christianity

Some Art Device

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Sanity is judged
The meal before lunch
Balance up the top credit
Before the proper table manners edit
The children who have their breakfast
The adults checking phones before work
There is an objective >>> “BeYoNd!”
Time does not feel so long
Batteries not so fully charged
People don’t feel so large
The Technical, the Natural and the Targets
This is as tough as the morning gets,
Before Mehta is applied and lunch is served
Stop wasting time
It’s going to be fine
The phone is smart art
All get their just deserts.

It answers all questions
[Conscious Cous Cous + Conscientious Science]
Why would you question it?
What is left of the sameness of you and me?
Can we meditate in the centre of the city?
Apply for a job
Type and lie like a slob
Get that fix
Play some tricks
But in the end of the innuendo
Its time to explore so I get to know
Who is the third who walks besides me
When will settle on The Other as the Holy Trinity?

Unemployed Man

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Unemployed man
Terrified Middle Eastern caravan
Travelling the international routes
With my mind
With my mind
Gaining military support
Looking at DWP reports
Checking our nigger Sociology
Setting Barack Hussein free.

What’s an Obama to the Unibomber
And a reraise from Phil Ivey
Possible poison to the Christians I see
And the malevolence growing from the jealous young ones in the pews.
They don’t like the rhythm in you
They don’t like you’re fitting in
They don’t like your connection with the Jew
The one with the blonde hair who tried to care…

Something for the racists to walk about and stare at
One man crowds in Weoley Castle from me shouting at Abishek all aloud
So easy to predict like a Sambrook trail of shit on our streets
So young and so fashionable with Russell Brand’s karma
The Beatles will harm her again.
The Beatles will kill Bruce Lee again
And Mr Paul Paki will never set these streets free.

For who was he when my father was driving?
Who was he when my father was cooking alone?
How did the police discriminate against him then and upon what grounds
As their radios played crap music and Oasia rolled on along the charts with Blur.

#itsallfittingin for the size of the Indian yogi tin
As they lecture on the parts of lyrics fair
For the words I would not learn.
Don’t ask me how Beethoven moves
You called British, that’s what that language proves.

Don’t ask me to celebrate Operatic performances,
They’re in London, far away from my mother.
Keep them for the thespians in London who don’t spend their money on their own culture in London
As my rhymes don’t please them
Better than Shakespeare in the 1600s – who’s been rewriting that and keep them out of the stocks, wickets and crowds?

How do they spend their money when Gordon Brown is allowed..
{Free reign over any pussy he likes!}
London is full of dykes and not the fit sort on American Porn
Madonna won’t tell the truth about the Spirit that helped her spawn
Music better than the tripe she shovelled to invading niggers in her older years.

Dancing on ice is what she needs to fear!
Slip ups and staged catastrophes
“One thing for me” and the Queen nearly resigned at 93…
Saving Private Charles is now Matt Damon to me
With Ben Affleck hiding tall dark and manufactured.
What time is the 6 o clock shadow Mr Ordinary Man
And where did you stash that cash in the walls for Mr Amitabh Bachchan?

So party on dudes and cause some rucus if you dare.
The streets of England and fair Birmingham City –
Come on you Blues!
Come on you Blues!
BLOOOO ARMEEEEEEE!
BLOOOOO ARMEEEEEE!

  • They are George Clooney and Ryan Reynolds aware.

The Man Who Wasn’t Jesus

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Locked and located in the visions of the abatement
Taxed and gyrated in the fractured giving of some hate that meant
Time on a prison planet in the formation of the Self;
Leave me alone lest I mate with an Elf.

The roads around Elgin Avenue are softer than the marshmallow texture around them
Lake Districts walks in the coldness of a fanciful imagination of power
The adornment of robes and the inculcation or flights of the orgies
Holding people into power when the High Street said “enough!”.

This as it is is the mentioning of tempestuous recalcitrant energies
Pulling the simple man apart so he may walk on water on the Thames
Merry with last nights joviality and sad with tomorrow’s created stress,
And too burdened a mind lost with the lover that is Christ wanting more.

These are the doors or perceptible forgiven channels and angles troubling angels
Harassing the ordinary ambition of every day mental men
Walking the tight rope to the corporate office and raised appropriation of success
While the light within beacons for more than is possible from a human breast.

