world

Since You’ve Been Gone

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

Since you’ve been gone
Say it isn’t so
That you wasted all of my talent
To make your girls get some Blow.

That’s not the way it was meant to go
When I did not still the window sill
To sully the sulking morning
When you had not money for coffee.

Is that me or my lonely girlfriends
When they are at their wits ends
To know what to do with the balance of time
Before a Porn show meant you could not be mine.

Best friend, hired mate, time to turn in late
Tell the others you know it’s a better masturbate.
If I did know then sell me some forgiveness
Across the telephone line from the 80s% margin men
Who may charge less for us to get suave again.

That is the main things in life
To have some understanding of man and his wife
Even all the social change is through
So work can be productive in the Beyond about me and you.

Saying It While I See Part 4

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I cannot recommend
The brain strain to the end
Of the format for the demand
Of how to set up Christian.

Then there is the Flan
And you have to leave Pakistan
To mellow out with LinkedIn
Out of synch and out of sin.

This much it is to try
To work with that Fapohunda guy
Who came to me to say
I’ll make it now good any day.

Mr mister and Mister
Why don’t you talk to your sister
Following every word like a hawk
Not admitting you left the cue ball at baulk.

Some have to reason some have to say
What it is that helps them to work in a given day
Some have to grieve some have to stay
And this way, said Jesus, I am newer than thousands for play.

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|

Posture

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The sexual guilt is not even
Until the parties are so sure of revenge,
That laden hosiery of the fashion of bitch endedness
And advert masculinity for straight spines and book ends.

The lay man went to the auction
He was trying to buy a house for a set,
But the rhetoric was not painted as fast as some charts
For the price of his dog at the Vets.

It’s all good demure
The manure from Hare Krishna
An arable land for a job with your hand
When they waddles like Hobbits for robotic luck.

Fires in the hole
An army to unfold
Perfect posture from Bhagwan
So they can enjoy Playboy and the Can Can
: Can I do Cannes, Bapu?

< It’s up to you!
Zindabad
& a Zinger Burger for your ivory tower
Cap in the ass
Valedictorian pass
Stale bays of hay
Van Gogh was not Monet.

And then the travel turned to ship the Mind away so kindly
To when there was a time for time to speak of instruction
Injustice was met by fantasy another way
And the English were not Light Workers while the Americans were gay.
India
Indra
Inimitable
Controlled greed
Houses with trending Feeds >> +1 and Guest.
Who is the top gun in the MEST Universe
When Colon is vials of blood for Niggers to make poo from Elmer Fud?
Nig Nig Nig Nig NIGGER
Make a little wrapping for me!

And when you go back home to Arkansas
Make a shit out of a Whopper for three in Chelsea @WhatConanTheBarbarian.Planned.Had
There is so much to balance
So a sword of such might
In the possibility of some sweet Romance
For a generation to have such flight.
But the mention seems to have been
Millions all round, all over the world
And a Billion Rupee dream
For the right skin tone with all the girls.

Something like that
Rather flat at the footstep of my bed on the floor of some mornings
About concern for how the other half live
When I have only so much sugar to give
To Paul Simon who lives down the road in a hall
And I have the gallows in my mentality
To blog his toilet seat into Ruud Gullit.
What a dog to maul for a spirit in a material world
Liking the girls like A.I. likes an uneven rhyme –
It’s not a literary crime, to be a Policeman
When the band stands at 7 and the Tattoo is for the Queen’s Jubilee.
Aye!
The Ayes have it
And it was a wondrous affair.
Charlemagne and Viscount Mint Worthy stopped by too
To name something under the wearing thin of names to drink with.

Study, affair, debonair
It’s all the same when the windy vindication seeks past him.
Trust and some Bombay Saphire – the very good Gin.
Blue from a baby market
Old than Morten Harket.
The omission of Literary Coins
Standing ovations for symbolic loins
The merry hand of creditable Cert.
Scroll down to where you are William Hurt.

Cuming and going like a pAsEDenA railway
Jobless through Identity Fraud
Because the Chips were Ahoy at the end of the road.
What happened to the load?
Where did the Time go?
What is this loss that is not Boss in BombayAGoa-i-Stan
For the Boa Constrictor to trick you that the Anaconda was sssssecond best.

Royal Python
Filthy Nylon
Hammers and Tongs
The Niggers won’t be long.
Slam, Dunk and Be Merry
Don’t forget about Cherie!

