back down to one.
Laurie ‘Fitz’ is driving trucks and Dorey’s gone and chased the sun.
I alone can’t put the hours in for Tom that’s needed on his block,
so he had to find two cutters, and he employed young Rod and Jock.
And if they aren’t a pair of Hillbilly’s then I reckon I’ll go ‘he’.
They talked real slow, wore bib and brace, and often disagree.
But they worked as hard as ‘Fitz’ and Dorey once they learnt the trade;
Tom reckoned he had made a coup ‘cause Rod and Jock had made the grade.
With fleet of foot between the hills; their knives decapitate the spears,
and Tom gloated in a week; he had a pair that matched their peers.
That comment stung me in the gut for I’m supposed to be the ‘gun’,
and to keep me ‘possie’ to the fore they forced me to cut and run.
But alas one morning smoko when the four of us were drinking tea,
from somewhere out of nowhere there came the need to referee.
I held back Jock while Rod took off; then Tom kicked up a fuss,
for it seemed that feuding’s more important than his asparagus.
It was a useless conversation with a passing questionnaire,
and a slipping of the tongue that now made Jock aware,
his trusted friend behind his back coerced his wife to stray,
now Tom and I are holding Jock so Rod could run away.
The topic Jock bought to the fore is based on the family tree.
He said to Rod “Hey listen mate, see if you can help me.
If your wife and me made love and then her belly got inflated.
When she had my little baby would it mean that we’re related?”
Tom looked at me, and I at him, then all of us at Rod,
who rubbed his whiskers, tipped his hat, and gave a little nod.
He took a breath and stood up then began on tempting fate …
“Related Jock, I’m just not sure - but it would make us even mate”.
One quick snap I'm cognizant, no standing in this
place, in pitch black dark I lay can't see my hand
before my face,
my wingspan's non existent, cushioned wood up by
my head, the sayers nay have fine'lly gone and
buried me for dead.
They should've checked my pulse before they shut
the coffin top, attempts to leave me like they do these
young'ns off the block,
but haters are so sloppy otherwise they'd know for
sure, my heart is truly still before the final coup de
jour.
I don't know how much time has passed since I was
buried deep, the casket lid is weak, I feel the dirt and
moisture seep,
through cracks unseen, it's blasphemy to think that
I'd succumb, I'll resurrect my being cause I'm
nume'ro dos to none.
I use my knees to break apart the lid atop my cage,
the soft'ning soil drizzles down onto my suit clad
frame,
I claw my way through earth ignoring parts that
scream with pain, my right hand breaks the plain to
feel the rush of streaming rain.
The nighttime air is filled with all the power of my
core, they left me dead and buried so I'll give them
all what for,
and resurrect myself to fit the image of the gods, a
total metamorphasis in spirit, mind and bod.
My words will wrap around you like a python,
squeeze you tight, enough to make your ribcage
splinter til you bleed inside,
don't hide behind requests for mercy, it was meant
to be, which may convincingly convert my friends to
enemies.
Committed sins I will atone to climb life's hill alone,
with skills from off the dome I turn my foes to
skinless bones,
a mind as warped as mine will kill em all and steal
the throne, decapitate the king and have his
cabbage sealed in stone.
I sit now on my grave with fractured personalities,
there's Donald Rhymus, Tony Stanza, JD's R.I.P.,
I then begin to scream out to the thunderstorm I see,
like Al Pacino on the steps, the end, GodFather 3,
I'm not a joker still, wait til they get a load of me!
The Headless Greenlandic Horseman
A Meditation in 6 parts.
Avalanche
I.
The sky is starry
The night is scary
I'm very afraid
of the living dead;
On a mission; or Fugitives in the city
II.
The headless Greenlandic horseman
speaks Kalaallisut very well indeed,
plus Dansk and English! What a man!
A polyglot he is! Yes, sir! Although he
Is evil and wants to behead Mr. Donn
Oh! How horrible! How horrible! The
reason being, Donn owes him plenty
of money. More than 500.000 bucks!
Camera Obscura
III.
Mikko Donn (whose dad is Finnish) is a fugitive in the city
& Hansen, the cowboy from Kalaallit Nunaat, is his hunter;
500.000 U$ is that debt's figure, folks;
Oh! This is horrid! Truly horrid for sure!
I contemplate upon this very jittery and jumpy
Oh, I am scared! Oh, yes! I am scared!
Donn's head is at stake--because he's a debtor;
Another headless man? And multilingual again?
Isn't that whimsical? A headless man wants to
decapitate another man and both speak many
superb languages! That's admirable! Yes, sir!
