royalty

Unemployed Man

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

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.

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…

Bedroom Silver

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I sit awake where once I was slumbering
And face the great clouds that dream me numbering
The hours of the day and the minutes of my self
Where I cannot espy the mountains of Hobbit or Elf.

Then why does my imagination wander? Why is there care?
Why do I fascinate on what is not palpably there?
As the demure misty evapourated silk drifts past my visage
There is space in me for errors of horse and carriage.

Maybe I am wandering in an astral plane with Lord Tolkien?
Could it be I am in the past with Queen Victoria and her calling?
As I write and am baulked by the chalky coloured gaseous substance
To reveal my own inner essence lest I am appeared to disappear in trance.

Screening from right to left, there is nothing left of me as the Sun’s promise
Yet you did not talk to me about your hidden powers when you eliminated my vice
By giving me something to look at and stare, so self-help aware,
That I cannot but give thanks for the pages that pour forth as a dare.

These are the chairman’s words from the ad hoc bedroom where he sleeps
Drifting like the raining contrite ether that envelops these words, shallow and deep;
From them stems forth a day and more voicelessness to be recorded and noted
So that the nature that is outside my window can finance nakedness that is bought.

Pride

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What awards has Nobel given?
What estates has he blessed?
Where is the evening out of his grace?
What is a school tomorrow for his pride?
When is the State alive for what could be planned?
How long is the dictionary lane to the organised meeting?
What is the roughage of the shit of a Psychological Degree;
When all it still is is property, Flag and the Celebrity Centre of Scientology?
What has the medic done in England?
What is a GP to the boy scouts and girl guides handing out cookies in America?

#MyBookieWookie ^ LSD
Time controllers again and no awards
Verification
Leader by attribution
No other nation
Tibet cannot be Rwanda
They list the causes
They control the donations
Now he sighs when all is branded
Now he complains when his Indian sex orgies have been commanded
What is the complaint that Arjuna knew to give Krishna
Once a nervous breakdown, always unreliable.

For why do you war, Russell, and shit on the talk show couch?
What are these laws you speak over & why does Jimmy Kimmel and Matt Damon make you say “ouch”?
Who did what to whom when Rishiboy graced the world,
With a flash of Depakote for Epilepsy on the BBC?
When Aishwarya wore leather for Wossy?
And his fat ugly wife bought shares on Images on the computer?
When is a King so inert?
When his Princeship is codes in a predicted poet?
When is his child so revert?
When blondes are their prediction from a poet?

Slow down there tiger and lets lets,
For Akaash Rani that you won’t let go…
I know all the biographies of demonic English writers
When will you share with us this Krishna,
For God’s sake, surely, that is what we’re having a go at?!

With

(Yo Mama)
The Pharcyde on Cassette in the 1990s
So tell them Noam as you hide your plans
To dominate the world as Plato from victory land
That Israel is Is it Real for the worst of human kind
And shit on a Church that Bill Clinton still wants to teach Russell Brand to find.
Give us the tape from Hulk Hogan, sir, of your cock being sucked
For the losers in Haridwar that Will Smith taped to touch
Then, maybe then, you’ll see the Rish out in public land
As the worst horror of politics so old, white and demented for anger to understand.

What were your local elections and how do you follow the teacher
For Abishek using Aishwarya too many times in print
Run the hurdles in your private schools on English land for a stint
Turn around that fashion in the world of time
Pity the failure you see in Rohan and Ritesh that is not karma…
Give Peter McDonald one more try
For an essence of Indian law courts with Jenny Afia and a Jewish creampie.
Once

#FreeTibet is not my organisation
I wrote #TibetForever because we were 1990s Scientology

Healing

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The energy is not calling me
I am not there
Tomorrow is so corporate
The shops are so self aware.
The office blocks have Maya in them
The oceans are so pertinent with religious history
They have been sailed by navigators and Navigant Consultancy
When I am unemployed and arrived at so self aware.

What is meant by repetition?
How is woman to shake the disease?
The emerging markets of South America know nothing of Peruvian coffee
Traded in Aldi for the competition scarcity and poverty trader’s delight.

