Excerpt for One Hundred Poems, Volume X by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

One Hundred Poems

Volume X

Tuomas Vainio

One Hundred Poems, Volume X. Copyright © 2017 Tuomas Vainio.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without a written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact the author at Author.Contact.Tuomas.Vainio@gmail.com.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Tuomas Vainio at Smashwords

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Discover other titles by Tuomas Vainio:

Heart of Ceres (Science Fiction)

One Hundred Poems Vol I-IX (Poetry)

Skull of Oghren (Fantasy)

Table of Contents

Wyrmslayer (For a fantasy novel)
The Scuffle of Berkeley
Clock ticks away (For a novel, me thinks.)
A dog with a wolf's tail
Why have early elections?

How to beat a black block
A talk with someone I knew
First hedgehog of the year
French Elections

Something quick
Dancing upon a knife's edge
No jokes allowed
A game of '4d-chess'
Elegy of our modern politics

Guardians of the… vol. II
A fox in the dark (For a fantasy novel)
A nation state
Two more days
It feels like summer

Male chicken holster
This Maverick Outsider of France
Continental elections
Eurovision song contest nonsense
Oh dear…

Free Kekistan
Steps Towards Tyranny
Death of a former president
The false dreams of utopia
Who are you (For a science fiction novel)

Happy days…
Every single 'peaceful' 'feminist' 'protest'
Where is the evidence
Something simple…

Cloudy day, not much to say
Kiss the sky
“Carry on as usual”
A day without an end

Why use hacks?
A dead horse
Quick time events do not make a game
Pierce the sky (For a science fiction novel)
Blocked by Trump

Named after you
Give me a topic
How to 'cure' climate change sceptics
Three line thoughts
Poisoning pigeons in the park...

I do not know if this can be said more clearer…
A blue plate shattered
Nonsensical documents
Headache of a god of the sun
There lies some mud

Communists against fox hunters
Words think and believe
Something good
And #GamerGate pops up again…
A result of local political theatre

Oppression Olympics
What to say…
Call of Meh, WW2
Where darkness goes… (For a science fiction novel)
What would a lizardman say

Where would you run? (For a fantasy novel)
I cannot even

The line that creates monsters (For a science fiction novel)
A poem a poem…
History repeated…
Ain't so great today
Caesar play

There is bravery and suicide
Star Trek Discovery – trailer thoughts
China and Germany: brothers against internet anonymity
Eh… No fucks given today…
The quality falls

Ye gods have mercy on me…
For a mere wrestling gif
Gardener’s plight (For a fantasy novel)
Nothing Burger
A day in the sun

I could laugh
Antifa are terrorists
The end of superhero films
Everything for everyone!
A pile of rubble once known as Mosul

Mosquitoes on my legs
Humans, apes, and donkeys
A fate most horrible (For a fantasy novel)
Five foot four, there we go
13th Doctor Who

Cool summer
Got a problem, look into the mirror
Winter is coming
99 endings…

Wyrmslayer (For a fantasy novel)

Raise your shield,

Keep your head concealed,

Wait for the fury of fire to be sealed,

Then point onwards with the blade you wield,

And you must at all times keep your eyes well peeled,

Because against those fangs all suits of tin are easily unsealed,

You must endure until the chance for a killing blow is finally revealed.

The Scuffle of Berkeley

The sight of police hiding in their cars,

Is something that should give anyone a pause,

They cannot be said to serve, protect or uphold laws,

Such cowardice and failure of duty deserves no applause,

They should have stood in a line even if that shakes their jaws.

As for the use of smoke bombs: pay some heed to the wind,

Because if it is not directly blowing at your behind,

A bomb thrown in front will turn you blind,

And it works exactly as designed,

No need for a mastermind.

And here is a moment of silence,

For a scene that might become timeless,

A woman who longed 100 scalps by violence,

Discovered that her victims were not in compliance,

And acts of self defence do not require or need a license.

This really shows why political violence is a terrible idea,

It has that tendency to be as contagious as diarrhoea,

And sting much worse than your gonorrhoea,

It will not stop with a mere Ave Maria,

Your pants are stained by urea.

Violence is wrong without a doubt,

But part of me smiles to see antifa driven out,

Because violence is all they seem to be able to spout,

I hope response in kind makes them reconsider acts they flout,

That this is the only response that their own actions will bring about.

Clock ticks away (For a novel, me thinks.)

Today I watch clock tick away,

As hours turn towards end of the day,

I am left wonder if there is anything to say,

How with a moment all hopes and dreams betray,

And there is nothing left to grant any allay,

You just watch how clock ticks away,

Unable to stop the time of day.