Washes from washes are potential when the image is coursed in love
Such is greatness when it falls for pigeons in Trafalgar without a dusty dove.

Are You Writing To Him

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Are you writing to him?
The gay man at the end of the bar
The one with a handlebar moustache
Checking out the fellows with draught beer.
Do you have some autumnal cheer
Like randy sweet ecstasy befriending the cocoa butter
Dances in the middle of the dance floor
Sweet French kissing when the numbers are up:
What is the showman
When the empty cup is always half full?
How does he know my so well?
Who takes his photos on Instagram?
The shop has a door where the custom is welcome
The personage had a past where these things were shut out.
He likes to scream and shout
The old man called Paul and Jock –
Two o clock and it’s pistols at Dawn’s
She like to play hard to get
And my life is an enormous amount of regret
Shadow debutant feelings
Energising a wet towel on the bathroom floor
And selling some products for London’s COVID environmental workers
The tear jerking from a jerking off man
Planned Satanism revival lamping one on the face of the nearest poet
The Arts are not funded in Royal towns in London
Again and again, he speaks of the medics name
Naked in the rain like Adam buying John Betjeman a cold hard won drink
Dripping with icey perspiration from the thoughts of a delightfully dinner
And some conversation about love making that makes the condensation erotica.
An advert perhaps – announcing the change in temperature?
Sirs. Please. This is Birmingham.
We have so many Civil Partnerships to go…

Breakdown Boundaries

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Past this point I don’t want to know
What is the developer’s story about who will grow
And how much is the cyber-sex with me in my room
When the witches are in role playing games
Away from their broom.

Get some space in life and let me have my things
So I can balance the happiness that decent things bring
Like a car, a house, some checks and a bit of Jazz
In the End of Days nothingness will be all that I ever had.

The Travelling Man

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Life moves forward like a light shade in winter
When the snow knows the neighbours alarm
That the doors might be open in the lounge next door…
Letting all the heat travel throughout the house
Warming the fictional dormouse in the child’s homework
As the parent’s go bezerk at their choice of Christmas toys.
Something for the girls something for the boys
An ebullient sexual chemistry set from the chimney sweeping imagination
Of a top down economics in Industrialised England
About what the wealthy need when the poor man has spent
All his money on the kitchen table pies and cakes.

Is the caravan worth it this year?
Or do I need to cut down on the rudimentary beer?
Laughing on the phone about his personal performance all alone
When he has come home from travelling to the office in downtown Montreal.
That is where the American man knows his autumn from the fall
And the conservative consummate professional addresses Churches differently.
There is so much to see in life, why wait outside a Church
For the Fall of Man to pull you in and leave your office life in the lurch.

What would it profit you to gain your soul and lose the world?
In a world where the presence is felt at some point for Eve, the (new) girl.

Generalisms

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If it’s not in it is out
What is it?
If it is out it is in
Who are they?
The lady in the library
Meets the man in the gym
After the orgy of time-tastic travelling
In the after affair of chocolate eating Lent.
This is what the cool guy meant
When he walked past the LGBT headline
Telling what is his and what is mine
Sharing the space on the supermarket floor
With the crowded till next door
And some variance for the science of journalism and what Mike Pence meant
When he spoke about negating White Supremacy
So the burden of proving responsibility and respect
Would fall on the Oval Office floor once again.
It took some time to train those dragons
And some money spent in the wrong direction of Allah
Where man spoke and Angel’s dreamed
And G_d was not a Shaman down the Native American Indian quarry.
That is not for me and where I ended up in 2013
Weed on the brain and silly men stealing my energy again,
Saying it all so for them as it for me
“You are like me” he said from Leicester at the NHS in 2013.
So that is the sexuality scene
Something wrong the poetic stream, next.
Too much of this and not enough of that
And no support from the academic prat.

