#SadPuppies
Another twitter trend,
Where will these things end?
But it got me thinking for sure,
In fact left me rather unsure.
When it comes to that first novel of mine,
I think both sides will find its existence a crime.
I feel it is a sum of all their complaints,
Along with my non-native linguistic constraints.
I am scared to write even a page more,
Lest I anger one side and get my own butt sore.
Yet here I am with ideas for at least three new stories,
Even if I only ever produce more twitter quarries.
So I guess I will just say; fuck it all,
And hear my beastly wrawl!
Break
A moment to rest,
So I can achieve my best,
A moment to rest,
So I can get weight off my chest,
A moment to rest,
So I won't feel so stressed,
A moment to rest,
So I can pander to my guest,
A moment to rest,
To finish this acid test,
A moment to rest,
My stomach needs time to digest.
It keeps going onwards
One hurdle overcome,
And more lies to be done,
I am not sure if I have won,
Can I catch breath before I run?
Hillary's tweet
Anyone who claims a first place in a competition, is a champion.
Anyone who claims superiority in attributes, is a champion,
Anyone who shows willingness to fight, is a champion.
So if you allow me to rephrase,
Even without your praise,
Tweet without braze;
Hilary Clinton is running for president;
Because legislation demands a president,
And so she longs to become that president.
GRRM and Sad Puppies
A fabled author no doubt,
But now I heard him spout;
I guess we can blame old age,
For his unwillingness to assuage,
Why he seems blind to a fault,
To victims of verbal assault,
And lazy in the search of facts,
Libel goes in like pancake stacks.
I expect more from a human being,
Even if one finds something worth disagreeing.
Netflixdevil
Ooh,
Aaah.
There is a lot to praise,
As fights go beyond swing and graze,
A strange combination that refuses to be spilt,
As the violence is seasoned with catholic guilt.
Yet what often goes unmentioned is the sound effects,
Those loud hints of what shall happen next,
More brutal than swings shown on screen,
Work went in every aspect of a scene.
But poor old Foggy with his honest behaviour,
As Page remains smitten with her masked saviour,
Due to the betrayal cruellest he gives up his love,
As next to his old friend he is but a torn glove,
And smart enough to know he cannot win,
So he shouts all but Murdock's true sin.
Aaah,
Ooh.
Who couldn't wait for season two?
NASA | SDO: Year 5
A simple youtube video;
Solar flares in a window,
An audio aimed to inspire...
And so I admire enough to perspire,
How my skin shivers in cold jolts,
I have been struck by bolts...
Estimated cost $850 million,
A huge sum for a civilian,
But also a mere pittance...
I wish my taxes paid such quittance,
Because I remain struck in awe,
I raise a hand to close my jaw.
Tower of Judgement (For a fantasy novel)
Once a lighthouse by the sea,
Built to guide ships free,
To safety of the harbour,
Adorned with fine arbour,
But as the city grew ever larger,
It first became a tower for an archer,
And now it is where the men of gallows,
Wait judgement by those in shadows,
A tower at the edge of a wall,
Guarding over the sprawl,
And path up to the city,
Safe haven for the many.
Baron of Storms (For a fantasy novel)
Rain and wind,
Weather of my kind,
Us who were once skinned.
So hide inside,
As we take to our stride,
And wash this city clean like a tide.
Hear the knocking beats,
How we hammer the streets,
You should hide under your sheets.
The storm has come,
With no mercy to succumb,
And it shall judge what you've become.
Two days to elections
Will anything change for better,
Free us from the yoke of unknown debtor?
Excuse my melancholic laughter,
Seen enough to know what comes after,
Minister seats are what they all have sought after,
These souls thinking of themselves as democracy's rafter.
Yet I hope for at least common sense,
As its lack leads to pretence and comes with considerable expense.
The Terror of Honey Badgers at Calgary Expo
Is it a crime to present a banner with a stance against censorship?
Apparently in Calgary; it and the notion of ethics is too sensitive.
Is it a crime to show humour when admitting to being a geek?
Apparently in Calgary; it means you are a foul inhuman freak.
Is it a crime to ask a question when given a turn to speak?
Apparently in Calgary; it is nothing but a disturbing shriek.
These are the reasons why badgers were thrown out,
A rather sad example of #ExpoEquality throughout.
Election Day
The votes are almost counted,
End result is no longer clouded,
But what is there to praise when...
… my vote went to someone else again,
Aided the wrong side of party politics,
I honestly lack all reasons to frolic,
Who cares for the party's victory,
When intent became contradictory...
... as a wrong man takes his seat,
Celebrates a victory not his feat.
