Here's to Biff 'o who a hero can be.' By determination, and effort and observance
If youse'll just see.' Not from a plush life start." Yet now is his time, he will lose nothing, as he gives all Aussies his frames
Online.' From reporting true on Dezi, some
Sold out media types crimes, used his own
material, and tried relegating him onto a
shelf.'
I saw how he's enqired with vic-poll-lice.. That dreaded crew.' And even falsies like that
Mob, said nothing was to do, fast forward
To today..And New South cops started sniffing around, only went and collared his
Son, mates this is stupidity profound.' Just
Bullying monstering tactics, for their head bosses overseas, who tell the local leaders
That the beat guys have to please.' So though there is breach of good conduct and threats of some jail-time for a kid who
Has done no-thing at all.' This really blows
My mind.' These are traitors to our heros.'
I stand with Biff; and say deliver them some consequence, that our country holds
Its way.' In the good that we relied upon..
That always had ous backs.' Give it
To them brother it can be part of taking our
Country back; on track.''
We give each other license
To justify the violence
We relate to satisfaction
Relegating our inaction
To a higher power
The fashion of the hour
Changing with the time
The constant's our reflection
That the state of our perfection
Disdaining all inspection
In the state of our connection
To the mantle of the Don
But will it ever dawn
That ground shifts all the time
Like the mantle underneath us
Somethings should be beneath us
Croesus wouldn't be the one
That would or could impress Solon
Just as fool and all his money
Are destined to part company
All that matters is the time
So just as a marriage license
Recognizes loves' instransigence
Romancing love as love of power
Is but convenience of the hour
And the short term satisfaction
Will result in but the fraction
As it's turning on a dime
We give each other license
To justify the violence
We relate to satisfaction
Relegating our inaction
To a higher power
The fashion of the hour
Changing with the time
The constant's our reflection
That the state of our perfection
Disdaining all inspection
In the state of our connection
To the mantle of the Don
But will it ever dawn
That ground shifts all the time
Like the mantle underneath us
Some things should be beneath us
Croesus wouldn't be the one
That would or could impress Solon
Just as a fool and all his money
Are destined to part company
All that matters is the time
So just as a marriage license
Recognizes loves' intransigence
Romancing love as love of power
Is but convenience of the hour
And the short term satisfaction
Will result in but the fraction
As it's turning on a dime
Screaming rumours frightened the wings
out of pregnant vultures — and the city hall
shook with their sudden flightlessness.
Who could have done this —?
Projecting such banner of hate!
Rumours are spread with red dancing tongues —
embers where loose talks are brewed, and
with the intention of relegating the village to
the back of the jungle league.
To Hell with Cultural Appropiation or Cultural Copy.
It is very very wrong and unconscionable unless we are copying uplifting values only.
Copying poor value systems like smoking drugs, ganja or cigarettes, over excessive rum/alcohol drinking or eating, gun running, crime, and even gloryfying submersive gansata rap lyrics are wrong for our children's sake. these are bad examples.
I promote instead bigging up our own local Culture to the fullest.
Cultural Apporiation merely teaches us to homour and repect foreign Culture
While relegating our very own.
Why covet a next man's culture when yours is much better??
I want us to love up our own culture with a passion so high and true
That it reaches out to the very sky.
To strive towards good positive culture should always be our true Covenant.
And so you see Cultopiation to me is more like Cultural Miasappropiation.
SEE also my song on youtube called Gultural Hypocrisy by Lord Cam
Familiar storm - stampeding, impeding,
drawing in colder days, lighting up
monotone skies, winterizing holiday rise.
Thoughts of yesteryear - their existence
unclear, relegating nonsensical notions,
subjugating my mind - celebrating life.