Spasmodic Apostrophes
IV.
Ave Hansen, Morituri te Salutant
anthropologizing, vexillologizing;
Well, Donn's head is still extant.
Though, I dare ask, for how long?
Equestrian Interregnum
V.
Fear is what Donn feels
even down to his heels;
He feels he's gonna puke
even though he is a duke!
The philanderer's philter will save him no longer
The Greenlander and his plug are after him;
There's no escape--the event is rather grim;
He is doomed. Period. Good-bye, fishmonger!
Hurkle! Hurkle! Hurkle!
VI.
Donn's head is safe now. Why?
Because of my idea; Donn is a fish vendor
and has a friend who is a surgeon;
Therefore, I suggested "What about implanting
a fish's head on Hansen? Wouldn't it be nice?"
Donn okayed what I said & called his friend,
Mr. Sherry, the surgeon. Hansen accepted.
They made a deal. Besides the fish's head,
Donn has to teach Hansen Suomi, a
perfect language. And that's how this tale
ends. Hansen and Donn became friends
and ate partridges together.
Soupers quiet down, quiet down, dakarai cobb is in for a shock.
I'm gonna smash this clown, so let me metamorphose into the Poetic Warlock.
Soupers put your hands in the air, and chant my name to the sky.
You poets can tell by my demonic stare; dakarai is about to die!!
Give "you" some ammo? dakarai, a true slammer would have his gun cocked and
loaded!
You are such a "lame-o," for I read your comment - clearly noted.
Soupmail after soupmail you begged for a piece of the Poetic Warlock.
But a certain poetess had me under her spell, because of what she did to my c#$k!
You are not a worthy opponent for me, because I only battle the best.
I know you intend to "bite" my poetry, for you notice how I do in each contest!
Matter of fact, do you ever win? Do you ever "place?"
Let me show you my diabolical pen, and what I will do to your face!
First I will staple your lips, then super glue your eyes shut.
I will strangle you with a bullwhip, but not before I kick your poetic butt!
Dude this slam is giving me a raging hardon, tell your girlfriend I said "Hey"
I gave her the nickname "Jaw-bone" and still have her purple negligee.
You called my open challenge a joke, dakarai you just have no clue.
My poetic gun will smoke, and I'll gladly annihilate you!
My poetic vault is filled to capacity, and after I'm done, I'm sending you to the electric
chair!
You have the audacity to ask for ammo for your gun - punk you're not even ready for
warfare!
You're a child playing a grown mans game, and I'm putting you in checkmate.
These soupers are chanting my name, and your "head" they wanna see me
decapitate!
I will take off your ugly head, and defecate down your throat.
You will end up dead fighting a poetic heavyweight, and there is no antidote!
Note: I will enjoy slamming you back to back to back - can you keep up? After I'm
done with you, you'll end up cutting your wrists. lol
They're trying to decapitate the hood magistrates,
with fabricated reasons for treasons
It's the season that we evaluate and saturate,
All those who maneuver with a false mind,
Hood occupants are tee'd off like it's golf time,
So your game needs to be up to par
because to the jails and cemetaries
too many people have lost time,
The government is microscopic on the popular,
They possess new world order style binoculars,
They're building plantations and camps
in the form of penetentiaries
to house and be the spots for the,
Most corrupted, those abducted,
from society in a variety of flavors
because misbehavior leaves us stuck with,
A bunch of years on tiers to joint suspension,
We stay inchin' through tention,
and in this hard knock life comprehension,
we discover that we're losing
in their systematic intervention,
They know that the hypnosis from dollar bills will rule us,
In a cess pool of,
deceived individuals who tryin' to glisten like a jewelers,
Metals and precious stones,
Yes it's on,
We brave enough to test the throne,
The quest is long,
And we fight until our flesh and bones,
Dissolved into the earth
We were born to die so who's next to go,
Our lives are far from festivals,
We're surrounded by people
who perform acts that are unethical,
attempting to reach the pinnacle,
Because the hood fame will excite us,
We search for the cures to hunger-itis,
What we really need is the wisdom from the providers,
Who serves the mind food
because the government is killin' us,
They're sealin' our fate with each plate to get rid of us,
They lable us outlaws, so we turn southpaw
and fight for our rights from the left like P. Whittaker,
It's hard suvivng inside their GENOCIDAL SYLLABUS,
So before you get tossed like a javelin,
Stay sharp and keep your eyes and mind travelin'
While you're in the systematic maze
to keep your life from unravelin'.