So I look at the monsters' feast:
How like pigs cling to a teat.
The day is over.
Courage and Bigotry
Does a bigot posses a right to remain a bigot,
Does she posses a right to run her mouth like a spigot?
Even when the words are disgusting and foul,
So terrible that you can only grit your teeth and growl?
Could you overcome the sense of utter disgust,
To defend freedom of speech even when it feels unjust?
Do you have the courage to defend a monster,
When the association alone makes you appear bonkers?
Would you take up the thankless task to ensure,
That the bigot is judged only by her very own manure?
I see no other answer but a yes.
Acceptance of a litany of untruth,
Is crime much fouler than being uncouth,
It is the first step of a slippery slope,
Which leads us to wearing the bigot's robe.
Fear
Fear is a funny thing,
Companion that clings,
Unnoticed like a shadow,
Until it rises from its barrow,
Chaining the mind from reason,
; Your control lost to its treason,
Words and actions changed,
Sense of self estranged.
Fear turns us all into monsters,
A condition with no doctors,
Nor any pills to swallow,
Only ill will follow.
So how do you fight such a foe,
Whose face you do not know,
Until it makes itself known,
And you cannot dethrone?
Is there a hero to follow,
To rid this feeling hollow,
Or are you left all alone,
Naked and prone?
On the Death of Racism
If you fall from a horse,
You get back on; of course.
You will learn when not to tease,
Once stung by a hundred angry bees.
The first example teaches to overcome fear,
The second when to embrace that which you fear.
A binary choice between our good and bad experiences,
An ancient mechanism operating without our consciousness.
What we all fear to some extent is the unknown,
In our modern lives; usually strangers we do not know.
And regardless of beliefs or stories we have heard,
Our experiences may lead to actions simply absurd.
Regardless of our intentions; we can be overcome by our fear,
Stuck within that smothering embrace of wretched fear.
It may have once helped us to dodge the jaws of a hungry beast,
Yet today it cripples us as we are no longer the beast's feast.
Thus our modern fears become easily misunderstood,
As our bad experiences slowly overpower the good.
And we all know racism is horrible,
Its existence outright deplorable.
But we have lost our means to fight,
As we must reject all that doesn't feel right.
Hence we cannot find ways to deal with the bad,
And fear gets bottled down until we are driven mad.
We cannot kill our fears,
Not even with the mightiest spears.
So perhaps the only road to the death of racism,
Lies simply in absolute altruism.
Letting people speak of their fears and experiences,
Without risk of ridicule and rejection for differences.
And perhaps there will be the dialogue,
That finally turns off racist monologue.
Ode to my new hat
Not sure if it makes me look fat,
But I think I like my new hat,
At least judging by my grin,
So I will wear it for a spin.
Bicycle
Look at my bicycle,
It is cooler than icicle,
I ride it wherever I go,
The best thing I know.
And if you disrespect my ride,
We are so taking this outside,
There will be pain in stow,
So better learn walk slow.
Flash Gordon
Will he save everyone,
Right all wrongs done,
Travel beyond Jupiter,
Become saviour of the universe?
Not today, not any more.
At best a two point villain,
Comedic relief or a fill in,
A vestige of bygone age,
Not fit or seen on stage.
We have lost something;
But Gordon's still alive,
Good in heart will thrive.
Flash, aah!
He'll save everyone of us,
In a mighty flash.
Flash, aah!
Man of Steel
He said; on my world it means hope,
Yet he only succeeded to mope,
In a world hanging from a rope.
They failed to understand and convey;
How could a world far too grey,
Ever inspire and hold our sway?
Man of Steels needs to shine bright,
He needs to save lives with his might,
He needs to be idealistic without a slight,
He needs to be a beacon of hope in our blight,
And no matter what; he always does what is right.
Political Correctness
A foul vermin of our modern age,
A terrible beast that escaped its cage,
I speak of course of only totalitarianism,
Hidden behind guise of false egalitarianism.
Perhaps it was a honest attempt to combat racism,
But to see its failure you do not need cynicism,
Just listen as it is used to censor and control,
How it is forces people into a certain role.
Do consider the word; African-American,
How it makes someone sound less American,
Potentially stealing a group's right to self identify,
A crime well beyond any set of words used to justify.
It has spread from what you can say to what you can think,
Any wrong view or idea comes with unwashable stink,
Arguments squashed by outcries of fake offence,
Facts ignored in preference of nonsense.
How the sheer blind intolerance,
Results in mistreatment of aberrance,
Bringing out the foulest in human nature,
Setting us down on the path of eventual failure.