These are thus fights and I am astrologically bereft
The man in the café is joking with my reputation
The Queen knows me better than myself
All is so obvious to them.

(Stealing Old English again)
Robin Hood strains in my navigated market place
I can see the futility of travelling alone
Talks
Walks
Speaking in a café
Welling up at the wishing well – looking for some pride and happiness
The search for human values shall not be in vain
In spite of the United States nuclear missile declarations and the gains that have been costed.

I’m off to Costa tomorrow for some latte and millionaire shortbread
Thinking of my winnings banned from the horses stables at Amazon CEO’s backyard animal farm with Amal
The amazing woman who stole my economy
And her friend Karma who does like my ride now.

Is this the eternal questions?
Poet’s riddled as Kings denied their cross.
Tomorrow is the boss for the lilies in the field of the man
Who stationed his wagon for the American plans.
Delhi can’t delegate again
The dead need waking up again
The ego is about to blow
The Drs never got sent down below
The writer is despondent
The family is poor that supports him
Paul Ready is quota
The nurses need milk floats
And Ferris Bueller is shaking it crazy for the war between thee BMA, the DTI and EQUITY.

“He who comes to Equity must come with clean hands”
So shake your dick off well in the urinals for the lands of by elections at Kingstanding
And whatever judgements are merriment to the sick and puke in the school toilets
When they and their transferred parents are too young for such legalities.

These economics are free
This ALCS is for me
The servant is quarter the height of the negro with attitude who nearly punched me today
And there is more reason to increase the poor prat’s pay
Selling coffee
Serving bread
Counting the computation of the cost of a pint of milk
Politicians lose the word of God to raise the wages of sin
Slick like an average RnB dancer without some good place to go
The negro
The negro
What is the heart of darkness of the negro?
Compassion for the BBC again and again and wasted energy about which they cannot be you and see the I in the me and not sell medication for to not be The Complain.

Complan.

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.

Zaqat Went Splat

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Did you believe the world was this way?
The way the wildness inside of you did not say
That you need a woman like a woman needs a man
To satisfy the hotel room with coffee after an okay plan.

See, the outside world is such an egregious affair
I have my legs wilder than that in the outrageous air
Modelling Hollywood and L A Style as if I have savoir fare.

Three line whips, lots of chains of bondage
Alfonso Bhandari is there with your immature soul cage
Selling the shambles of brambled apples and some granny’s rage.

Voter! You are no daughter – with the hotel quartered
Entrance from a Hollywood master and his debutant blaster
For money and vermillion so that Iraqi can know first ladies
And squillions and zillions and bazillions after Tony Blair’s trillions.
Master Blaster – unable to hold the camera’s gaze
After raunchy Knights have held up erectile Counts
Far from the Paige’s and their confusion about the purple Ronnie
And how about some Blue Peter for yours truly and that fucking Konnie?!

Ropes and whistles and then there is some shouting matches
For the prettiest Oriental to sing me some blues
About Krishna’s curtains after he has been through the hue
Of cry and Laurel and Hardeep for that original truth:
To thine own self be avant-garde so that Spirit is doubled
#WhentheDevilknowsyourlonely and youthful mother is in trouble.

Why Do You Like Me?

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Why do you like me?
Unless you want something
Is it that I am handsome
Like your fairy King?

Is it the monstrous invention
In your little head?
That mentions my mother as invention
Before you go to bed.

It can’t be that we’re Partners
Those things are down at the Law Firm
And when things are soft I am lonely
Because all of your dates are so hard.
Could it be we are meant to be?
And you will come back soon to see me?
Is it that you long for the same things?
And not just politically writing out A to Zee.

Come down here literally my man
And spend some time with an English affair
It’s not so bad, you can even fake Red.
But if you’re up there in Americana
Then we have so many Codes for your Karma.
Cosmos boyo and landed Tolkien
How do you know where you bowl?
Where is the China you have been sold?

So trade in your Jackie for some Jackie Chan
Another time if you think this is Bruce Lee.
This days went out when the lights were Covent Garden
So I was hard on myself to get past the snooze at quarter past three.