She’ll be first to speak some of her good English
About what happened to Shami Chakrabarti…
…
…
…
And the hours rolled on like a long Song
An Elegy was played while the Choirs saved Hymns
And His Story was a Miss Story for the muddle in a cage
When Mrs Moore got so bored that they had torn out that page.
…
… Literary Rage : Roads to Drive with R.E.M.
… Come again loaded with Kurt
And sell a Mag with your gun up your bum for a Buckwheat to hurt
Buddha and his roll away crew,
Not induced by Colonel Colonialism to parade such obfuscations left of centre
When The Really Wild Show would do.
…
… And the winds rolled over the mountains
And nobody came back for Tea
So a Queen could work for 70 years
And have some very common and cumupence cumulative company
By comparison to the Samaritan they told at the Sheraton for some Hilton’s investments
And some ACDC.
Why can’t Napolean blow apart Andrew Chohan Odin Deepak Chopra for a gang bang with Anabel Chong
For a MILF’s lonely talented Song.
… On and on, like a pirate pirouetting for some rogue verse
Unaware of the need to hurt
And save a Laandan Town of Angus and his friends
For divinity to find a new job in The Strand for where Botox is not played.

“Like Alexander”
(They never measured your spine to her Socrates speak)
So like “The Great”?????????????????????????…….
(Put one on your dick to wank off so hard you won’t cum black for a week)
Masters of ineffable miles
Tasters of Ganesh’s piles of Ladoos
“I’ll buy one for you in Leicester Square!”
When she has read what is really The Coloured on her lazy hair.
Affairs.
Rats.

Scientology Hats.
Immigration dismissed.
People still old, famous and getting on with The Pissed.
Let’s get pissed!
Let’s get lashed!
Let’s get wasted!
A Billion view l8er.

Lay Hate to hRhEr Heroes of Violator

The End.

P(l)ayback

/ rrishi99 / Leave a comment

How do you know where the lawnmower grows?
Instead of leaving cuttings and shards of grass after.
Tell me to follow your literary disaster
And sell me some glass for a broken affair.

The long poem will not be there: – !
That was not so hard, was it?
Soppy open and shut case, does it.
The law, the lawn, some horses, some warning.

How does the cemetery sell the maiden for the cowboy?
Shawl and droppings in the misery post haste the shopping
There is dew on the Tavern where the cavern of my heart is still alive.
They give no strive
I have no give
Think on these things
That’s all I don’t give.
Here and there is everywhere
The sapping of advice from the spies who think thrice,

//
|| What if Eliot was one of the Irish?
Nobody falling down the stairs.
Where the rodeo sells up with the Studio music
And the nob ends enlighten their streaks.
Think at the end of the week,
That the end of the day was a holiday from affray
And how many words you satisfy the absurd
Who knew only to hurt so Buddha could {healthily} pay.

Pay Tree Ark

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When the good debt was folded
And the sacred bird had flown
There was one who was Awake
Top of the hat to his own.

They called him Jeff and let him ride
So far to the other side
That the mentionables were kept afloat
By the shopping he did around the moat.

The moat they built in the past
When Canary Wharf was not going to last
Because his kind kindly sung to the Police
Of knowledge that left them fucking Analese,

[Remind me how to spell @ When his witches are in Hell]
, another one of his little fertile girls
Showing me the balance of Time
For the rhythm of a rhyme
And how to Hare Krishna power=share just fine.

Krishna is just fine, thanks for asking
Rama will be grateful for his Shabba Ranks, canal driven man
Down the Maine Street with the Wilberforce treats
Stuck in a traffic jam no matter what Lady Marmalade says next.

That’s EnlightenNext: Up and off there for some Techno=Fest
Costing the coasting Guru Nanak some Repo action
For all his fancy foot action
What was it? At the end of the day….
…
…
Sigh No More and Sai Baba is gone
What was the pleasure in losing his song.

One
Two
And not Zee
Maybe the Charmed twins got up to three?
Who was the Guru – who was the Pen?
When will the showtime get back to the Penitentiary
Internationally Amnesty International planned by me
To settle the nettles on the floor for more than £10.

Come down to laughing out loud
Om Shanti to the quoting men
Speak to batallions raised from the streets
Chant wildly of Ken Wilber eating out Chinese food whenever his old age
Walks
Talks
On all fours
The Missing Link
Guru & some smelly pink socks on The Big Think
Call me a PhD
Watch me Pee
“Can I have a P please Bobby?”
There is friction between us in The Sea.

Fraternity
The final filial piety
Count slowly as you walk away from me
That the hour passes slowly from when we die.
Too shy
Too rich
Too regal
Such a bitch!
Why would you WAG
When you could Hag,

And The Chase screened to Manhatten
The Questions you would like?
Back to Jeff and old man Bally
Down the Classy Junction
For some Gurdijeff and Gurdwara function.
But time is not so kind to all and this is a time to the Recorder
So that when action is in inaction and Jazbaa is spoken
The Fake Alexander is O’Neils at last for some New World Order.

