Author: rrishi99

Let Me Go

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If you set me free
From the shackles of your past
I will promise to be there for you
When you pass the buck again.

It was alright for you
Trojan warrior and horse play
Crew neck T-Shirts and jumpers
When you wanted the Blue Review.

It was behind you
And you had all the settling you wanted
From the beginning to the end
Now I have to make amends.

And you throw all of history
Away like a life lined with letters
And a member of the illiterate
With the Illuminati beside Thee.

Save some thoughts for me
Let me get back to you
And see if I can do good too.

This is for you
Mt poetry emission truth
And see if you climb down your Ego.

There, I said it.
And my O.S. is just fine
Thanks for asking
It’s all in the taking, you see.

Then we can journal and write whatever you see as right
Just let me know what light is left on with the West v East so uptight.

Hitch

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Hitch up your skirt and tap twice if you have seen it
The scene of the century and the wire tapping authority
To monitor a lizard as if the Kimono were a dragon’s lair
And like an Iguana for it’s chameleon changling spotting affair.

Some say that learning is here and learning is there
For you have to know what to know about when you read WiFi air
After 2012 and the Autobots leave the Psychologists some news
For their own demons to dance to and a lunch in the blue room for reviews.

There it is! The after show, the great escapologist we all knew once
Twenty minutes when his grandma died to leave his passport for a bonce
To measure the measure of Shakespeare typing his speeches for a clue
If his fan club come home winning like a dirty man’s magazine for a few.

What is this but a showman who speaks and does nothing to calm the crowds
Who gather in the parking lots to wake up Drs to go home black and proud
About their winnings at the slot machine when they do not play with whites
For the goal of having one king when The Economist said “Alright”,
… mate,
Let me have a go:
I’ve started COVID for your #RememberingVietnam ego
>… let it go
>>> Error Code: Get some Blow!

Jobs for me and not for them, Drs in love with racist membranes
Indian Rembrandts and Krishna Consciousness photos of men on thrones
For Rishi Poetry to shit out The Daily Show “too self conscious” Slam
From Andrew-The Spy Man-Cohen >>>::: Have you got a blog for me
– see it’s Satan and not Obama who’s going for World War Three.

                                                                                              SomebodY
                                                                       by Depeche Mode YnO.T. Ernie van Woerkhom said SWOT Drs What SWOT 11/04.2022

GueTonEd

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They told me I wanted to do one
So I lie and lean to the left
There is sorrow within me
Passion knows knowledge before it knows sleep
Poetry is a lesser pop song
Merit is demanding meaning in Islamic rhyme
And music in Bombay sounds fine,
Like finery in the old oil refineries of winers who dine
With elongated women who play with perchance
To off the rhythmical find
And punked up ink to the blinds
Rising like a Paki stack –
Up and always up: Never a fuck up!

Fuck up, mother fucker! And I will see you in the dump truck
Collecting rubbish like the good Fucked Up Dr says
Martin Luther King day!
It says your handy men are gay and you won’t play
On the streets and the sea shores
Where candy is crushed in the bottled mouths of mums
Mummying more than your Mata crew
Too rude to lie in lines with havoc on Drew
About his salary and fat carcass sitting lost
On the vultures’ solution to his camel feast
And how to translate his humour to an Arabic queen.

So I chose two and poetry wrote the internet
They let and the house was full of regret
Lonely furniture, hopeful bedside cabinet
A place to Kindle some bookish delight
A place to feel some horror book fright
A place for me and a place for you
A place away from the actor’s [so called] Acting Human Zoo.

Switch the Stanislavsky off
Let me hear your voice with hands around your balls : COUGH!
Cough like Roger Mc Gough and all those beaten poets
Who stood by Liverpool so that John Barnes would know it.
Left, right and then a goal –
Tell my soul that the Black Man is sold.

I am out for this shit on the web
Away from the Glen and all those Merry Arthurian Men.
Marionne, Marian and Atoinette – let me never regret
While my pen is still whet:
From one more fight between me and the Jews
For who never recommended O.T. tribalism between my brother, I and the (King and //…) you.

Grilled for A

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I am the saddest thing
That is why I write.
I live the holiest life
That is why I diet.

I have the fewest possessions
That is why I read.
I want to sell the most books
That is where it’s all going.

I have the fewest friends
That is why there is zero.
I make the least amount of phone calls
That is why it is called Apple.

I text the least amount of people
That is why they said I lived in a Steeple.
I want to chase the most poetry sales
That is why I am not in Manhattan.

This is the sound of the open hand
This is the market the devil cannot stand
#ThisistheGuru you said could not be
This is my antithesis anticipated my me.

Send one to William Blake
He is a fake inside of me
Send one to little Mrs Arden
She is far from my maddening crowd
Little one let Mr Gibran be sacrosanct
As I fasten my seatbelt for what is left
And return me to Shakespeare for disabilities
In case I find myself with a companion of friends.

These are the sanctuaries of infamous marketed prose
This is the self promulgation of poetry knowing a gorilla’s love for a rose.

Gay Con

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It’s a gay consideration
It’s a warrior by your door
In the coldness of a winter day
To sell you smelly Dogs and nothing more.

It’s positively humorous
The lady in the lake of heavenly resonance
Who deals with the online poker taunts
To buy something so informant and keep us ticking along.

