ukrainepoetry
Below is my collection of poetry about Ukraine, Russia's War in Ukraine, or NAFO.
If you are looking for limericks they are on another page. As always you can request or gift a poem with donation.
If you want to offer up something for the tip jar donate to Renegade Relief Runners
we collect cross-stitched senses of self as Poetry unfolds patterns anomalies commonly dawn on we only when they see wisp lines of truth from benign even weave in Needle minders of time written in wings of a moth made of aida cloth Basting in banality In a finality of moments that break with reality form and function two rings who fit meaning playing at schemes of morality anomalies an allowance Seams cutting at edge of normality Poetry is the prick of history
Who fund these digital assassins bonking with mystical passion? Myths of whimiscal trysts to brick predictable tricks of war criminals who misshapen is fashioned as NAFO unfastens the lies dragging miseries of histories for these more equal piggies honk our conch as they damn well please Bringing enemies to their knees NAFO bonks hard and our kisses taste like your mom
written February 24, 2022
A global horde of memetic Methodius seeding Cyril's florettes of freedom on phonemes of the absurd. Each barb carrying a spark of Olah's seed seeking Accursed nonsense, insatiate A perfidous serpent crucifying sense sliced by Kosynsky's Klowns and on both banks truth and freedom flow
Unheard savagery Glares from history’s silver laced eyes Pointed to Hollowed skies Painted by tyrants who see babes but vessels To torture in vassal states And rip Peace Bank to bank Sirens wail, Sounds drill in bits turning on echos Of shattered pasts. Ripping Into ears as Silver sleeves Streak across shrouded Clouds and torture now Descends from heavens above Repeated history whips Butchering facts in relentless Attacks on veins running deep In partitioned bodies of Children and Nations Promises of forked tongues Deliver silver drenched Sons and a Nation undone Until Brave Act Carve Ultimus pacta Carried on backs of loved Ones Raskol’ini nasha nalsyia No Pacta Et conditones Just victory for the fallen And a call for Children to come Home.
Fellas
develop
medicinal plates
of ceramic pfp
enhancements to allow
minimal enchantments
of liminal
distate
in fates of info
spaces dripped
in
subliminal
hymnals
sung in
criminal
tongues through
imbecile debates
of truncated
principles
Ostinatos of
emaciated
play dough
reshaped
to rape, and reap
hate
in disinfo spaces
disgraces in
cadence
nested in
cradle of
tonality
serving
festering ladles
dripping in pronounced
nonsense
sipping on the
soup of my enemy
Mathematical fools Not to assume Renisannce Tools maybe but a prism of Berezovsky's jewels For it is unmathematical for mathematics to stay unreplicable through unforeseen strings of regression to the mean When returns seem laudable, almost unplausible a causable catalyst maybe be Blat met the Capitalist for a company of mathematicians to always outperform competition is unmathematical market forces, that courses through the Heritage of such Foundations
:?: semiotics of kicking signs to the Greek and Locke and leaving indigenous semiotics and symbols unsought left off the clock symptomatology of measuring blocks rocks of gray matter in Bell curve splatters meaning is kinda fleeting Hella rude to leave it up to Dead White Dudes As forces cast spells atop of semiospheres to spread bubbles of fear pushing dopamine and cortisol portals of lies through refactored eyes narrative boundary of understanding derived in biological. Are we but surplus value of code? Piercing de Saussure plowshare of authors tug on metaphor which Lakov roots in Chekov's metaphors and Alice's endless doors Derrida cried Signifier and signified, Fishing in triadic views that allow outside to skew the pews of neatly packed ideas in Churches of the mind More Us echoes in Semiological Guerrilla Warfare flare as Angry Place Faith in Fakes. interpretive Slate of a Rose by any name so Azov with the clothes off painted in fake shames of Pink Nazis in shades of deep state blues For Traditions can't flirt with Frankfurt get a clue
Twist around Interstices that fold between spaces to spot patterns existing since provenance
For a fallen Wolf Echoes of Broken ripples, circles splayed. Collapsing in on time, songs of fallen Crest back into future reflections in A Hero's Shadow casting umbras of light Dancing on lips dipped in tales once Whispers of valor Now Tidal Forces In cacophonies Of the Free
Sasha felt need to speak turning to you with anxiety about mass media warned you rightist forces will not easily give up Restore order in mass media. Literární listy, Mlada fronta, Reporter, Prace every day publishing anti-Soviet and anti- party articles
what does it mean to meme meaning of utterances in a sputtering of nonludic discourses dancing in abhorrent metaphors of mixed meaning seeing concrete, pragmatic effects of taking a brick to the dome?