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…

Ole 2 Gramma (!#@?)

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Load the Sangeet
Dance with my feet
Stray sleepers on the street
That’s not where we meet.

Fanciful debonair desires
The heart is still on fire
For what the TV brought
When the ships returned nought.

How can I be rude for you
When you have the Moon to review
And your conspiracy crew
Is full of their own truth.

Jesus is for you
After you nailed him to the Cross
And told the story for us
Of your yesteryears and wankers’ Tax and Overdrafts.

Shares on the Shaadi
Come over with the Commons
Share the commotion with one of your Literary Reviews
Your just just not going to get the Kiplings cakes on, are you?

It’s always the same
With the Colonial strain
Something feminist and then some chilblains
If they don’t see it for themselves with Dwayne.

Hassle free Texts
Something frilly for your Ex
So I can be betwixt my vexation
Always late for your non invitation.

How?
Brogues.
The lounge.
Lozenges.

// Whatever could it have been
COVID and the streets of CCTV
When the waters were civilized
And more TV passed a Prince’s eyes:

  • For the child he just just could not see
  • When the Willow the Wisp was not I-SPN
  • Heroes see.

Mr 2 Write

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There are things you say I should not say
Like sorry to the hedges I cut on the way
When I sold my shares initially in sorrow
To buy my way out of footsie for tomorrow.

I’m the best, my nation said so
That’s the way that one’s got to go.
#AndWhenImDone there’s nothing left to do
Except folly and old fortune for the Armada Hampstead crew.

Battle me this and cohabitate me with the vacuum that:
Where is the honesty in the open handed approach to the road :-
The road east of Vancouver where the radio check is preapproved
Like a beer t-shirt ripped open for the cover of Summit recovered.

Too easy to shin and far over the older beard to shine
There is a head where the coupling will be diners.
It’s not all sandwiches at Waitrose when the beat is on the minute;
Leave me an iPod when you get the time to be on a zillion.

My Henry Kissinger and that’s the top hat blown
Like the Top Hotel we have not shown with all the shows on far from Noam.
Is there any cover left for the car he is bereft off having not shown foam
For the parties he carries a tune for. Mr Canary and the way back home.

From Siam I have flown and known the airport underneath my feet
Where the Jetstream is some cold cleaners and Mr Sheen for the Air Host’s feat
To jump so many moons to keep up with those Shrooms
And whatever did not Clear while Florida kept Ron Hubbard with Martin Clunes.

Underground with the dune buggies and up top where the hatch is blown
So much more the Saviour, so much more the way back home.
Something for me and something for you
A way to the routine in Jalandhar for the coded cabin crew.

Something for me and something for you
Take anything you like from the top shelf: I’m done with the quarterback Jew.

Lyres in the Mourning

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The lies in the morning
Are nothing compared to the lies in the mourning
That I undergo when I see the wake
Of the aftermatch of what you would take:
Oh Cultured One!

O Scion of Bharata!
Championed you are of so many ages
Have you terrible times to take in my Paiges
#TheREASON I store the castles with plenty
#FORTheMoNeY you would educate me on
When your witches are stuffed with envy.

I have seen you all before
The shoes, the velvet linen and the open door:
The is nothing more than the ships at the front Port
Where the lady’s men come shopping in
And my Country is dissipated by the veritable Gin.

Ahoy! There – Condom’s Mates & a barrel of Laffs!
Shall I sell you the Churches when you call my Cross crap?
Or would you seldom be aware
Of the deer crossing the banter
To watch in silence
The Bambi being led to the slaughter?

Take time for the new
& sell up some land for a Studio affair.
Then get on with Social Media
& let me know about the men with all the long hair.

The skateboards, the washboards, the one’s I am bored of but still tolerate: –
Then in the evening we’ll advance to Hindustan
And your rich husbands can be banal and vain
Tell the Flying Yogi he is better of dead than in Levant.

Levitating man!
So hard to understand!!
Where is the Corporate Plan?
It’s in my other non writing hand…
So far to understand… …
#space
#bar
#freehouse
#drunk
I thunk I saw a Partition Twat!

These are the pages of the Starship Troopers
Their Missionary Statement is to:….
… Of fuck off!
Answers on a postcard
To the man called Chekov:
Who still listens still to the Parable affair
Of how he sees the Bhagavad Gita flying in the polluted air.