As a number: I am sure that it is fine,
But also a theme I do not want to assign.
Here is a poem regardless of small voice,
For I suppose I stand without a choice,
Not a single reason for me to rejoice.
> “69”
Surely I could produce a litany,
About Ouroboros and human centipede,
That would flow and rhyme almost brilliantly,
But I fear that it would produce a need for therapy.
So once again I must cowardly dodge the bullet,
And deem this poem slightly off the mark,
For this is a topic I just couldn't,
And this is my lark.
Orcas in Plastic Bags
An article from a website called the Onion,
Who make fake news out of non-factual opinions,
And they are more accurate than the other outlets I peruse,
Which clearly reveals the usual standards of journalistic misuse.
For although orcas are not really placed in plastic bags,
It still reveals how their lives in captivity drags,
Bound in a pool that is never big enough,
A fact that doesn't change with fluff,
And down the loo they will go,
When death lies in stow.
Unbearable Honey
You are unbearable,
They way you are is terrible,
In all honesty it is just incomparable,
And therefore; where we stand is unrepairable.
I just cannot bear it for a single moment longer,
And my hatred shall only grow stronger,
For the things you like are bonkers,
Thus we shall never get closer.
I shall never like We Bare Bears,
No matter how you beg or shed tears,
Its quality is summed up with least squares,
And if you turn it on: I shall depart to downstairs.
The sight of bears riding on top of other bears…
It is just too absurd…
And they look nothing like me!
Peach Flavoured Ice Tea
I have missed this sugary industrial waste,
With its almost genuine peach like taste,
Though my praise may seem displaced,
It remains a fact that I shall not lambaste,
For it is a personal treat even when debased,
But if ever consumed in quantity to loose its taste,
Then just like how the liquid's container was encased,
No doubt my arteries shall become similarly laced,
Thus I only drink it on moments well placed,
Events so far apart those cannot be traced,
Therefore it might seem strangely chaste,
To wait for the memory to become erased,
Before my lips once more have it embraced.
Aftermath of Paris
How long will we ignore the fundamental lack of sustainability,
Maintain co-existence that is plagued by incompatibility,
And turn our eyes from its sheer undesirability?
I have to wonder how long they shall tout words of tolerance,
Before death and fear are not seen as just sufferance,
And intolerance rises to public prominence?
A problem caused when borders were opened for cheap labour,
When an alien culture was welcomed as our neighbour,
And it's one that solves its problems via a sabre.
After all, for many: religion is an intrinsic part of their culture,
A tether and anchor that ties lives to those of others,
And if need be: even turn them butchers.
There will become a day when Mediterranean boats are sank,
Passengers are left to drown no matter how lank,
And the public shall only thank.
Lives of strangers do not weigh the same as your own family,
To claim otherwise is nothing but a mere fallacy,
Shattered by sword of Damocles.
#SavePoint, A Full Circle
A derailed train bounced and returned on its track,
Suffice to say: #SavePoint panel is back,
Just as it was originally intended,
#SXSW, that's splendid!
And as a side note:
Truly, this ride never ends.
Or put this way:
#SavePoint panel is back,
And #SXSW, that's only splendid,
For a derailed train is back on the track,
Moving on as originally intended.
Of boxes of chocolates and jars of jalapeños
>'A life is a like a box chocolates,'
>'You never know what you are going to get.'
Yet here is my box of chocolates,
It comes with exact images of what I will get.
>'Perhaps life is like a jar of jalapeños,'
>'What you do today, might burn your ass tomorrow.'
There is succinct truth with jalapeños,
Yet if we act or not, it gives us only a binary tomorrow.
…
…
…
So perhaps our lives are like fists full of sand,
What to make of it is left for us to figure and understand,
We might let go and return it back to the land,
Or perhaps with the help of others build something grand,
We might also throw it upon a single command,
Or perhaps simply show how the sand remains at our hand,
But truly this sand lies at our very own remand,
Its sole purpose remains for us to decide on our own demand.
Fallout 4, an author's bane
I am simply forced to chime:
Oh how it devours my time,
As my novel faces a halt,
And it is this game's fault,
But soon it will be done,
Or else I will have to run,
Lest I become undone.
Sköll (For a Fantasy Novel)
A head stolen and sold,
Forever hidden under mould,
Somewhere in a dark and lost hold,
It lies waiting for an adventurer most bold,
Both hero and villain of stories both new and old,
And so he shall travel the lands after the rumours told,
Until the day he shall once more have his real head to behold.