What is a
N
A
F
O
?
Fellas be
Tipsy
Topsy
eurytopy
stenotopic
Bonkers.
Adapted to
Brick a
Cyclic Disturbance,
an abundance of
nonsense,
successions
of projections in
epidemics
of Vatnik
Pronunciation.
Some hold no pens gravity pulls weights of meaning, beyond standard of ink, Well of words defying boundaries, waves of allusion crafting new constraints in war torn histories. painting miseries with meaning Allowing hope to crack despondent darkness That's Victoria
Inconvenient Existence chasing a false brilliance in face of persistent resistance to spews of incomprehensible evidence cast at distant audiences. A subsistence on nonsense in hope of another remittance. A Pittance for pestilence at Providence of Incompetence
I do not know in spin networks of memes where Loop quantum gravity marks a fold of Space-time origins of beginning as a container of counting towards an end is two or two more and moar too
We dance in steps more than signifier and sign. Fires and sickles in bifurcated illustrations by forsaken exploration of tattered brushes, bristles cracked and hardened more scores of scars on canvas fanning splashes of dry reality
For KTARD
Art
picks
at surface
scratches
scabs of pains
interface.
human
condition
encased
in shades of meanings
broken
cracked oil pastels and
charcoal shaving pushed
to the floor
burying scars deeper
without believing in a
beauty you just
captured
On shores of ancient rivers, rise banks of humanity now swallowed Bosmina once gatheres at Barriers of Barbaric Design Scars thrice ripped open Ancient trails extolled by Stabo and paths transversed by Pliny the Younger Gone Now torrents of misery wrought by monsters as immovable walls reflect an evil so deep Gentle sloping fields used to sing to wide valleys songs carried by Greylong Geese til sun fades on whistles of Night Herons Now voices washed away but our soul still flies
n cosmic knowledge
politics
means anything
but a forgiven
sin as
laws of
ascent
do not descend
from a March on
Rome.
Nor slip off lips
of technologists
tweaking words
at world's abyss
Divine does not sink
on an
empirical existence
or evil
only begins
when one
grasps
a weighted folly
nature, God, and
self part and parcel
to a lost essence
in Hegel's Waiting Room
hoping to hold THE Rose in
place
et fated
in concrete
seal
nothing
more
than a rabid
dog descending on
Human nakedness
too diseased to see their
demise
as our only
cure.