A dog with a wolf's tail

A dog with a wolf's tail,

The length is of the same scale,

And side from side it is used as a flail,

Thus bangs and clangs follow its hasty trail,

Sight of it makes me laugh so much I could wail,

It looks like such a nice puppy and yet it will assail,

So watch out for this silly, silly dog with a wolf's tail.

Why have early elections?

No one can claim to know future and exact directions,

Nor even the public's current objections,

So why have early elections?

Why make this gamble,

Risk seeing all you have unscramble,

When you could proceed with your current shamble?

It can only make sense if one side stands on an absolute,

And to oppose the other claims something moot,

Seats will be lost as if robbed by a brute.

You might loathe the opposing side,

But when they stand in right it is hard to be snide,

And thus they will earn that vote even if it hurts your pride.

There are issues that transcend politics as usual,

And to ignore those would be delusional,

An act fitting for a mere juvenile.

One of the sides is truly weak,

They live inside a bubble so to speak,

From outside their outcome appear oblique.

And that reveals why you have these early elections,

You strike before they can make corrections,

So you can snuff out their objections.


No end in sight to how long these clouds have bled,

There are so many things I should have read,

The rain drops keep falling on my head,

With all these things that people said,

I wonder if this right path to tread,

But strangely there is no dread,

It is just more lies to shred,

Even if faces turn to red,

I will pull this thread,

With my thickhead.

How to beat a black block

> Why do you run away to yawn,

> Wait, is that the dawn?

> What happened to our plans drawn,

> Why are you not pressing on?

> Look, there are some Nazis to take on,

> But where has our night gone?

Cowardice and lack of unity is what lies at anarchist's chest,

They break and falter if they are slightly stressed,

And it is not hard to make them distressed,

If you can separate one from the rest,

No punch, just a wrestling contest,

You can see his mask undressed,

And if need be sit on his chest,

Until polices comes to arrest.

A talk with someone I knew

Life might not go as you though it would,

You might wake up with nothing good,

See decades wasted upon falsehood,

How it didn't matter if you stood,

And you never did what you should,

So little to expect from your adulthood,

A fate of a mere piece of driftwood,

And far too bent to be any good.

But there is something that makes you smile,

You will find it even if it takes a while,

It will be worth whatever the mile,

You will see how your life is not vile,

That best days were not erstwhile.

As for those trying to stand in your way,

Often they are without a thing to say,

You are not forced to carry their weigh,

Just keep chasing for that shining ray.

First hedgehog of the year

I saw the first hedgehog of the year,

It wobbled onwards without any fear,

Rolled on the street as a spiky sphere,

Winter is over if hedgehogs show rear,

A thing people say in exchange of beer,

So let us celebrate this sight to appear,

Raise a bottle and give a long cheer,

Because this sign makes it clear!

French Elections

The choice between Marie Antoinette and Jeanne d'Arc,

Is like that of Emmanuel Macron and Marine le Pen.

The interests of cake eating poncy French aristocrats,

Are now against people long treated no better than rats,

And somehow they think the victory lies in their hats,

After all, how could rats side against rich fat cats?

The battle is not yet won nor has it begun,

And until these elections are done,

Who knows who has won?

Something quick

Something quick,

With a rhyme to stick,

As fake as cheap lipstick,

It doesn't matter if it is thick,

I should already know the trick,

As long as my keyboard does click,

This effort is as easy as summer picnic,

Like fighting against ants with a toothpick,

And perhaps this might qualify me as a lunatic.

Dancing upon a knife's edge

The left is dancing upon a knife's edge,

For years they have wobbled over the ledge,

Kept repeating all the good things in their pledge,

And yet the reality has refused their attempts to wedge.

They have taken for themselves the old dreams of global utopia,

Where they shall rule all from States to China and Ethiopia,

They soldier onwards regardless of symptoms of myopia,

Otherwise they would see that what awaits is dystopia.

They are born and raised behind closed garden walls,

It is as if life of others has never even crossed their eyeballs,

Sheltered dulled minds from a lack of experience with life's pitfalls,

They think to save everyone else without looking beyond their own halls.

They have kept moving onwards step by step by thousand pairs of different legs,

Brainwashed others into rotten ideologies polished to look like golden eggs,

Always bringing new twists to old lies that form the generational dregs,

And all it brings forth is firing squads and people without heads.

Today is another day that they stand upon a knife's edge,

The heels of their fine leather shoes are finally starting to wedge,

It is just a little prick of blood and all of them collapse beyond the ledge,

Because the knife rests on everyone else's neck and who'd trust an empty pledge?

