Literature, Poem, poems, poetry, revolution

RITE OF PASSAGE

There was a suicide planned for both of us but wasn’t executed

You are mental

Yes, you are

she said

You are just insane

Fidel Castro

Drag queen rebels

Transatlantic, trans-human

No, I am not a Vatican spy

And I’m sick of the insults

She added, typically upset

There is a deep hole

after your departure

Your velvety voice

was promising peace

You disappointed me

with your hostility

But now I am sitting here

In the district block

post-revolution

and not in Britain

Where I fell straight into the war
into the epicentre of the revolution
unknowingly

And I am bored

And I feel blind

Walking through the bushes
of lilies of the valley
without blinking

and everything seems meaningless in this matrix of things

And there is a new fire
whatever I touch

And people eating each other like animals


It’s the time of apocalyptic fury
on both sides

So let’s hide

Maybe forever

Let’s wait for the storm to end

And meet on the other side

When the slaughter is over

If ever

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Art, climate change, Culture, Dark moods, literature, Literature, london, love, Poem, poems, poetry, Theathre of cruelty

Tunnel

I started thinking that ‘love’ is evil

vengeful

it’s hate

it’s murderous

so I’ll forget this whole business

and go

to meet

Karakoram mountains instead

or something like that

for a while

before I get back to dreadful London

to deal with all this deathly business

of

flowers

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betrayal, catholic church, children, Literature, poetry, satirical poetry, Song

Exile

M

I wish I was a murderer
they are very cool
what can I do what can I do

I wish I could slaughter and be applauded by friends
but I am weak and faint

There is nothing I can do about my constitution
I also don’t agree with prostitution

I need to go to the hills
wearing my high heels

With all those terribly boring people
who don’t kill

That’s the end of my stupid song
I’m going to become friends
with a Christian monk

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Literature, Poem, poems, poetry

Cyborg’s afternoon

I am not interested in my own thoughts anymore

The Machine does it for me

I just lie there

contemplating these four flies at the ceiling

one of them is doing a peculiar quadrical dance

fly’s quadrille

never seen anything like that before

not that I care about the flies

not that I care about anything

People!

Trying to press my head into my hands

to consolidate, to close the circle

to calm down those algorythms

Mother

she is there too, in my head

and my lover Judas with Jezebel.

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Literature, Poem, poems, poetry, politics, religion

Lilith or Lucifer rising

Still nothing about love, Virgin

just spikes and shiny steel

no dead people rising

no kisses

no warm

schizophrenic galaxy

boredom

lucifer is encircling me two days in a row

this week

it is stifling

lucifer on monday

another on tuesday

hope there will be rain

on wednesday

or at least

a rose, with spikes made of her

anger

there is no love in your galaxy,

virgin

expensive diamond skulls

jewellery

I have lost the meaning of waiting

for your sign

I’m lost

and buried

deep deep down

in a darkly underground

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Literature, Poem, poetry

The Wife and the Vampire

the stupid schizophrenic wife
thought that somebody has loved her

you deserve it deserve it what happened to you
you brought it all on yourself you stupid brat

she had empathy for a psychopath
she though he was like her

lost and abandoned in l.a

she thought he was a friend
a soul connection – he said

a vampire on the night bench

putting a hand under her skirt

in chilly autumn

but the night was exceptional
the moon perfectly shaped and staged

for the story which was about to unfold

she felt sorry for him
such a sweet lonely guy

just like her

foreigner in London

was he scheming already

how to lead her to crime?

who knows
what a stupid
schizophrenic bird-brained somebody’s wife

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fake relity, falseness, literature, Literature, london, love, marriage, passion, Poem, poetry, religion

The Verge

If I could understand why my mind sways
why it is not satisfied with surface existence
creating mystery and mischief
illegalities
why it is not real in spiritual emptiness
why it needs danger and complications
adventures on the London bridge
the night
the kiss
on the verge of the Tamise

why
can’t it concentrate deeply
on cooking in the domestic cauldron
why my mind
flies
to your lips

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Literature, poems, poetry, Uncategorized

This state is deep like a well

This state is deep like a well
long like an underground tunnel

going back in time

decades, centuries

it’s not my fault

not my creation

it’s there

it’s a historical malady
nothing to do with me

I’m just a medium

in my head

decoding it

cleaning my books

the library

magical escape

it’s always a good potion

through the garden of insanity
full of roses
painted blue
it’s dark in the frozen castle

I want to be outside

in the red rose garden
in the sun with
me
a teenager

red hair
white skirt
that’s the real me
in my head

before the darkness engulfed

put everything into the grave

with a cross
on it
how deadly
I don’t want to be the black raven
I don’t want to see the pit
smell the myrrh
please, take it away from me

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betrayal, children, Culture, friendship, gangsters, hate, Literature, love, peace, Poem, poems, poetry, politics, unity, war

This is a war, honey – what a shame.

It was a dream about us being those special sandpit friends

in a nice love-unity

and joy

of building something

together

without hitting each other with a spade on the head

and scheming to destroy your underground tunnels

when everything seemed to go great

conspiring with the district gang

how to win over me

I had a dream of us being different then them

But those things are impossible

how could I forget that you are the only child

all this mistrust

and

ego trips

I retreat

to the very end of the park

to talk with the sunshine instead

and play with pebbles and dirt

but then

the anger at your murderous betrayal

hits me

so

I

watch you and your gang

delaying my revenge

don’t you think I forgot

about hate

not yet

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