Once long ago these totalitarians wore shirts of brow and black,
Today beards and hair dyed pink acts as the identifying knack,
Their ideals might differ but their actions certainly do not,
Disruption, insults, threats and violence are their lot.
And political correctness is their greatest tool,
Their way to wrestle the opposition under their rule,
Force us play the game of euphemisms intended to hurt,
While they hide behind their terminology of malicious dirt.
The Two Natural Disasters
One in Chile and the other in Nepal,
The first gave us images that enthral,
The second deaths in headline drawl.
Lives and livelihoods were ruined in both,
Yet in Chile it appears after second growth,
Beyond our attention spans and so we loath.
I know how severity of disasters may vary,
But also how the help is decided by unwary,
Based on headlines with least words to carry.
Thus imagine us hearing a yelp,
What appears 'sexy' gets our help,
For anything else we offer self-help.
Birthday Roses
A phone call,
What is this all?
Honey you did not,
I cannot believe what you bought.
Bouquet of roses for me,
It is silly and awesome; I spout in embarrassed glee.
Thoughts on Baltimore Riots
Who am I to judge,
When I do not know who makes the fudge.
But I did keep an eye on the twitter feed,
I saw the protests along with acts of misdeed,
A moment later heard of what became news indeed.
I read how some took the news as a sign of the end,
Proof that their bigotry and fears were not time misspend,
How the misdeeds prove there is no grounds to make amends.
And I read how they asked each other; why burn and destroy,
What logic or reason does such futile acts even employ,
How it only leaves behind more misery to enjoy.
But for someone with nothing,
What they have left to loose is nothing,
So what stops them from misdeeds: is nothing.
What could, when what they have to gain is everything?
In the past; those with nothing were sent to fight and die in wars,
To kill and pillage elsewhere befor
e taking what was yours,
Given weapons and ships and they always took the oars.
Those with nothing could be sent to die in Ukraine,
Or Russia, I suppose.
But maybe that is not the solution we seek;
So perhaps it is time to once again to hear Nixon speak;
“Address to the Nation on Domestic Programs.”
A wretched man and a stain on a nation's history for sure;
But who else, when those with sainted smiles have not delivered,
Those deemed noble hearted have in sight of this task all but fled?
David Simon: End the Drug War
So what happens after the quake of Baltimore,
How to fix the violence of a petty officer?
David Simon on the city's anguish,
Made my spirits languish.
I admit how these troubles are distant and far,
How my concerns are like a wish on a star,
But I will always hope for human decency,
No matter what transpired in recency.
So I echo the call to end war on drugs,
Knowing it won't be heard by political thugs,
By those who rake their votes from disasters,
Their only leg and chance to sit as your masters.
So my heart weights heavy,
As the first step to fix is forfeit already.
I weep for a city I have never been or seen,
Because the cycle of violence repeats foreseen.
Happy thoughts
Some days are all right,
Some days my face is bright,
Some days I stare at the sunset,
And it gives me a pause to forget.
Not a worry on my mind,
Not a sorrow to turn me unkind.
Happy thoughts are mine.
News from Nepal in 2015
More bad news from Nepal,
That is today's general call.
Misery makes the news headline porn,
Numbers to show while people mourn,
With mentions of help publicly sworn.
Hand out coins or give your prayers,
Participation makes social media shares.
But do people genuinely care,
Beyond the minimum they can bear?
I wonder if there is a better way to help.
Bernie Sanders for President
He lists problems of the nation,
A sign he is not blinded by his station.
So take your time to think and consider,
Just how rare that is for a presidential bidder.
Give him that long look as he stand against the rest,
Next to all those heads filled with botox at best,
Do you think they carry your best interest?
Do you think that their words carry trust,
Courage to correct this world unjust?
Vote Bernie Sanders for President,
Your last honest Senate resident.
Space Monkey
Do you still know who you are,
Because you've become bizarre.
Do you remember that first kiss,
Are my lips something you miss?
The reason you wander the stars,
Is it to find what was once ours?
Or is it cowardice in your heart,
Why you are; incapable to restart?
Why don't you just come home,
Before you are devoured by gloam.
And the sky shall fall
To believe that sky can fall,
How it is death for us all,
Is a belief outright banal.
Yet we have so many proverbial skies,
So many views based on only lies,
Hence it is truth that we despise.
It is these concerns simply unfounded,
That leave me sad and astounded,
My feet forever ungrounded.
How could I hope to ever correct,
When the ears simply deflect,
Any undesired subject.
And they cry how the sky shall fall,
How it will be the death for us all,
How can we remain be so banal?