Reduction

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He is 1/500th the millionth part
Of the man I used to be in the start
Of a project where the goal is target number one
For the Way & the Hero: ~~

Come to me, now
Sell up your shores on the broken battles.
Those tired machines are art in the dreams of morons,
Who will they know?How will they be counted?
Scene by scene in the anime dream
Poking and toking
Joking about Loke.

Okely Dokey : That’s all they had to say
As the school grass grew wildly
And neither teacher nor parent won that day.
Every day?…
Every, every day?…
Sell me a fuck or Fuck OFF with me!

Switch off, his celebrity.
Change your mind, celebrated kind.
Change our change and spend your kindness,
Retire with us and pay us back for the broken image of Heartland.
What else don’t you understand?

What school was reprehensible – as my fashion was demeanable
Alternative type
Zero stripes
Military drape
Wife of the black man.

You’re a no man again
And I won my pain!
I am Victor next to Malthus
So that St Germaine is my French strain.

Common chill blaines – walking shore to shore as an immigrant talking about the door being shut on Jabba the Hut.
“Hello there too!”
I’m in your grandfather’s house as well.
Come in and I’ll shoot
The Porn is on reboot!

Exclaiming typists style away the YouTube braying of anticipation
Constant present awareness and nondual fidgeting without Capital.
Capitol Hill and the same men chill without Charity day of Chang
For a job that can rearrange,
The Drugs
The Thugs
The Harmony
The Druids and the Balmy Army…

Why do these questions plague me?
Centuries have I waited for a computer
Art is a mirror that makes us look away
It here for modern Kings to have their Thor’s day
IMDb and all that Brie
Save some for me, Lady Anastasia
All the men’s children and all the lady’s Portillo besides the braided bunch of lunch inspired speakers about twice a week instead of God’s sod off day Day Off.

Cough twice if you have heard about Nadia Nyce
Stamp three times if you think Bree Olson would be nice
Piano ties
Eyes that cry
Times like mine
Cooking with Thyme.
What the broth will cum up
When there is one big fuck up
And the acting breaks the Montego Bay railing
Far cry from the fast cars that did the jailing
Save all your pissing for me
When I am on ITV – and the plans for the Spandex hit my Decks at a quarter past the Tree of Knowledge.
Fuck what you were taught in your Daddy’s chair
While he stared
And the Beatles cared
Who dares lost
And the cost is a Valium
In the Valley of the Shadow of Death
Far from the prestigious breath of the outgoing Ujahi
Settlers on the Plains of Shiva and his Pranayama for Parvati.

There will come a time
When time will come to time
So that computers came to earth
Before the woman 9 monthed stoney births.
TV
Baby
Kazapow & ???…///:: Ping Pyao! Bang Bang Bom!!!!!
How long have you known.
                                                 About the Stone.
“Say something so high up there
I’ll be a Yuppie’s mum so aware
Of the rich things she’s driving they haven’t got
And the teacher at 75 who is ISKCON lost”

!Don’t you want my babies
Don’t you want a whore -awe -inspiring man -aweawaw”
——– The End|

Order It Again

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In order to build order
Find out what the disorder did to you.
When there is water let there be dryness
If you find your Highness is too much of a blow for you.

They called him a King who dwelt on the most high
And left him with a poet who lost his script when the ink was dry –
That is the first difference between me and you:
That is the difference between a Cross and a Jew.

There are letters that say how I have been feeling
When the wire is tapped so the walkers are reeling

From their orgasms and manic spasms in the left of the Fall
When Autumn knows no conversation in the old Mordan Hall.
Sell my your cough as you walk repeated and reappear
Like a mirror from the Magic Mandrake who’s Magi is near
To the salesman who’s bonus means a full meal for the family and all
When the Summertown is not dunces town with a wheely bin for the Ball.

Next to me is the whisperer and the Clothed Dagger of the magic pen
Saying “Again!”
“Again!”
Where is the writer’s brain?
Straining, like a refraining, draining on the containment of time,
Again…