So many phone calls
So many books and cheese
On the dance floor where the angels fear to tred
And the murderers are an igloo of understanding in the red. Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssso what, I hear you say
Where the money is on the table and deals are ahead with trays
In the Churches where I bought my wayward soul with Waylan Lewis
To go forth towards the

Durga

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A normal anxiety pervades my kitty party
Where the cash flows wildy to please my sorority.
O.T. seasons ride hiding in the Super Bowl pricing
For an advert to my soul where the cost is tomorrow’s goals
In the company that analyses bliss
And forgets the sounded out price
The holy glacial meting ice
The terrors of fights in space
The loss of children in Chinese disgrace:
For Satan’s ____ hiss.

Count out the clock when the time said stop
And I could not work while the women went Twerk.
‘Tis the cause, ‘tie the cast
Men when they are acting are not last.
The Jerk (Simple IMDb) and “shithead” can experiment formally on Zee TV
< Mr and Mrs Bombay {(I dunno)} sell Sofas on ITV :: :: -à
“Come home soon!”
And the daughter left in the darkness leaving a hollow in the room
“I’ll be back before you know it!”

And the daughter laughed off emptiness so her Buddha Boy ‘shroomed
#Me
#Me
#MINE
“I am fine!” : Said the daughter
“I am watching Saif Ali Khan and thinking of you.”

The safe mother was walking about the table for more than Chai
When  she remembered the years gone by and times she felt angry rathe shy…
Such was the corroboration of the religious affair
While the daughter was opened to the public with Mousse in their hair.
Spray

Duplicity

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When I see my face
There’s such a disgrace
From the oldest place
Of 1983.

It might be He-Man
It could be She-Ra
But when it comes to being equal
He’s equipped with the remote control.

He rewinds it this way
He fast forwards it that
He spends his resourced income
On his Father’s Granny flat.

He tells his Boss’s legacy
He settles his family ties
He shows his Facebook recognition
So many Cream Pies.

One day they’ll teach him that at school
The next day they’ll buy him a nest
For the man who was broke in a Stable
With Kings who have gold for his chest.

Dr Deal

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If Indians are kings and Punjabis are A.I. Commerce
What is the difference in longing for some drama?
When the karma and when the Cola?
What is the demand supplying my throat?

Come to me for dependence and I will slit a goat
And stand by Hamas for a chance to sign a post,
Where the farmer eats toast and his wife drinks tea
And there is some simplicity for Guru Nanak, his wife and me.

This is the age of the nothing but spoken word
When the computer will drive the nuts and page blots totally absurd.
There is something so riddled about a passage from a book
When the lower class is up for grabs in the tale of a crook.

Who sees what he prints and who says what he does
When E-Commerce is artificial like the sail of a Tale of a Tub
Adrift on Johnathan Swift’s ocean for nescience with Guru Gobind
To tell of locks in the fashion of rape that pain the body for Jats and Singh.

Come to me again and dance like an Indian veil
Then there will be snookered Pavilions where the comity is Princely.
Such is the deviance of homosexual travails
That Dharma is lost for addresses to cry and wail.

River, Turn, Flop and 2 in the hand for Mohammed
There is nothing on show but a backwards fly over in Iran.
Then the news cuts out and the make up drips for tears
And the growth of the Guru wilts for percentage before the Khans.

Khans over here and Khans over there
Nothing but sheer waterage with the jungle booking Clearwater:
And then the election that very much all but one nut wanted
To Musharaff Imams to Lahore for one more 2012’s lonely male daughter.

Daintiest

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It has been millions of tears
Tons of conversation
There are milieu of mélanges
For the Dentist to hang around for some manners.

It identifies itself as someone who is ringing
The phone for demands and supplied brilliance
But not so long ago they were set apart
By universal competition that leaves us dangling.

Thus the man is someone who is dainty
And set aside in the harrowest narrow margin of tomorrow
Lest domicile nation is developing the mounting
Of some art on his wall to hang out as the best.

There had to be some rude words spoken
As the cabbie took the woman back home after struggling
Saving money walking there to have an extraction
Forming herself on the way back for kids after school.

Those were the bottle jars that used to store the brine
Where the master was a hero for the lips that sold up fine
And kept the clients rolling past if they needed less pain
Than a diagram of deliverance from the bloody staring man.

Has he been by to see you? since his European gait
To find himself more integrated
Listening to moreish talk about Empire:
Let him deal with his letters and talk to him later.

So many people high above the table
After some school that made it simple
How to be the class that was truest
To the Drs today with a to do list.

Control Again

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Contemporary to the age that I live in
Caged by the fashions I fail to live in
Controlled by the markets that get on each day
I am a vigil unto myself by the end of the day.

There is worthiness and there is worship
There is the rigmarole of the self.
There is homage and there is self awareness
There is here and there for me to be perfection in.

The teacher tells me the meaning of the verse
The director addresses the timing of the hearse
The website fixes the prices of my poems
And the neighbours advertise the size of their knowing.

Such is the development of my sad days
When money is not flowing like Niagra Falls says
And health deteriorates to the bottom of a rock
Where the crew is damaged like a flimsy dream in Iraq.

These are the hopes and fear of one frightful hour
When the urchin is emotional about serving God for an hour:
So who is in charge of the Temple where it is said
Pray to me, your Papal History, as long as I am read?