No jokes allowed

It seems no jokes are allowed,

A tweet vanished before an angry crowd,

A pointless effort to appease those who scream aloud,

So how could anyone claim to feel proud,

If they are constantly cowed,

Simply stuck inside this noxious cloud,

So thick and murky it could almost be ploughed,

Yet no manner of plant can be sowed,

Offence is like a storm cloud,

The only past time in a room overcrowd,

Where no joke is ever understood and that is vowed.

A game of '4d-chess'

Here we find ourselves yet again,

I wish I could offer you surprise to feign,

But I do not think I have a loyal ankle to sprain,

Thus far he is just as I thought in the back of my brain,

A man who bends wherever to make some gain,

Without any political ideology to strain,

His words are not his own chain,

And all that should be plain,

Like tracks of a train.

But like moths to a flame,

Some continue barrages to defame,

While others present 4d-chess as the frame,

Both sides think the other is like blind taking aim,

All of them have hopes of acquiring acclaim,

And they are all beasts to keep tame,

By a man with just a name,

In a game of shame.

How would you fight,

Underneath that spotlight,

What would the people write,

If the see how you lack real might,

Would you take the first chance to flight,

Or would keep going at it despite,

Not stopping for the contrite,

If you can push a sleight,

For a single right,

Even if trite?

This is the groove,

Seek another counter move,

There are some things I disapprove,

But there is space to move,

He can still improve,

A chess move.

Elegy of our modern politics

They need an enemy.

Something of heresy,

A source of entropy,

And one of density,

Marked by tendency,

In their minds tenancy,

Weak to their weaponry,

To grant them revelry,

And fight endlessly,

No end to enmity,

Of a familiar recipe,

A foe surely grants clarity,

And purpose ever so heavenly,

An excuse for their any act of felony,

Even as a mere response to imaginary leprosy,

They truly long and desire for an enemy,

When all they need is some therapy,

And help for a new identity,

One born of integrity,

Free of obscenity,

Focused upon necessity,

Rather than forced cranial vasectomy,

And thus they alone are their own worst enemy,

One that they need to acknowledge ever so desperately,

If they wish for more than a forgotten legacy,

Because their fall continues steadily,

I note down with solemnity,

While I watch helplessly,

How reality turned parody,

Waiting to hear the final melody,

So that I could write down one last elegy…

Guardians of the… vol. II

By now, it has already been a few days since I saw it,

And to me Drax would be the only reason to give another sit,

Somehow he stood out the most I am forced to admit,

It does not mean the others were somehow unfit,

I just loved every time they gave him a skit.

There was colours action and what not,

With that same old space opera plot,

Worth a glance if that's your spot.

A fox in the dark (For a fantasy novel)

Such a thin lanky creature,

With barely a white tail tip as a feature,

In the dark there is no heeding words of a preacher,

The skills to survive were not granted by just any old teacher,

Those were learned while running from the brooms of the loudest screecher.

A nation state

I do not care for the colour of your skin,

I do not even care for the faith you believe in,

If and only if, you are willing to raise up your chin,

And accept this burden of maintaining all that has been,

So that all our offspring have a better place to begin,

Where survival does not equate to acts of sin,

A place that they can speak of with a grin.

Two more days

Two ways,

Two more days.

Before a grand blaze,

A sight to surely amaze.

Either way will result in a raze,

Bring change with a mark that stays.

Union's integration will move to the next phase,

Or people of a nation stand ready to move without haze.

This is not the moment you can avert or turn your gaze,

You must see what happens with light's last rays.

Will there be any fields left to graze,

If integration brings forth its blaze.

Or will this union finally abrase,

Without any further delays.

It is just two more days,

And the answer stays.

Two more days,

Two ways.

It feels like summer

Underneath that warm glare,

It is less clothes people wear,

And overnight it is not bare,

Green grass sprouts like hair,

Sky so blue it might be rare,

By river are the first that dare,

And look how fat is that hare,

A taste of summer is in the air,

Even a fool would call this day fair,

And then the street dust gives me a tear.

Male chicken holster

How I loathe this never ending outrage over jokes,

The atmosphere is like embers waiting for a few stokes,

Whether something makes you laugh or not is enough folks.

Who in their right mind cares of some male chicken holster,

It should not be anyone's ideological soap box to bolster,

You shouldn't twist a cudgel out of work of a pollster.

The way the left reacts is so predictable it is chronic,

But one aspect of this whole incident lingers utterly ironic,

The right latched on that initial burst to take down a man iconic.

The two sides of both extremes have joined hands in endeavour,

This partisan comedian once dished ridicule that was clever,

And his side turns its back for virtue signalling pleasure.

