Oil from the mount of olives, used on charlies pate..Stories below in Windsor
Jeanette Archer tells, of child torture,
Murder, and rape.' Maria Farmer also does
Fiona Barnet, they do not budge.' Virginia
Roberts, got paid much..But still she died
Maybe over such? Maggie Oliver, Jon Wedger knows Kevin Annett we hear and on it goes, anthony kidman and daughter
nichole along with epstein and maxwell all
Had their roles..The F B I swore they knew
Nothing.? And with marmalade
sandwiches i think -old lizzie did quite some
bluffing?'
Now back to Isreal and olive oil..Which old
lizzie also wore.' With treasure and spoils.'
And the stone of David.? That they sit upon
Link so much to Isreal.? Its a think a thon.!!
Trump with his kipper and biden and
the rest and death rape and torture.? Hmmm.?
What do you address.? (The era of con-vid?) And your violation.? We were a pagan
Sacrifice in all the nations ( were you told never to speak i'll ?) Of its reign.? Safe and effective you could only gain.' And the groves you will worship, under all things masked.' As you revel in serfdom..And await satans mark.?
Amanda* (inspired by Robert Klein)
Don't bite your cynicism, Amanda.
Don't live by the books.
Stop your conformism and curve up your cave, Amanda!
Splattered by boisterous sea, swim by the sharks, Amanda.
Did you tidy your principles, Amanda?
Freedom from serfdom within is sweet, Amanda.
Roam the streets of fire,
instead of cozy fireside, Amanda.
Will you please look in the mirror,
someone is speaking to you, Amanda.
You're your own guard in a tower, Amanda.
Release the pirate, turn into queen of seven seas, Amanda.
Results? a surge of serfdom and
Despair, spawning ideas and wrangles
Wasteful wars to entangle, away with
All such ill-fated, discourse, to be fair.'
New York times and Washington post, better watch
The reports in the columns you host, keep within any
Remit, for the wokesters wish to poke' specially those in
The big-house, who'll treat as serious any old joke'
Don't be tilting at thir windmills, or landing any clouts'
Being negative on e v's like 'just asking about? How
They go real dead in winter, blow a fuse in deeper floods'
Keep burning on' though fire brigade extinguishers run out
How their weight causes pot-holes how they belt hard other
Cars, that they're becoming liabiltys in the world
And here; both near and far.! Far be it from you to truth tell
Just remain within the lies..Keep on massaging those figures.'
All those 'old lockdown blighs' cause you really don't matter
Or your families and friends, you bury the corpses and
Press freedom.' even the intents.' You'll be part of the problem'
And you'll pay so very dear, when they draw up all the rules
Then you'll know.. 'you once; were free' free to save many
People and countries..The many lands you have sold out..You'll
Be colouring the pavements, fir there your talent you will tout.'
What is on my mind
Nothing is clear in sin city
Bombs blast the birds from the trees
Rapists rampage on the streets
Murders and no apology
What is on my mind
Nothing is clear in sin city
And we are running out of time
Thieves empty banks
Politicians held to account
Torture is the new buzz word
Handcuffed and not heard
Thrown into the cell of hell
For a Kiss and a tale
Protests are now the crime
We take the beating on our life
Chained to serfdom and losing the fight
Poverty, Injustice , equality no longer trusted..
If less than a degree then your gonna get busted
What is on my mind
Nothing is clear in sin city
Bombs blast the birds from the trees
Rapists rampage on the streets
Murders and no apology
What is on my mind
Nothing is clear in sin city
And we are running out of time
Steps on mud, a stalking thread,
Red strings wind through dying groves
Where life needs time, to find footing,
Red strings halt hands in greed which hold
The axe of ignorance, the axe which bleeds
A people in flight from homes bulldozed
For one brute mine more, to feed empire
Which jangles keys, which confines in loaned
Dependence made, our trough withheld
By bloated old speculators whose cold
Lies obscure serfdom; worded as freedom,
And the east wind is chided,
For fetishism, advert slogans uphold
Impotence among them who create,
They are given consumerist mirrors,
As leeches of mankind are weighed in gold;
And as burns away our way of life,
All bonds formed in toil shared,
The market-canker births hedonism
The imperial axe bloodies us, brothers of old
But hold tight onto the strong strands
Of crimson in the heartlands,
Seize imagination, seize thought
Beyond nettle laden garlands
And thorn crown of parlay,
Rip with the iron of hardship
All parasites, them whose is the whip,
Can’t be pleaded with, can’t be controlled.
What is freedom?
Is it to knock about the world
Bolt-hole,no serfdom?
Is it to fritter away
Sweat-embellished money,
Just to trounce boredom?
Is it to cross all the boundaries,
Spout off unwary,
Exposing solipsistic odium?
No?
Then,
What is freedom?
In this fastpace world,we demand for freedom,freedom of speech, freedom of movement,freedom of belief.But making these demans,tge true essence of feel of freedom is long gone.
