terrorism

Crime and Punishment

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Crime never pays
So say the echelons of the echos around Formal Hall
It is evening time and the randy Dons are doing fine
Minding fashion with their economic rations
Camel toes all the way as they espy the noblest hand me downs of the gays.
People that say too much
Poets with the handiest touch
The rules of the game exampled on a phone
See! Even they fear being alone.

Moody waves travelled the wide oceans
Searching for space to engulf an academics brain
Researching this, researching that
Bound by the formal paintings of the architects of the 9/11 attacks
Muslim v Christian ex parte spiritual worlds
How is this for no more lecture for the boys and girls
Hundreds next to thousands all eating with Harry Potter
I need a break from my self
To the imagination’s squatter.

So what for these young youths
And their open hand before the legal system?
How will they reform the reformers
When they adjust from the Don’s ancestry
Television
Exam revision
Lonely            She was derided.
The ghosts of Christmas past can’t come every day.

If you search for a fight, you will find one
The fried fat disappoints the ideal visionary
But the flame in the fire of the digestive system
Eats up the discussion over dinner in a very good way.

There are things these Dons could have had to say
But they capitulated over night and day
The moon controlled their oceans and waved goodbye to the dissent
Needed over time of the cornered students on the floor.

They will rebut the military command one day
People trained not to hear what pain was to say
About a million monks and a thought from Siddhartha
About the way the world worked when Mao was not off the rack.

Keep the markets back until retail sings again
The business studies graduate and the bullies drinking again
Telling all and selling small
Keeping it all in the all and all

  • Reviewing poetry

E-Commerce is for me
Then they will allow Reiki to get away from their gear and staff.

Let the children have a laugh!
It is time to go home to your room after a full stomach
Then the aching pains of missing your parents
Will be your father and mother again – no matter what their name,
When they have drifted apart again
Buying and selling
Travelling and holidaying.
See the Tibetan mill saw dust
Tell about the eyes of the Shaman lost in lust:
#And you will anoint the dirty past of fighting spiritual people
Of #And along the way…

… the things the children will say
As they go back upstairs to their rooms
Is behind you as you clean up
Dinner ladies (like Shashi) who have so much left to do.

The Unemployed Ball

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Ideology is the word that makes me mind my movement
It stood taller than Leningrad in school for self-improvement.
Quality Street balanced the roses and some TV Times kept me busy
But I could not escape the great fire within more for all those pocket full of posies.

Poesy is not free. It is the settlement of eternity.
Rising in the morning is the depression of another warning:
Only two or three oblong white forms of L.E.D. criticised for no parched Hieroglyphs
Set me free from the Caliphate and the Islamic debate about R.E.M. and Papyrus tapestries.

Moods are about now the soul’ed have clout to out the gay
And mastery has made no choices after Krishnamurti told of freedom.
The wrong way has been spoken and pacts have been broken,
The new age is an old age full of dull adages to me.

Nazi history and the quality over quantity argument from gargoyles
In the new school rules of who belongs with the right tie and brogues –
Whatever they mean – chords on the scene for crying from wanking too hard:
St Giles and the empty streets looking for liking about porn from the playground.

Yardy in the café, still is not a gaffa. But the mention gets me far
When they watch me drive my car. Road ragers, page turners, old oil burners
And girls in shirt sleeve order. Order! Order! Drink is rising the RPI
The policy have class for “the evil eye”. One day a Hindu. Next two.

What is a Jew to do, with the camaraderie in you about Section 2.
In the mental health of my youth I spoke of Absinthe and alcohol proof,
But when I wrote to Formal Hall, you gave me a dirty phone call
So here is your retribution from R. is for ‘Repeats’: Fuck All is remov’Ed.

What is the Op.Ed in the New York Times for your Wall Street Journal
Dirty Colonels and General Spastics for those remembered ladders
in tights without pubes for the rights of a £100 jumper;
Can I jump off the roof of The Mail Box or is their proof of Harvey Nichols at Christmas?

That is how to spell a drink, I think, with a mask on my face
Brown after the 9/11 disgrace of No. 10 Bus Bombing
For all that science vs God debate: Islamophobia won’t win for God’s calling
When the rhyme is in the time for less than a million Dawkins dollars in retirement.

What was meant, Socialist, about the fashion of no money.
What was meant, Russian about the England when Trotsky was funny.
Do I need a mark next to my new face to question the human race:
Or is it that if you steal from Bhaktin you already killed my Ego?

So give it a go, the New Enlightenment and get some kicks on Route 66
But it won’t be long, the DWP song and some healed headlines for the blondes you do lines for
Working Class is no more!