#IStandWithStarkey
The prestigious Cambridge University,
Has now become a centre of perversity,
Its students cannot stomach dissidence,
And so they lash out with viciousness,
Boiled out nothing but their ignorance,
Thus Cambridge begs for forgiveness,
Its head bended backwards on throttle,
And deep enough to form a Klein bottle.
The academia is scared of a bad reputation,
Of the possibility of loosing their station,
And hence they long to purge crimethink,
Or whatever it is called in their newspeak.
Thus I am forced to stand with Mr. Starkey,
Even if there are things we profoundly disagree.
Would this poem also offend the 'feelings' of your students?
Where are you dogmeat?
Fallout 4 forced upon me a companion,
And you vanished into Grand Canyon,
This game is set on Boston's vicinity,
Gone from atomic ruins of the city,
Therefore I must hope and long,
A way back where you belong,
So to have you by my side,
I guess I can only bide,
And linger in hope,
As I only mope.
When snow and rain fall
This experience I do not how to have it spelled,
Moisture and coldness in how the air smelled,
Today was a day when snow a
nd rain fell,
The clouds shattered by a sound of bell,
White and blue is tattered all across,
I feel a strange moment of emboss,
When both snow and rain fall,
Not a thing that could appal,
So I take a deep breath in,
I even raise my own chin,
To face the snow and rain,
So they did not fall in vain,
Oh how I enjoy this moment,
As find my peace and am content.
#Freedom of Tweets
It seems disagreeing with feminists,
Amounts to 'criminal harassment' in Canada,
Even when the real harassers were these feminists,
Has anything more retarded ever transpired in Canada?
But the fact stands: Gregory Alan Elliott is left to face an unjust price,
For a deed that was nothing more than regular political activity,
While feminists made baseless accusations without a price,
As ruining lives remains their preferred activity.
He was robbed of the means of earning his living,
That alone is an unreasonable financial burden on his shoulder,
But how could he cover the costs of the years long trial without a living,
Therefore I wonder if you could help him by getting some weight of his shoulder?
Just google: Gregory Alan Elliott Twitter Trial Support Fund
Feminists and Daleks, kindred spirits
>Catchphrases:
Whether it is exterminate or misogyny,
Neither is ever chanted prohibitively,
So their advance is heard obviously.
>Tolerance:
They hate everything that is not exactly like them,
Discord will be put out with a crushing thumb,
For bigotry has turned their minds numb.
>Appearance:
No one has to second guess whether they have seen one,
Because individuality is already long gone and done,
Thus there is very little variation under the sun.
>Abilities:
Both lash out to the universe as no different to any a vicious hive,
Their existence longs to see each and every wonder deprived,
And once arrived; all you can hope is to somehow survive.
>Enemies:
Nevertheless; some dare to oppose and rise against their claims of reign,
To stand against or even defeat their plans time and time again,
And therefore the names they use are of fear's pertain.
Yar-har
You may throw sticks and stones to break my bones,
But words alone shall never pierce my soul,
For I am more fierce than Davy Jones,
And not one under your control,
So fear my crossbones,
On a flag of coal.
Dead or Alive, a volleyball game
I suppose this particular game is somewhat notorious,
But what really matters is the fans who find it meritorious,
The gamers who purchase it regardless of the media's bad rap,
Honestly – if some do find it fun – why should anyone give crap?
But sadly that does not aptly describe the spirit of our day,
For there are people who wish to control what others can play,
And their shrieks finally resulted in a game not reaching the west,
Well – not officially – I guess they have their reasons to stand abreast.
Nevertheless; I began to consider purchasing this game myself,
Even an honest play through instead of leaving it on my bookshelf,
For the thought of our 21st century puritans spazzing about it is enough,
As their 'moral outrages' usually mark whenever quality surpasses mere fluff.
Twenty-eight words
At least that is the goal of today,
Sadly the word count will betray,
My attempts at hijinks on this day,
But does this poem hold any sway?
At the 'end' of Fallout 4 (Spoilers, duh.)
I have collected enough bottle caps to build a mountain,
I have built enough industrial water purifiers for a fountain,
I have lost and found Dogmeat more times than I dare to count,
Thus all in all – at long last – I think I finally managed to surmount,
I mastered this game and now its flaws have became all too clear to see.