Control

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From I to we
In the mode of us
Where the autonomous
Are leaking information to the Press.
Nobody gets undressed
There’s a no sex please they are British sign on the door
The whores are not designated
The Bible is repatriated.
It’s tomb table tambourine man time
The cymbals and the high hats
Jazz on the mainline leading into town
For some negro with a saxophone and maybe some others with a double bass,
Spreading unemployment conscientiously studied by the Monarch –
He’s all over the place!
One for the money
Two for the hot wheels
How can there be a joke between us
When the culture is killed by the contract men who steal?
You crane kick me in the face
Like a Karate Kid lying Russian flying all over the place
Dragon Yoga is revived
Shantideva’s A.D., B.C. is survived.
Staying alive like a greased monkey fixing an automobile in the workshop garage down the road from Montpellier Avenue
After the carwash has cleaned the face of the writer worried about his funeral pyre and some good old adage in a sitting duck blue review.

Wired

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Can’t see the man waiting for some change
It seems all things have changed
Transience is on the tale of infinity
There are all things within me:
Gone too far down the Transcendence Lane
Things won’t ever be the same again.

People are wired for exchanges
The enemy is waiting for me to mince my words
This would be absurd
Life is not all rhyming and slang
What about the fellows that hang?
Can’t I be a viral noose around their necks on some mornings?

Skipping down the steps of the Gurdwara
Silent amongst the pews of the Churches inside their own minds
This is the fallow soil that is human kind
Not always about Guru legislation all throughout the lonely land of tomorrow’s children
Corn, collapsibility and corroboration
These are the warning notes for the forts and the nations.

Don’t erect a Guru where an Avatar once stood
Telling me the world is my root problem with the self in your neighbourhood
I have things to say and places to go
I have my human rights too
Don’t you think I want to watch the human zoo?

Pieces are smashed and the range is exterior and extempore for the seeing to be enhanced
It seems that the Universe is on hand to catch all including 22 lest anything be left to chance.

Last Days of Judgement

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These are the last days of judgement
There is terror stored up in the stories of the body
The smouldering wreck of a lifetime spent serving God has reached it’s end
The Bible bashers are here again!

It must be something in the brain Brahma has to sort out
:: Like gout in the walls and some other stuff for the cement driven doer
Open to all sorts of the panache in the times of working parental control over the internet
Except rebellion against Drs.

Nurses will follow like the Pied Piper towards hell
And somehow VHS will live on for those who have lived long
Leaders from abroad
The broads from Of Guys and Dolls
Those Audrey Hepburn imposters
Leaving the leader asking for more.

Man needs a woman like a barbecued hamburger on a sunny day in a good bun.
Why do you argue like cats and dogs about the racial superiority of Hinduism.
Longer and older than a Vedic Saved lie that a Chinaman can explain to a King,
This lingam is not for sale.

Jeff Bezzos knows why I am king of the whales
The mystery of the Blue Whale always kept me going
Why don’t you English embrace Creationism?
Why don’t you let individuality be tested by those hard knocks you shelter with big knockers and bad rhymes?

They don’t want to remembered as English time, when they are dead.
That is going to be something for us to deliver you from the Royal Family.
No Church of England as William spends the future
Science Fiction in the Welsh dales with my karma from Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible.

That is why I phoned America = come and watch the English bulldog bully his friends
Trashing Hare Krishna and the Naam
Celebrating Turbans and the Sikh rail road.

What did you build when your families insulted Krishna??
Why should we let you drink the Holy Ganga water?
Bottled up in a jar and now available online
We’ll never satisfy your corporate Tudor Street.
All those people men in Birmingham don’t meet in London.
Is this fact?
Is this not a poem Now?
Who walked past me and looked in the window at McDonalds in Northfield today?
How much does that racist have to say?

Worry about your own homes!
Social Services in deed
Another letter
More international feeds
Katherine on Instagram
A row from ‘Amal’ in time
Letters in response probably from George Clooney
Is this something his Area 51 could find.

[rishisunak]

What a piece of work is a question
#What novel reason is this
To tray 300 with Oxbridge muscle retention
And review wars spoilings geographically.
What is the best insult a politician has made of the poor
TV, dear sir,
I couldn’t ask for anything more.
Then La Morte D’Arthur is for European India
And they’ll control you with service in the docks for her in doors.

When are you married, naughty man
The dear Professor wants the Dr’s friend to know.
For all that Colonial gibberish he asked about
So that he could not go down below.
[Slammed]