Saturday, December 14, 2013

Queen of France

bodhisattva

No-one is going to tell me what to do...

religions catholic or mormon all,

she's a buddha child, an enlightened one,

someday she'll recognize,
the foul choice
that had to be made,
this is wake-up,
of racism to remove away.

-----------------
I'm not going to pretty bow her hair,
this is the sixties, and my fate.
My destiny, my little girl,
just like the others? no way.

This is her stand to the get-outs,
the get-outs and go-aways,

she's a buddha child,
it's obvious, what more can I say.

I had to shave her hair off,
they need the fashion show,

a bodhisattva,
child of mine,
the hair grows back fuller
in 2-3 years time,

that's not the point...
delving into the numbers there,

how many, persons, that stop and stare.
"what is this... a look at me, of a child's dare."

"what's wrong with that kid,
is it a girl or a boy.",

this is way before chem have tos
detailing their broken content,
negatives of radiations
arrowed and went.

bitterment swirls,
years extra at her once pretty head.

"What an eyesore",
retch-out the people...
on-sight... bayonets pointed there,
what an eye sore,
get her out of here.


Mad at her,
mad at her... everyone young and old,
how do kids even play with her,
is she a birl?

Angry accounting, numbers on the rise,
higher and higher,
angry mountains in the open confides,
people, speaking out,
from their dark thoughts unshrewed,

disbeautied,
"she's unpleasant and ugly in my eyes.",

what a mud throw, for them to find,
a sacrificial,...
of their internal hatreds,
one day, known in their own discovery time.

The vengeance plays on the backthrow there,
"I still hate that little 3 year old,
ruined my dollhouse..my dollhouse version of society.
we the people, prefer to live by....a constitution code.

"there should be laws,
against what damage I had to behold,
laws to stop...
any ugly boy-girl baldy being near me."

Dissatisfied?
hates of a child,
not a black or a white,
hates of a child.

Mean people,
generalizing wars at a child with their rights.

"Dollhouse, dollhouse,
I need a dollhouse society just to breathe.

That was so ugly,
I live in the constance of materials wealth to re-cloak my needs."

Property market riser, it's her fault from our displease.
----------------
One day, goes into another, and another day shines,
"she will always be hated, lambed-into their plate."

it was only a bodhisattva,
maybe they over-reacted.

internal mountains of rocks,
ready on the hurl,
easy into hates of a find,

a journeys interrupt,
a disquiet of the eyes,
deeper into that over-memorize,
a child, a child to despise.

tolerations' of extra, did they gain a few?
Toleration's extra...
a black or a chinois, did they hire a few?
Tolerate extra, women of ethnic, wearing those funny gowns?
tolerations easy, without a dis-smile or a pretend found.

"the child was worse.
I'm, the meanest racist to her."

...

Lighten up people,
sorry about the eyesore,
my ugly boy-girl, gave out to you there,


How else to pound out and innersperse,
"humans into toleration."
this is not a super-futured, book
fancied in the dunes of the overdo,


it's about living it,
and tolerating others in the instant now,
colors of others and ethnics,
removing disdains and spite.

face it, you hate her more... than the black with no white.
.....
as sirens spiral, in those blue-red lights.

Friday, December 13, 2013

Queen of France

metal flowers

Objects of philosophical dominance.

I was gonna deal with the prop objects of my fathers
repertoire of displayed behaviourism,
but after a while, that turns me into a snitch.


The snitch, the possible listing of accruant objects,
wanting as info a policement headquarters,
completely indoors...
rather than the drive-by fun, they may know of,
of a reliced car or truck here and there,
just dumping garbage.

They tempt on, the tell of the trade mechanism weapon.


What a decadent bunch of men
who entertain life,
through the direct handling
of their self-defensive protective paraphenalia,
objects entertained...from the dawn of time.

A romance with protectionism,
for him was there, into elements?
we're only growing up a new feng shui way.
its called moderization,
and I guess he supports constructionism.

A cost there? and why so fast,
why support the glass ceilings all the way to everlast.

A diehard do-goody,
who's the churchboy now?

Losing respect here,
He's the puppet,
of the oversaint...
corporate cow of aquaint.


doomslayers work in other ways also,
as I'm hippin on the hip-hop on,
jumpin from stair to stair,
reggin' in, on quiet spoken out declare,
multiply...
gonna learn to multiply there.

danger, risked-in
multiplication numbers
way too high
numbers too serious,
edging in as the irs
or some gambler recall
of a pay-up there.

deep punching that wall?
that's one of those tells,
its a stop for me,
just day trading, found an emmo trader.
drop it back... your just a little girl
this is not mathematics around me-ever.

Never for you,
maths do not a represent numbers
free to you.
free, free at last, martin chimes in,
they always have it worse,
its blacks first,

stand down, equal rights to women,
it's not an ever to go on, not for you,
it his self-defense
his rights to continue to spur the beast.

Do I need a second sight in,
secret love to a table on the tiny,
gracing quiet into the study of school,
It was a pretty table,
light oak, a great shape,
perfect to learn from,
everyday and afterschool.

gone in sixty seconds, yeah.
calm out and be a weaver,
weave the woves
on the in and the out,

yeah I guess so,
who needs old math,
or tables that wear calculators.

I could of written out my report card there and then,
b-, c+, with despairs of a d thrown in.

no way to that table, not ever,
not even a hand-me down pen.

pretty much gone, probably the last in its design,
let's mourn the table,
I'm, going eco,
yeah I guess so, no passive way?
retaliative eco...
what kinda flower is that way?

A new business idea, metal flowers,
perhaps not a great seller,
cameras eye spyin...
buyers of their blings and blatts.  

respect your father, everyone.
just get out of here,
he doesn't deserve your red-haired
wordy weapons of overdo.
just cook and feed the cat.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Queen of France

grenade in the room

back to the child fears in,

whose was worse,


childhood to me or childhood to you?


sleep sleep away quiet in the night,

a grenade , a gift from father,

window-silled each and everyday,

sleep sleep quiet in the night,
don't let a cat in there
to let it roll away.

now that's a good boy
what a room to love,
his tiny ammo shop
pinned-in and fully loaded
everyday.


what a declarant to britain,
as his owner, even in the night.


what a man I found,
something tells me
they really didn't want you.

whose was worse,
childhood to me or childhood to you?

table hacking or grenades?