Mainly how there is so much to do and just so little to remember,
But there is a moment that kindles that spark into an ember,
The reveal of a ten year old boy as Institute's plaything,
I merely rushed on as my power fist flew upswing,
But that ten year old boy remained unmoving,
The locals didn't require much adducing,
Before they found their way to me,
To survive: I was forced to fight and flee.
I had almost escaped when the speaker spoke,
Under a radiation storm those words had a moment to soak,
It was how my long quest finally reached its end,
A deed my character could not amend,
And into the water he went,
Full of lament,
Dead.
> Reload/New Character/Restart
The proper 'endings' simply could not compare,
Even with the body counts those bear,
For you are forced to collide,
By choosing a side.
> Whichever side picked; did not feel like a real end.
> Things were left open so there is roof for 'DLCs' to amend.
> Therefore, perhaps we'll have that 'day one' DLC some few months later.
Just Dance
Sitting by the dark wall,
Within a dance hall,
Isn't that a ball,
How it feels banal,
You know your downfall,
For a step could lead to a pitfall,
And therefore my advice is to fuck it all,
You need to stumble and perhaps even crawl,
As the right attitude is to just bugger all,
Dance like your last day in Montreal,
Enjoy the darkness of nightfall,
To sweat and enthral,
Not by that wall,
Feeling dull and banal,
So dance because it is a ball,
And truly; to me you are the only star.
Fallout 4 - Road Goggles
An item that supposedly exists,
But the obscurity of its location persists,
And so I've gone through threads and even lists,
But it continues to avoid my greedy fists,
Its possession is what I insist.
If only for that +1 in INT,
And it is harder to find than Dogmeat!
She cannot ride a bicycle
Honey; since you are half Chinese,
Riding a bicycle should be a breeze,
So just give it yet another try, please.
Not a single reason to fear a dirt crawl,
For I promise to catch you if you fall,
Well, you might still run into a wall.
And I am going to be very stubborn,
So if you hop right back on the double,
Then bicycle riding shouldn't be trouble.
After all, what would your ancestors say,
If they saw you unable to ride today,
Disgrace your entire family, nay!
Therefore, I shall remain unbearable,
Until the moment you finally do.
Realistic Fish Pencil Case
With my post it appeared,
Egads how it looks weird,
A fish shaped pencil case,
Visage immune to efface,
And I have filled its guts,
Oh my; I feel pretty nuts.
Midnight Cleaning
The vacuum roars,
From floor to drawers,
Thus neighbours bang doors,
To determine that the origin isn't yours,
Some in their desperation succumb to all fours,
The sound is so loud that it could resurrect dinosaurs,
Or perhaps bring forth time travellers from the Punic wars!
>So the question lies;
Why would anyone do midnight cleaning,
Is it for malice or some other meaning,
Why such late hour housecleaning,
Surely it ends by intervening,
Shouts quite demeaning,
That's how I'm leaning,
>But it persists on…
“On the right side of history”
Oh how do I loathe hearing that moronic saying,
Whenever it is uttered with the presumption of swaying,
Simply because no one could actually know that,
Without it being bullshit out of their hat.
For we cannot predict the future,
No matter how we think we know better,
But on the history of those who said it in waves,
That road is usually paved with horrors of mass graves,
Quite a bit left from intended right side of history.
> Thus I am pleased to be on its 'wrong' side.
Twitter's Censorship
Take a moment to behold Twitter's handling of #GamerGate,
How their censorship has become more obtuse of late,
Not just refusing to give search results straight,
Those were mixed with random prate,
From beaches to what you ate,
For facts cannot be allowed to dilate,
Lest these 'progressives' shall loose their debate,
And therefore be revealed as the true face of online hate,
Apparently the ride never ends for those following #GamerGate.
> Twitter might have tested a 'feature' on a very active community,
> Or they reacted upon being found shitting their own pants,
> When famous friends allow some to tell others to die,
> I cannot help but to point towards this impunity,
> Right to verbally assault that Twitter grants,
> A sign of backbones simply gone awry.
¤ Were it up to me; verbal assault would be seen as nonsense,
¤ But it is still the hill that Twitter chose for itself and content,
¤ They chose this hill to stand on and now it is too late to run,
¤ So why the inability to upheld same standards for everyone?
Say it again
>Come over here,
>You'll have my ear,
One Hundred Poems, Volume IV Page 4