How the mighty fell to a mere male chicken holster…

This Maverick Outsider of France

How could anyone informed call this man a maverick outsider,

He comes with establishment history and their backing,

He is not some fly caught in the web of a spider,

Establishment support is the only thing he is not lacking,

All his life he has suckled the establishment just like any insider.

Thus there is nothing new to expect from him,

There is no solutions that he could even suggest to bring,

Even as the elected leader he requires a permission to every whim,

No more than a mindless puppet made to stand as the king,

While time sees the people grow ever more grim.

But even as I write these lines the vote has not been fully counted,

Who knows if there is a surprise waiting on the morning,

A plethora of demands to have them recounted,

Whatever happens there is little reason for any mourning,

Many of the problems France faces today are not easily unmounted.

It is just a matter of time until the next terrorist attack,

And perhaps for a while longer it is the same excuses they sing,

But eventually majority will hear it as no more than an empty quack,

And that is the day the establishment has very little left to cling,

Good luck finding a new puppet to take the power back.

But a loss is a loss and I send my regards to Merkel's Vichy France,

Some celebrate a victory over accusations of nebulous racism,

Yet this loss is not as devastating upon that first glance,

Because the voting tendencies have revealed a growing schism,

Five years and the poor and the young have more numbers to advance.

Thus perhaps EU will decide against their right to vote,

Who would need a vote when you have bureaucrat’s altruism,

And thus they are walking on the path that ends at aristocrat's throat,

Because on their path lies no space for any form of liberalism,

And thus sixth republic is what history books will quote.

> I listened how some chanted the words: liberté, egalité, fraternité,

> Perhaps they were dyslexic and instead meant: captivité, hiérarchie, inimitié.

Continental elections

This a matter of a conflict between just two,

There is easily one for every finger within your view,

Enough to pick and choose like a brand new shoe,

With a portion that only hears calls of tribalism ring true,

To them the alternatives just appear like a pile of goo,

And thus even with strong winds you got a mixed bag stew,

Something that might prove to be more difficult to chew,

At least if you presume that past decades simply repeat on lieu.

> A part of me almost feels sorry for our pink macaroon.

> Tomorrow, have some new topics.

Eurovision song contest nonsense

If the victory is behind a bridge never crossed,

The chances of winning refuse to defrost,

And I wouldn't change it at any cost,

Yes, it seems my country has lost,

To works no more than exhaust,

As songs face this holocaust,

Our blackbird was tossed,

So what quality was embossed,

With this nonsense obviously low-cost?

> I actually liked that song though

Oh dear…

I think I finally know what to write next,

How to fill a novel with some text,

And I almost feel like hexed,

Free of what once vexed,

Hear this roar of rex!

Free Kekistan

Why does their way of life meet such suppression,

Why do public meetings result in normie aggression,

Why equal rights for all is such unpalatable concession,

And today all our lives are defined by one crucial question,

How can we end the hundred centuries of Kekistani oppression?

They are a great people without a land to call as their own,

And with sticks and stones they are forced to fall prone,

But it will never be enough to break their backbone,

And they see how that alone shakes your throne,

It is a singular truth that shall be made known.

One day,

One glorious day,

There will be a free Kekistan.

Steps Towards Tyranny

It is always a step at a time,

Without a bell to chime,

It spreads like slime,

A little short of a crime,

It taints everything in grime,

Until rights are not worth a dime,

The walls appear impossible to climb,

A struggle longer than your prime,

For mere a glimpse of daytime,

You could start at any time,

Or drown in the slime,

So flip that dime,

Even if it is made a crime,

The only way out of this pit is to climb.

Today I saw more news about EU integration,

How good intentions lead to damnation,

Little steps to military foundation,

Ensure tyranny's gestation,

Freedom's cremation.

Death of a former president

> He was a man who took a nation out of the shadow of the Soviet Union,

> And guided it right underneath the crushing feet of the European Union.

Some take moments of silence to remember a great man,

Or sing praise to achievements they consider grand,

But he made decisions where our currents problems began,

And while a product of his time as far as I understand,

I wish that I could ask if things today are according to his plan,

And ask if he feels any quilt for where we have to stand.

The false dreams of utopia

The people in favour of the European Union are empty shells,

Their spirits can only exists within barren prison cells,

A place where they only hear the ring of bells,

As they marinade in their own smells,

Their minds blind to the hells,

And they hear no tells,

As misery swells.

This shell borne out of false utopian dreams is all they are,

Thus they cannot participate in an intellectual spar,

Because their shell cannot withstand a scar,

Thus they are against all things par,

And shout from a distant star.

