25 poems

Pass to Paradise

To paradise groves the fascist command
Builds paper barricades, higher each day.
The fool bows low at bureaucracy's hand,
Then trudges through hell where officials hold sway.



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Passport to Paradise

As though into Eden, the tyrants decree
A fortress of documents, forms, and control.
The fool, crushed by slavish conformity,
Keeps circling hell where the clerks take their toll.



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A Pass to Heaven

As if into Heaven, the fascists proclaim,
A wall made of papers blocks every gate.
The fool, bent and broken by cowardly shame,
Must wander through offices, cursed by his fate.



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Memories and Prophecies of an Old Actor

I played the fool upon the stage,
The director—a witless clown.
The actors, dumb as blocks of wood;
The producer—a drunk renown.

The theatre? Why, the whole world's stage.
A snickering devil pays the fee,
Who grasps no word upon the page—
His mind erased completely.

The script's composed by one insane,
The lights are aimed by one stone-blind,
A nervous wreck directs each scene,
A deaf man leaves the songs behind.

The audience—morons in their seats,
Base bastards hiding under lies;
Yet every fool believes deceit,
Enchanted by the masked disguise.

The nonsense of the written lines
Would drive a thinking soul berserk;
But since decay of heart and mind
Is hailed as "normal" by the herd,

The pompous fool applauds with pride:
"Fantastic! Encore! What a play!"
While every fresh performance spreads
More madness, day by weary day.

And those who still can think and see
Will find no place, no voice, no way,
Among the talking vegetables
That chatter all their lives away.



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Global Warming and the Sheep Virus

Masks on!—so we're all commanded.
Can gases not be reprimanded?
Enough of all your lies and fraud—
The Sun burns brighter. Mark of Ra!

Its blazing light brands every cheat;
No rogue will dodge the final seat.
Each one will answer, every fraud,
When falls the Horned Pretender-God.

For seventy years the Sun's grown bright;
Yet CowID exposed the blight:
The vermin only know deceit,
The Horned One's lackeys—base, elite.

Now at the crossroads stands your soul:
The Spirit's path—or darkness' hole.
Beyond this pit no lower lies,
Save Hell reborn in fresh disguise.

Again they preach of carbon's sin,
Of plagues contrived and fear within;
Of climate doom and phantom scares,
To lull mankind with false affairs.

Then into camps—the final goal—
To chain the body, break the soul;
While sheep obey with downcast eyes,
Still swallowing the selfsame lies.



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Proof has failed once more today—
Still the herd believes the play.
Claims alone now rule the land;
No debate, just sleight of hand.

Only spectacles remain;
Pity for the herd is vain.
Slowly shuffling, dull and blind,
"Chasing happiness" they grind.



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Evidence has crashed again—
Still the mob applauds the sham.
Assertions rule without a word;
Truth is never seen or heard.

Nothing but a staged display;
None will mourn the mindless prey.
Toward their "happiness" they creep,
Like obedient grazing sheep.



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Proof collapsed—but who's to care?
Crowds still swallow falsehood's snare.
Bare assertions wear the crown;
Reason's voice is shouted down.

Only theatre fills the day;
No one minds the mindless clay.
After "happiness" they plod,
Driven like a senseless squad.



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The Glitterati

Society's calendar—
A beast beneath the grace.
A babbler wears the crown;
Keep feeding lies apace.



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The Elite

The social calendar.
A monster hides its face.
The loudmouth reigns as king—
Now pile on lies with grace.



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High Society

The social season gleams;
A beast behind the mask.
The windbag rules supreme—
More lies become the task.



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Life

The world's great Arse spews endless streams
Of diarrheas made of lies.
Genocide and fascist schemes
Are sold as "saving" in disguise.

The fool still digs through Filthville's mire,
Content with excrement for bread;
He dreams that dung will lift him higher—
His soul already cold and dead.



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Life

The world's huge Arse keeps spraying lies,
Like foul diarrhea without end.
Genocide and fascism rise
As poison sold to every friend.

The scraper seeks in Farting Town
His little bliss, debased and small;
Well fed on filth, he wears the crown
Of one who never sees the fall.



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Life

The world's vast Arse lets falsehood pour,
A ceaseless flood of poisoned slime.
Genocide and fascist war
Belch toxic fumes in every clime.

The fool still hunts through Stinker's Hole,
His belly full of dung and pride;
He calls it happiness of soul—
Too blind to see he's dead inside.



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Ku Klux Klan

Not the Black man—it's the White
Whom the fiends would break and bind.
Race is wielded, left and right,
To distract the public mind.

While the simple fool looks on,
Crowds are brought from every land;
Then the Whites are marched upon—
Just as masters always planned.



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Ku Klux Klan

Not the Black—but White's the prey
Of the beasts that rule by fear.
Race is used to lead astray,
Keeping truth from drawing near.

Europe's flooded, wave on wave;
Thus the plot is brought to life.
White against white, slave on slave—
Ordered conflict, ordered strife.



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Ku Klux Klan

Not the Black man bears the chain—
White's the target from the start.
Race becomes the chosen game
To divide the mind and heart.

Europe fills with stranger throngs;
Thus the script is played once more.
White pays dearly for the wrongs
Planned by those who pull the war.



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A M;bius Strip for Sheep

A cat will always find its home;
A sheep to Bedlam's bound to roam.
North or south, west or east—
Every road ends at the feast

Of madness. This world's gone insane;
Today they herd mankind like cattle again.



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The Sheep's M;bius Strip

A cat knows well the way back home;
A sheep seeks only Bedlam's dome.
North or west, south or east—
Every pathway ends the least

Bit differently: all roads lead
To madhouse gates—and human breed
Is turned to cattle, meek indeed.



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M;bius Road

The cat goes home without a guide;
The sheep to Bedlam turns aside.
North or south, west or east—
Every journey ends the least

Changed at all: the world's insane,
Making cattle out of men.



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A Poet's Despair

The poet's lonely, pleading voice
Falls silent in the endless night.
It seems no strength remains to rise
Above this sea of filth and blight.

Yet after silence comes the beat;
The rhyme returns to lead once more.
He will not kneel in heaps of waste—
Despair reveals what words are for.

Without despair there is no lyre,
Just worn-out verse and hollow sound.
With it, each line becomes an axe
To fell the asses all around.

In realms unseen, beyond our eyes,
The Lyre was born—and there belongs.
Amid fascistic filth below,
Where madness crowns triumphant throngs,

The poet's solitary cry
Is heard by Heaven's heights alone,
Defying all the reign of lies
In Reason's war against the drone.

CowID unmasked the mass psychosis:
The battle rages, fierce and plain.
The one who speaks need feel no shame—
The silent serve the liar's reign.

They seek "their bliss" in Earth's great sewer,
Where media's stench inflames the air.
The Lyre alone uplifts the Voice,
Refusing falsehood and despair.

Do not betray your heart and soul,
Your honor, conscience, mind, and flame,
To join the hounds who chase their prey—
The hack-for-hire, devoid of shame.

The poet's lonely, steadfast voice
Fades softly into silence then.
For Death stands near—but rescue waits
Above the depths, not down with men.



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Bureaucrats and Citizens — A "Perfect Match"

Officials scheme,
Their thoughts unclean.
They fool the fools
And warp their dreams.



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Bureaucrats and Citizens — A Sweet Pair

The civil crowd
Corrupts the mind.
They lie to fools
And keep them blind.



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The Perfect Couple

The bureaucrats
Are twisted through.
They feed fools lies
And rot them too.



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Bureaucrats and Citizens — A "Sweet Pair"

The servants lie,
With crooked minds.
They fool the fools,
And twist their minds.