I like to argue like a Flame Warrior
This is the road I have known,
Where my wits were honed and grown,
The endless battlefields of online arguments.
This is the very air that I have breathed,
With my wits forever unsheathed,
I am warrior born of flames.
I am neither less nor more,
I do not do this for some score,
I do it to put my own mind in peace.
So whose cloaks is it that I bear,
Whose battle cries I swear,
None but my own.
I am the flame that grows ever strong.
Sleep
I want to sleep,
Ain't time to weep,
Or count some sheep,
I just want to sleep,
Please let me sleep,
Fuck; I need some sleep,
Why cannot I sleep,
I'll soon weep,
Sheep.
Night at the club
Heart impaled by lance,
Nothings stops my advance,
This party is my expanse,
Heart seeking romance.
I face my chance,
I ask for a dance,
Mind in trance,
At first glance,
Only askance.
A drink on my face.
Ain't my day of grace,
Someone plays bass,
I leave this place,
In disgrace.
Cigarette smoke,
I feel cold and broke,
Cold air makes me choke,
I'm just a lonely bloke,
Someone’s sad joke.
I have lost my keys,
And so I sneeze,
In the breeze.
Just another night at the club,
No luck for this wolf cub.
On Potatoes
Oh noes,
Peel potatoes,
Chop tomatoes,
Twitch your toes,
It'll be good I suppose.
Potato and tomato stew,
Hot enough to make you spew,
Good enough to never make you say ew.
It is easy enough that no one can fail,
I'll send the recipe through mail.
What else to make of potatoes?
A gamer is dead, long live the gamer!
Whether we like the same games or not,
Whether our skills are sad or hot,
We know of failure states,
Our progress' gates,
A deep breath,
Our death.
Yet in our hearts we all known,
How we just cannot let it go,
There is nothing to gain,
If we do not try again,
A matter of when,
We shall win.
We are not just stubborn,
Determined and sworn,
We refuse to be zeroes,
We become the heroes,
Through all our games,
And we feel no shame.
And someone once claimed: Gamers are dead,
What an idiot, we always restart and try again.
Space Monkey
There he sits with a scowl,
Ready to release a mad howl,
So I wonder if he is truly so foul.
After all...
He is only a monkey out of time,
One that has seen our worst crime,
And ultimately doesn't care a dime.
He makes it through day to day,
He watches how the children play.
Quietly hoping they do not get astray.
All those racist words
N-word, T-word,
The words are blurred,
Yet the people
are still slurred.
If we cannot address real issues as adults,
Banning words leads to only new insults,
How can we ever expect different results?
Yet words are ever so easy to ban,
Just one per forty year span,
Is that our best plan?
Only two letters spent from the total of 26 letters,
Thus 960 years more before we will run out of letters,
Except that Greek alphabet offers us a set of extra letters.
After that we got numbers from zero to infinity,
Even more if we look towards negative infinity,
It seems insults are our species primary affinity.
Yet if were to look back on our shared family tree,
Then Africa will be the first place we will see,
It is our shared home, even if you disagree.
Thus the entire human race;
Descendants of the same niggas.
In order to defeat all racist words,
How about we embrace and claim them,
Instead of our usual attempts to shun the use?
Let us have Bill O'Reilly greet his audience with: 'Yo my niggas!'
Controversial poems...
I guess that makes me a hater,
That odd -ist town baker,
A fool to put these out,
Madder than a trout,
Bombardier of hate,
A target for outrage.
Well, let it all come,
For I got strength in my thumb,
Not the first time someone calls me a scum.
But I am worried still,
For what the future might bring,
But I am sure I will have a song to sing.
Fried Rice
One of those foods anyone can make,
Even if they feel only half awake,
You need rice and bits of steak,
It will be something to take,
Rids that hunger's ache,
It is never a mistake,
For a lunch break.
Oh dear...
Taunts online
Feel free to sit in your muddy hole,
As the online flame war rages ever on,
So remember to keep your head down,
For it is far too scary to look around,
As the lone notion of self-criticism,
Simply goes against your egoism.
My dear Watson
Sherlock or Elementary,
Which of the two is supplementary?
Who solves puzzles deeper,
Our British fop or the broken bee keeper?
The struggle and misery rubs on me,
So my dear Watson, it is Elementary I'd rather see.
“You might say he crossed lines,
But the sad fact is that he lost his mind,
He is just getting started and ready to offend,
The devil has nothing on him my friend,
And he wishes to be left alone,
Tact from is like blood from a stone...”