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Overwhelmed dark vehemence
i swedges each breathe
for emancipation from shackles of
dark streets i walk
pawing of his covetous touches
loath tie-ins running since ages
serfdom of a man's wench
or from the core of philtre of miseries
Beneath my mass
My soul espoused
The overwhelmed dark vehemence
It is nor cremated neither cemented
'Rape her once
Rape her twice
Rape her enormous
In a troop or sole
Arouses the torment in her veins
And her blood starts rotting away
She greedily quest the weapon
The weapon to shred him as he devoured whole of her masses into pieces in one bite
The weapon to shred the mayhem that devoured her halcyon days'
Beneath my mass
My soul espoused
The overwhelmed dark vehemence
It is nor cremated neither cemented
I am the Peacock,
the beautiful bride
of the bird kingdom.
I am in no doubt
fairer than the cock,
for I dwarf its pride
with feathers that stand-out.
I am the Peacock
who desires serfdom
from the bird kingdom,
for I long to usurp
the title of king
from the strong Eagle
who soars atop
with its air-borne wings.
Though fit as fiddle
with an awesome strength,
gliding the sky's length
at a blistering pace,
yet dreaded for a face
that is void of grace.
I am the Peacock;
the elegantly clad.
Humans would be mad
to contend with me,
for shame you would see
if unclad they be.
What am I if not a slave?
I cook, clean and mourn;
I wash, sweep and weep
from dawn to fall of night.
I do nothing but cooking;
I cook all day,
three times a day,
from dawn to fall of night.
What are you if not a master?
You eat, teach and cheat;
you write, drink and sleep
from dawn to fall of night.
For three long decades,
I’ve cleaned your dishes:
empty, dirty dishes
from dawn to fall of night.
What’s marriage if not serfdom?
You are my master;
I am merely a slave.
You do your part; I mine.
From dawn to fall of night
and back to break of day.
A 1st placement in the following contest (judged on Aug. 24, 2020: It's not really a contest, rather it's an opportunity to showcase our first poem on Poetry Soup.)
Your first poem on Poetry Soup
Sponsor: Silent One
The lash of European Union won’t tell us,
how many thousands migrants
we must take to our home
or where to build
for them temples and the mosques.
We want to break free from E. U. lies.
We are the people of democracy.
The red tape of collapsing Union
and their bureaucrats’ fat pay,
won’t force us to comply
with their unjust rules -
our bravery over financial slavery.
More taxes, these are the dirty tricks
of bureaucrats’ politics.
We are not the beggars, nor scavengers,
but of noble life challengers.
We are free and proud.
In serfdom our country won’t stay.
It’s a swill no one interrupts—
A pill that consumes and corrupts
Our honor's been jailed
And truth’s will is impaled
As the blood PAC tempest erupts
Author's note: Many of the super-rich (who do not yet have it all) are determined to have more of the pie since their multiple residences and bank accounts are not enough and their yachts and jets are too small and range restricted (OMG). There are about 600 people who have donated more than $1,000,000 to presidential political action committees (PACs). The very rich, who also are trying to buy Congress, are in the process of remodeling our society. They liked it when society was feudal--when the rest of us were consigned to serfdom or were slaves. This weekend, the Koch brothers are interviewing candidates to see who they will spend almost a billion dollars to elect. Are we to believe their propaganda (that they have our interest in mind)? That is why I support the only candidate who does not have a super PAC who is running for President--Bernie Sanders. Enough is enough and maybe, just maybe, we can prevail over the corruption of wealth. The truth always matters and can never be denied over the long term.
Limerick: Once step-Father gave daughter away
Once step-Father gave daughter away
But first exercised his rights of sway
Droit de cuissage decree*
Gave to Wife repartee:
Doubled their joy now in every way!
* In European feudal societies during the Middle Ages and thereafter
in succeeding centuries, it is thought that
the Lord of the Manor or Seigneur of the Serfdom arrogated for himself
the Droit de cuissage, i.e. the right to sleep with the bride of a serf on
the wedding night.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Limerick : Once ***** Duke insisted on Serf Thigh rights
Once ***** Duke insisted on Serf Thigh rights*
So bridegrooms replaced brides on first nights:
Droit de cuissage* then free
Duchess claimed repartee –
Since newly-weds rush to castle in tights!
• In European feudal societies during the Middle Ages and thereafter
in succeeding centuries, it is thought that
the Lord of the Manor or Seigneur of the Serfdom arrogated for himself
the Droit de cuissage, i.e. the right to sleep with the bride of a serf on
the wedding night.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Pray, why should I write
About your word like some gang
Conspiring demise of love?
Totally wrong though -
Implying friendship;
Making believe we hold hands.
Pleasure is not social, dear,
Always it is self
Coming first to its climax,
Treating friends like property.
Can we make a pact
Overtly different now,
Meaning better than gang life?
Privacy hates crowds
Ambitious with their designs,
Craving its serfdom as love,
Tempting only lust.
Pacts are impersonal
A liitle too dry for me
Console not, I love to risk
Times when I yield love.
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