38 poems

Desolation

Hitler, Putler, Pol Pot too—
Nothing without their human zoo.



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No People

Hitler, Putler, Pol Pot's lot:
Without the crowd—they're just a gut.



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Empty Land

Hitler, Putler, Pol Pot's breed—
Without the herd they're guts indeed.



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No Humanity

Hitler, Putler, Pol Pot's show:
Without the mob—they're beasts below.



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Filth is bliss.
Trash—for souls
gelded clean,
or walking meat?



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Rot delights.
Nonsense feeds
souls unmanned,
or lifeless meats?



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Filth is fun.
Rubbish suits
castrate souls—
or human brutes?



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Vile is sweet.
Twaddle's fare
for gelded souls—
or empty flesh?



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A crappy quest:
Word-diarrhea,
Fear's foul gas—
Dump it. Free at last.



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A shit-stained test:
Verbal runs,
Fearful fumes—
Leave them all at once.



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Bullshit's best?
Verbal bile,
Fear's foul wind—
Cast them out. Be free.



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Shit? Who cares.
Words that spew,
Fear that stinks—
Throw it all from you.



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Crappy stuff:
Verbal runs,
Fear's foul fumes—
Dump them. All at once.



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Shit, no more!
Verbal runs,
Fear's foul gas—
Dump it. All at once.



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A herd of kine, so dull, so tame,
Bare survival is their game.
Not one spark to stand and fight—
One in hundred bears God's light.



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Herds of cattle, meek and blind,
Struggling just to stay alive.
Not a shred of will to stand—
One God-spark in every hundred.



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Cattle crowds, where simple minds
Live by toil their fate assigns.
None resist the yoke they got—
God's own spark? One soul in lot.



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Just a herd—no higher aim,
Life's a struggle, all the same.
None will rise or dare depart—
One in hundred keeps God's spark.



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Herds of cattle, dull and blind,
Living just from day to day.
None resist the chains they find—
One in hundred lights God's way.



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The fool seeks joy in every place,
Yet finds a slap in every chase.
Fascist rule spews lies galore—
Only fools believe its lore.



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Fools hunt happiness all day,
Finding only blows their way.
Fascist systems vomit lies—
Fools believe the grand disguise.



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Simple fools seek bliss in vain;
All they earn is scorn and pain.
Fascist orders puke out lies—
Only fools believe the cries.



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Every fool seeks fortune's kiss,
Finding only fists, not bliss.
Fascist regimes breed deceit—
Fools embrace the fraud complete.



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Trinity

Idiots packed like sardines,
This whole world their rusted tin.
Out the kennel—toil begins:
Slaughterhouses, free cheese, grins.



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Trinity

Fools like sprats in crowded rows,
This world's just the can that shows.
From the kennel—off to grind:
Slaughter, bait to snare the blind.



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Trinity

Sprats of fools in one tin crammed,
That's the world—well-sealed and jammed.
From your kennel! Work and bleed,
Free cheese, slaughter—that's your creed.



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Trinity

Fools like sardines, side by side;
Earth's the can where they reside.
Run from kennels—work awaits:
Slaughter, freebies, baited fates.



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Trinity

Idiots packed like sardines,
Canned inside this world machine.
From the kennel—off to toil:
Free cheese, slaughter, sweat, and spoil.



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The cat has fed.
I'm dressed instead.
Nowhere worth the road to tread—
Madness is no path ahead.
Stand 'gainst nonsense. Hold it true.
Lies have nearly broken you...



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Cat is full.
Coat is on.
Nowhere left where I belong.
Folly's road is not my way.
Fight the nonsense every day—
Though lies almost won the fray...



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Cat has dined.
I am dressed.
Nowhere calls me, east or west.
Madness? Never. Not for me.
Honor truth, let nonsense flee,
Though falsehood won—almost completely...



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Cat's well fed.
I am dressed.
Nowhere left to seek or rest.
I won't walk where fools abide.
Stand against their foolish tide—
Though lies have almost won the fight...



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The World's Grave

Dead men. Lies.
Evil flies.
Earth's a mess.
Nothing less.
Turn within!
Do not tread
With the dead,
Fools in line,
Marched by Fascism's design.



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The World's Grave

Dead among
Lies and wrong,
Earth's a wreck,
Neck by neck.
Turn inside!
Do not roam
With the dead
To their home—
Driven there by Fascism.



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The World's Tomb

Dead in lies.
Evil cries.
World askew.
Nothing new.
Seek your soul!
Never fall
With the dead,
Mindless bred,
Forced by Fascism instead.



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The World's Grave

Dead with lies.
Evil's rise.
Chaos reigns.
Nothing changes.
Go within!
Not your road.
Don't descend
With the dead,
Driven by the Fascist dread.



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The World's Grave

Dead men. Lies.
Evil flies.
Earth's a mess.
Nothing less.
Turn within!
Not your way.
Walk not with
Living dead,
Driven by Fascism instead.



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Devils' Diet

Humans? A plate—
Meat served with hate.
Hell's favorite fare:
Word-spewers there.