Words stolen from a song called Beekeeper,
That played as he stared into his reaper,
Sitting within darkness ever deeper.
How could the British fop compare,
Or ever make me shed a tear,
When he is but a flare?
So when the night is nigh,
And the bar is set high,
You fail or you try.
I think I can hear Moffat's cry.
I received a letter
With my file and rank,
My role and initial task,
Only fodder like the rest,
This world seems messed.
I have a chance to say no,
Hide before things blow,
But I just do not know,
What is in store...
Or if...
Do I posses the will to fight,
Courage to survive the night,
To risk my all to defend,
Those nearing their end?
It leaves me terrified,
And empty inside.
Why do good men march to war?
On police with cameras
Amuse,
The blues,
Before they bruise,
For they are on a short fuse.
Criticism of those who give fines,
Description of brutality in four lines,
Reason why our trust slowly declines,
When the actions seen are but crimes.
Perhaps a camera on their shoulder,
Or one on their hat on a holder,
Could save us from moulder,
For trust is like a boulder.
Save our rule of law,
Avoid coup d'état,
The last straw,
Withdrawn.
Then it hits,
No limits on permits,
Everything gets recorded,
Abuse possibly more sordid.
Where goes the line on privacy,
Our right of secrecy in society,
One fix and need for another,
As consequences smother.
Who makes the choice,
Will we rejoice,
Or cry out,
In doubt.
King's counsel (For a fantasy novel)
A lone pine cone,
Was simply thrown,
Towards your throne,
A crime one cannot atone,
An insult that cuts to the bone,
Thus justice needs to be shown,
It is time to remind you do not sit alone,
It is time to end your friendly tone,
To make your wrath well known,
Raise and cast down a stone,
Forgiveness they'll moan,
They will fall prone,
Before your throne,
Crush the pine cone.
Girlfriend's espresso
What a strange coffee package,
Reminds me of condom stackage,
But don't let her know that,
It will only lead to a spat,
She really likes her coffee...
But I guess that's the cost of anything fancy,
Limited options in appearances make things chancy,
A box of fine espresso no different to a box of condoms,
Or is it my taste in condoms that causes these odd problems?
Somehow I feel I am only digging my own grave,
I should stop while there is something to save.
I buy my condoms in fancy boxes...
On women who want to have it all
Those dreams of a career, kids and family,
Having it all simply does not come easy,
Most have to choose what they want,
Education or a baby's head in a font.
Many seem to choose their career,
Decades of effort to a goal clear,
Education, professional status,
Before there can be a hiatus.
So the day when its time,
Women past biological prime,
Turn towards their romantic relations,
And face medical issues and complications,
As their biological clocks ticked away,
Not fertile in any conceivable way,
Unless you froze your eggs,
You are stuck in dregs.
A choice needs to be made,
Kids and family before you need aid,
With your career and education left for later,
Or you freeze your eggs for when you are the cater.
It is not a decision I can make for you,
It is entirely left for you to choose...
… and you must,
If you want to have it all.
On a brighter note
Something funny,
How the sky is sunny,
Your laughter like honey.
Life is not dreary and bleak,
There ar
e many things to speak.
And argue for no purpose whatsoever.
But the point is we do still speak,
Not bound by dreary and bleak.
So with laughter like honey,
As the sky remains sunny,
Isn't this kind of funny?
A response to Elisa Chavez's “#gamergate”
If I ever need to call out misandry,
I got the facts to back it up efficiently.
So let us discuss video game character design,
How our ability to identify NPCs is not malign;
But based on what different professions tend to wear,
How the distinct wardrobes leave us no reason to blare.
As for NPC's actions being limited to what has been coded,
The player's apparent freedom is only slightly less eroded.
So let us carry on to Aphrodite and her desire for sex,
How the idea of physical intimacy seems to perplex,
Well, anyone is free to regard its portrayal as filth,
But do recall what we know of ancient Corinth.
Also conventions have their own security,
To handle the issues raised with surety,
Even those of author's own nudity.
Hitman: Absolution is a puzzle game,
Where you work towards a specific aim,
And mistakes will result in penalties,
Unless you come up with amenities.
As for the unwillingness to sign,
Legislative inequality is never benign.
And I find myself bored with this endeavour,
Tired of hearing the lines that are not even clever.
So I excuse myself from shredding the remaining lines,
You could say I cannot come up with more rhymes.
But were I to listen to Elisa Chavez's claims,
Of how she has been murdered in games,
I have to admit experiencing the same,
Only 100,000 times more, I exclaim.
And it is still about video games,
And your words cannot shame.
One Hundred Poems, Volume II Page 4
