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16+ Language Mature Content

Follow the north star to the third world from the left

by LanguidLiger


Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for language and mature content.

Feed the dynastic warlords narcotics from the up and coming,of the new worlds that slipped our minds. you know they had it coming.

Drop guns for the wise men, lets trust them,leave the baby's behind , in a hell that we designed, we can thrust em, into the manger, you know you must be a real stranger, to enterprising twilight in a place that missed the D-major, for a key dropped in first, but that came in last, without guns, germs and steel, it went south fast, from which came generations of plainsman of a different colour, who liked their women with a sickly pallour, but took pack mules for anything with the sheen of another, that matched our vision of the world, covered in a union color, kept the shades open for years of reward, viewed you as a glorious brother, questioned our single shaded lord, shed the same tears, but their progress was halted, by the same fears, by your imperialist greed, and yellowed ivory that you vaulted, that they now need, back a million years, founded on precinct's values and cult fed, to be working garden shears they arent exulted, taking back their ears, a promise that they're all dead, from the telly cures, bought a million fears, they never sought those furors, of dropping aid to a country that cannot use it, stop holding up a mirror, you cant compare that shit.

Axes bounce off rubber wood trees, so you get a beating from a rummy, then they swing back into ghandi, an tactic that is tawdry, an tactic that is quandary from opportune blood line zealots, with to much to say, predators sweep up supplies, lives, their strength to strive from anodyne prey. This insidious setup of sociopathic decay. By which the hapless attendant lets his patient get away, a dead man walking in the chickens coop,with the wonder drug that would have let them all see thousands of new days, he just had to fly the coop, in light of a past that they could look back on and pray, had the scoop and ate it too, but the future that they sat on was stolen by an apathetic traitor. Who stole the human races altruistic nature, and tossed em in a wager, for a fight for here and now, no regard for a time in which they might not even show. Their fellows still tacked to the sun bleached hoe. Lets just see how far this subsistance can go. Indefinate, just like the pounds of pain bestowed, for each ounce of meager mana that they get from crops they sew, 10 pounds of rubber blood money or you dont get to hear, they don't listen anyway so why not toss the tier, a drop of sweat beads on the drivers brow, for every time his charges bow, wasted salt and water, tears, that you keep away from them in a land ,with more vapor than their is space to catch a breath, their like peaceful POW's, To pop a 1 dollar bill into a strangers hand, to get the political juices flowing in a dangerous land.

And the mangers band, an unsuited crew for construction of a house of sand, by a WELL practiced hand,made of detrital derisment from the failures of another, we put up their today, we leave the mothers to their brothers. We need a real solution, idiots absolution, a fool-proof way to pay-off our pride. For the price of the future, we can sign you on tommorow, to go and spread disease to an unascosciated scapegoat credence! And Im amoral? Thats the moral? Be a part of us, and your always working for a laurel laced with quarrel?, your a flame brazed misgreant, on guard from the sinister immigrant, guided in by the violence you discharged,we must retard the spreading of survival, the flames are so tribal a new age of revival, lets just store them in a vial, like the aborigines of sidney, studying kidnees, visceral expieriences with visceral epidemys, we can luagh and shoot skeet, we can offload bullshit on anything we meet, we can refuse to acknowledge that they are anyONE, cause we pack heat, and you brandish it, cause we no how to get shit done with a terror hit, than we hit up the sandswept land, we dont know when to stop, dont know when to pull out, till we get the last drop, if we cant have it know one can, will let it float in the bay and damge control again, with a sun scathed hand, thats been bitten by the mouth its fed, up with its own figurhead, but we dont march through a patriarch set up for the girls to heed, we sling lead at all, we dont need the accused to plead, we claimed a good deed, who wouldn't in 1984, when a nationalists views make the best of our store, sore, with the abrasive loudness of a country too proud, so you tossed a hundred grand to the evil shroud. Please pull it back from the ground, and listen to this sound, the sound of the people not wanting you around.

(\/)

{( ; * ; )}


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13 Reviews


Points: 373
Reviews: 13

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Thu Jul 17, 2014 4:48 am
AliceWonderland wrote a review...



This is in paragraphs, just so you know, and you have it marked as poetry. Purpose? Yes? No? I've never heard of poetry in long paragraphs, before, so, uh, yeah. Just a' wondering. It was interesting to read though.

On more question, you spell color as colour. Are you British? In USA, it's spelled in the former way, unlike the latter that you have. I thought I'd point it out since my English teacher never likes it when I use British speak in my essays.

I'm not much of a poetry person, I don't quite get all that's there to know for most people, but I can help you with you grammar. But considering that you know that you have grammar problems, I might not be much help.

Feed the dynastic warlords narcotics from the up and coming,of the new worlds that slipped our minds. you know they had it coming.


I bet you know what's coming when I do all this, so I won't explain, but just show you the correction. 'Feed the dynamic warlords' narcotics from the up and coming, of the new worlds that slip our minds. You/They know they had it coming' Are you sure that you want to address the audience? At least, at this spot I wouldn't. To me it makes more sense if the audience isn't address quite yet.

Drop guns for the wise men, lets trust em,leave the babys behind , in a hell that we designed, we can thrust em, into the manger, you know you must be a real stranger, to enterprising twilight in a place that missed the D-major, for a key dropped in first, but that came in last, without guns, germs and steel, it went south fast, from which came generations of plainsman of a different colour, who liked their women with a sickly pallour, but took pack mules for anything with the sheen of another, that matched our vision of the world, covered in a union color, kept the shades open for years of reward, viewed you as a glorious brother, questioned our single shaded lord, shed the same tears, but their progress was halted, by the same fears, by your imperialist greed, and yellowed ivory that you vaulted, that they now need, back a million years, founded on precinct's values and cult fed, to be working garden shears they aint exulted, taking back their ears, a promise that they're all dead, from the telly cures, bought a million fears, they never sought those furors, of dropping aid to a country that cannot use it, stop holding up a mirror, you cant compare that shit.