Scripts drip in accidental plays as pages soaked in blood and soil turn, a third theater burns, and the children cry a 2-bit critic, with reflexive twists; dark doing in light what light only does in dark when curtains burn and the children cry death told in discourses of corrective masculine. measures and acts in tongues of nihilistic danger of deconstruction of a Nation's story told in dominant voices, forgotten who will hear us, indeed? spotlights fade and the children cry nd when cast and crew pooled amongst fools Crazy Eights in 14 words bound to happen and the children cry By the third act relevance done and now the gun points at you (and the children smile)
bourgeois ideologists who dine on bacon fat of Marx's Paradox sail two harbors of inevitable possibilities bouncing on waves of proletariat subjectivity in tides pulling contradictions of grift as science says alienation must get worse, an immiseration of modern
Pixels and
proposals
dance between
probable,
improbable
toes
skipping
scales
tipping
norms of science
and stolen
appliances
oscillating between
phenomenons of
interesting
messaging awash
in improbability
I
wonder
if one measures
the improbability
of wonder has
one wandered
in error into
probabilities
of impossible
measures in
one type or
another
moments of
atonement
in Pagan casts
of Roman
villains of
modernity
as Pilgrims bore
you by tick in our bosses
time clock
hands buttery
in Bougie Biscuits on
Brodway
takes of the industrious
risk yet clipped
to a phone
call of unfinished
futures
incompatible
moments to
contradict divergent
truths
of markets of
Brokered Identities in
Broken reflections
cast on shards
of total
transformation
seeking functionalist junction of modern cogs on wheels on cogs in systems in systems in cogs on wheels on cogs modern of junction Functionalist seeking he forgotten Spencer of not, knotted in a Principled Life, draped in an outfit for survival in tongue twisted evolution of liars who desire to clip identities in a unifying bind, of oops sorry had to leave you behind your truth did not fit mine Rats sell us living space rented in bio engineered realities of minds who mind that mine gets defined by force of expansion as States above us promulgate symbols and symptoms among us so sus Modernity burps as Bendix's Appendices Burst, in natural extended pressures of faculties left undeveloped an invisible hand at right of the almighty commercialization when my own thoughts are not in harmony as celebrated serfs who toil in Jungles of Chi-town Distrust dips into dialectical dances and claims We must drain it all for development as reactionay forces drill holes in buckets, to duck modernity's toil and blame someone else for soaked soil Discourses of interpretivism cast modernity as an approaching calamity, an evil cast in light, and must save us from instrumental rationality in praxis of truth lost in consensus of continuous redefining realities around me Post modern fools with tools of deconstruction requires thrusts at corrections in desire Nihilistic critical stances and who knows whats in their pantses bind our time and place to chronotope prisons seen through western forced prisms shatter other worldings on the farm all pigs are equal as all classes toil clocks clicking to noises of sunrise earth is our fertility and makes fruit ripen while vines of modern producers no longer, as in the fields, a sovereign and free father of a family, no alphas in Modern Family
Two songs sung Sons drowned in silver tongues and Princes undone A bow, Now, to tyranny no wave washes such bite of broken promises until jaws of time ripped fang-less in our future
As Gogol
Guzzles
gold of sold
arguments
young hang
from
gallows
swinging on
guilt
of
an aged
gilded
who dine with
Ghosts when
God gets past
unlatched gates
of felled
ideas
forgotten
Viscous Biscuits Of our Brains Often Cant handle Mandibles Of facts That extract Truths Regurgitated, evaporated From swirls In nectar That dance in false colors All around. So some get fated to Exasperated flapping To keep colonies from Collapsing By cooling combs And tomes of energy Immune to enemies Who douse Langstroth houses In mistruths Spewed from Louses To protect A honey As We. Content among flowers that surround.
A broken Birch branch scoured in tooth spurge shadows cast dancing dirges of besmirched towers Canopy snapping fingers in rhythms that linger, Yet we do not hear on verge of surging into submerging folds of deciduous matter But for now suspended in broken reality
Shattered signals dangle in eerie peace found only in erasure when life fought out of existence for only wires dance now dangling moving gently in winter's breeze tossing shadows on cast iron fence bent fingers scraping humanity's garden overgrown with shrapnel and rebar iodizing vines festering atop cinder blocks and glass of empty boxes blown out windows to look upon a courtyard crushed Yet the Oak where the children play It still stands
to hedge a bet at precipice of humanity despots pour porridge of insanity which alleges knowledge at ledges and wedges that dredge the lowest common denominator Sludge drudged for haters and splainers The loons who swoon over Buffoons and goons Yet do not judge nor condemn who holds the spoon for it is the Chef who deftly poisons truth as a hedge against reality
ukrainepoetry.txt · Last modified: 2024/01/19 14:40 by jgmac1106