12/18/2021
Bite Size Poem #30
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Any consciousness contracting thought
Is ego begot
Having its roots in fear & desire
In the domain of transience being the ego’s lair
Our mind is in a fog
Because we allow the tail to wag the dog
Relegating the role of mind-body to an instrument
We rest in bubbling bliss in quiet contentment
Bliss being the true nature of our consciousness
Whilst indulgence in ephemerality ego narrowness
Yet being granted free will
We may choose to be either agitated or in joy still
The optimal choice of attention resonation
Is always the divine love vibration
Exiting the habit of holding on to
If instead we resistancelessly our heart pulse renew
Our childlike presence flowing in the here & now continuum
We are joyous & blissful devoid of egoic residuum
Simply know that God is bliss
Expansive with nothing amiss
If we be in contraction
Recognise it as ego precipitation
An interesting question has arisen
About our desire to end the fire of desire
Signalling a doer needing to do as bidden
Attempting to extinguish flames ego does sire
We may see clearly that this is not the way
For as long as a separate identity is manifest
Our consciousness will continue to sway
In a web of illusion ego continues to resurrect
The trick then is to simply switch frequency
Choosing to be ever present at the Love vibration
Exiting stagnation rooted in patterns of delinquency
Celebrating all unfoldings here & now in elation
What has happened thus is this: we vaporise
Relegating role of mind body to an interface
There then being no one left to judge or size
We be to become bliss itself by divine grace
lousy lips laced
with gaunt gaze
projected per peacocky
enchanting pull pulsing
retracting reels rumbling
muffled messages mumbling
damped debacles dripping
saucy strapped in
freakishly folded feelings
cusses gulping graces
airy syllables amputating
relegating oily obloquy
parted limbs leaking
jumpy jazz jolting.
19:11:28:17:14
I should have said:
You are boisterous and loud and joyful.
I should have said:
You are energetic and funny and fun.
I should have said:
You are more a warrior, a student, a leader.
I should have said:
You are more than a number.
I should have said:
You are powerful, fierce, and strong.
I should have said:
Your beauty has nothing to do with convention.
I should have said:
You are worth so much more.
Instead of saying:
Stop it, you look great!
I wish I looked like you.
At least you still fit into those!
Stop it, you're so skinny!
Instead of believing:
Your worth is your shape, your face, your sexuality.
Your worth is what others think of you.
Your worth is what sells.
Your worth is what others enjoy.
Instead of relegating it to one thing:
A number.
Juggernaut winds howling south;
Arctic colds, chill, in their mouths.
No respite through winter days
Unless north creep sunshine’s rays.
And the groundhog comes too late
Relegating to its fate
Year’s first month a gray estate.
1/2/2019
Meaningful conversations of elations aim
amores light, embracing echoing stamina
relegating through a tumultuous third year,
regrets of white lilies lining walls of despair
incandescent kisses, loving trips to Hawaii
all to regal for a first love, frolicking as mana
grateful silver years approach the lives ebbing evanescence family dinners, but not our love.
THE FAMOUS ONE
Let the name of JESUS CHRIST, be spoken
amongst the nations, on every tongue
The profane test this out with cursing,
relegating his HOLY NAME, like dung
Let NOT his RENOWNED NAME be blasphemed,
but with savored blessings let CHRIST be sung
11/4/2017
Modern Sijo
Midnight dreams rest tonight
as blurred eyes bend in the breeze
a tepid breeze bringing hints of hope
un-masked in semi-blushed cheeks
a simple smile relegating elegance
in a soft and pure subtle-side held
in reverence of a temulent night
it is there in the stroke of your hair
your lips graze brazenly upon mine
and for a moment we are not alone
One day again I may
become serious about writing poetry
with words to cushion the effect of trauma
those of a life, a sentiment for our historic past
and its people I hold most dear.
But alas not the arteries that lead the children,
those without a childhood, yet armed with a hand
held brain, fingers of suspicion and agenda,
to inject an input and get out
whatever trends the current manipulation.
While this day the power to annihilate a way of life
and the oldies; those a burden upon the state
theirs a different point of view,
an extension of the industrial revolution
long since gone, declaring.
‘My kids will never have to do this’
relegating a way of life to a third world phenomena.
Education the crown of reason
different directions the attitude to life,
laws to create and answers to establish
to the questions manufactured those unanswered,
when common sense lost
in the affray of democracy, and profit becoming God!
© Harry J Horsman 2014
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