For one, I would definitely suggest breaking these down into many sentences. A paragraph this long shouldn't be only one sentence. Breaking them into lots of sentences, even if the words really do ramble, it makes it seem less of it. When it's all one paragraph, it's too much. Sorry. i don't mean to sound too harsh on that.

For example,

'Drop guns for the wise men, lets trust em,leave the babys behind , in a hell that we designed,'

I would end the sentence there. 'Drop the guns for the wise men, let's trust them, and leave the babies behind in the h**l that we designed.' One more thing, I don't swear, so I'll be leaving out part of the word when you do swear. Okay?

The next sentence then would be, 'we can thrust em, into the manger, you know you must be a real stranger,'

To, 'We can thrust 'em, into the manger; you know you have to be a real stranger.'

To make this seem shorter, I'll just show the rest of the paragraph. In a sense, you can really tell the rambling, like I said, when you don't break it into sentences.

'To enterprising twilight in a place that missed the D-major; for a key dropped in first, but came in last; without guns, germs, and steel, it went south fast, from which came generations of plainsman of a different color. They liked their women with a sickly pallour, but took pack mules for anything with the sheen of another, which matched our vision of the world, covered in a union color. It kept the shades open for years of reward, and viewed you as a glorious brother. It questioned our single shaded lord, who shed the same tears, but their progress was halted. It was by the same fears, by your imperialist greed, and yellowed ivory that you vaulted, that they now need. Back a million years, founded on precinct's values and cult fed, it was to be a working garden shears they hadn't exulted, taking back their ears, a promise from which they're all dead. From the telly cures, bought a million fears. They never sought those furors, to drop aid to a country that cannot use it. Stop holding up a mirror, you can't compare that s**t.'

You get it, yes? And I know that you might be partial to the ain't, but I don't think it adds to it, the message doesn't seem to have that tongue.

As for the next paragraph,

'Axes bounce off rubber wood trees, so you get a beating from a rummy, they swing back into Gandhi. It's tactic that is so tawdry, predators sweep up supplies from their anodyne prey. This insidious setup of sociopathic decay. By which the hapless attendant lets his patient get away; a dead man walking in the chickens coop with the wonder drug that would have let them all see thousands of new days. He just had to fly the coop, in light of a past that they could look back on and pray, had the scoop and ate it too, but the future that they sat on was stolen by an apathetic traitor. They stole the human race's altruistic nature, and tossed 'em in a wager, for a fight for here and now, no regard for a time in which they might not even show. Their fellows still tacked to the sun bleached hoe. Let's just see how far this subsistence can go. Indefinite, just like the pounds of pain bestowed, for each ounce of meager manna that they get from crops they sew. Ten pounds of rubber blood money or you don't get to hear. They don't listen anyway so why not toss the tier? A drop of sweat beads on the drivers brow, for every time his charges bow, he wastes salt and water, tears that you keep away from them in a land. With more vapor than there is space to catch a breath, just like their peaceful POW's. To pop a one dollar bill into a strangers hand, to get the political juices flowing in a dangerous land.'

And finally, the last:

'And the mangers band, an unsuited crew for construction of a house of sand, by a WELL practiced hand, made of detrital derisment from the failures of another. We put up their today! We leave the mothers to their brothers! We need a real solution, an idiot's absolution, a fool-proof way to pay-off our pride. For the price of the future, we can sign you on tommorow, to go and spread disease to an unascosciated scapegoat credence! Am I amoral? That's the moral? Be a part of us, and your always working for a laurel laced with quarrel? You're a flame brazed misgreant, on guard from the sinister immigrant, we must return. The spreading of survival, the flames are so tribal to the new age of revival. Let's just store them in a vial, like the aborigines of Sidney, studying kidnees, visceral expieriences with visceral epidemics. We can luagh and shoot skeet; we can offload b******t on anything we meet; we can refuse to acknowledge that they are anyone. Because we pack heat, and you brandish it, because we know how to get s**t done with a terror hit, then hit up the sand-swept land. We don't know when to stop, we don't know when to pull out 'til we get the last drop. If we cant have it, then on one can. We will let it float in the bay and damge control again, with a sun scathed hand, that's been bitten by the mouth its fed, up with its own figurehead. But we don't march through a patriarch set up for the girls to heed. We sling lead at all. We don't need the accused to plead. We claimed a good deed, who wouldn't in 1984 when a nationalist's views made the best of our store. And with the abrasive loudness of a country too proud, you tossed a hundred grand to the evil shroud. Please pull it back from the ground, and listen to this sound, the sound of the people telling you to leave abound.'

Well, that's my suggestions. This way, you can get those done and have the poetry experts take a look at the more poetic aspect of it all. Though, I did get confused after a while, but that's probably the rambling talking. It can be fixed. I did enjoy it though. It had a nice message and made me think it could be something like a presidential speech.

Best part: (sorry to say, but I liked your misspellings in the foreword under the title, before you click it.) I liked how you said that's there would be grammatical errors and then misspelled just. It made the point. However, you may have just done that by accident.

Another thing. With these sentences in, I would suggest separating the paragraphs into smaller ones so that each one can focus on a bit of it, in which the reader can understand the poem(?) better.

I hope I wasn't too hard your buddy!




LanguidLiger says...


Thanks for the reveiw. Color is another word for flag, such as the union jack that united the british empire. And I am Canadian not british.




Don't go around saying the world owes you a living; the world owes you nothing; it was here first.
— Mark Twain