Thus whatever they build is more than a house of cards,

A gust of wind will one day slip past their guards,

And spread everything across many yards.

All I hope is that the toll is not calculated in millions.

Who are you (For a science fiction novel)

Who are you,

What is it that you do,

Have you heard anything new,

Underneath this sky of mine so blue?

Happy days…

Here I am dancing in my room,

With curtains pulled it is midday gloom,

A fleeting moment without sensation of doom,

The warmth has made the cherry blossoms bloom,

Not a worry in the world – or so I just presume,

Blind to whatever horror that might loom,

As I keep dancing inside my room,

With new songs to consume,

Music just goes abloom,

None are bothered I assume,

At least I heard no broom go boom,

And even if I had spirits would not entomb,

As even someone dead inside still dances to exhume.

Every single 'peaceful' 'feminist' 'protest'

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time,

Buzzword, nonsense, hokum, rhyme,

We came here to waste your time...

Where is the evidence

How about if you actually presented a single piece of evidence,

Rather than yet another unknown source as reference,

You wouldn't need pretence of eminence.

But without any evidence,

All your claims carry no reverence,

Even if you can claim to lie out of benevolence,

Trust is the branch you sit on and it is not immune to severance,

So how about if you just gaze into the mirror and reconsider your decadence?

What you are doing now is an insult to a common moron's intelligence,

And every time you do it there is just a little bit less resonance,

All the lies you spin come without a drop of elegance,

And day by day those are of lower relevance,

But you are blinded by your arrogance,

If only you had some evidence,

You would see deference.

But without evidence,

The only sensation is petulance,

I cannot help but see your malevolence,

And hope you keep seeking death by severance,

I know that there is no easy cure with blind arrogance,

Perhaps this is the only way this situation creates beneficence,

Because now you are truly unfit to hold the past position of eminence,

This focus on the most petty things imaginable only leads to your irrelevance,

Thus your lack of any and all evidence leads to a point without a way of deliverance.

So, once again, where is the evidence?

Something simple…

I live for words,

Sang by the little birds,

That hop around in their herds.

I live to see,

A sight with no fee,

The sprout of leaves on a tree.

I live here,

Until I disappear,

To hear some of Shakespeare.

I cry now,

Don't know how,

Milk is made without a cow.

I'm lost,

Mind in frost,

And daily poem is crossed.


Could you give me a smile,

Because you look rather vile,

Terrifying even to a crocodile,

And I am not being juvenile,

A frown does not beguile,

So give me your smile,

Just for a little while,

Perhaps it is a style,

That carries a mile,

So – a little smile?

My – it looks fine!


A ladybug stopped at my hand,

While on a journey to a distant land,

The things it had seen were truly grand,

But even if the things went just as planned,

Why is it that everything now seems so bland,

Like I would have lost all reasons to stand,

Yet there is that ladybug upon my hand,

While sun rises on this strange land,

The memories are truly grand.

Cloudy day, not much to say

Gently moved by a breeze slow,

The clouds above hang so low,

Arrived with a weight to bestow,

With a promise of rain long ago,

And so shrieks the lonely crow,

Before the thousand drops mow,

Branding everything with a glow,

Until there is none left to borrow,

But that faint mirage seen below.

Kiss the sky

Oh my darling,

The distance ain't worth snarling,

If you know gravity,

There is no need for sorrow's depravity,

What is thrown in an arc,

Will always land exactly on its intended mark,

Therefore I shall kiss the sky,

No matter how far you are – a kiss with wings will fly.

Carry on as usual”

> “Carry on as usual”,

An advice that is truly delusional,

It will not stop heartache from turning into hate,

Nor will you help anyone by preventing any and all debate.

There are many things that could be done with this problem,

Before the last pretenders of empathy grow numb,

There are ways to avoid a greater disaster,

Power in hands of a wrong master.

There is a pattern if you just count to eight,

And what it reveals are problems of a specific faith,

You could present a choice between apostasy and leaving,

It is not exactly a violation of freedom of religion worth grieving.

The other end of these scales is weighted down by hate's thumb,

Therefore demands for an eye for an eye are to come,

With grief and hate it is all that they will want,

Your ignorance of reality is just a taunt.

Thus you give them just a single year,

Become apostate or leave the choice is clear,

If they truly desire to drink gallons of camel's piss,

This is no more a place where they can acquire that bliss.

And at the end of the year you implement a specific tax,

A burden of additional quarter upon their backs,

They either become an apostate or leave,

Just to acquire financial reprieve.

Five years and the problem is solved,

With very little forced rounding up involved,

Or you wait for the implementation of a final solution,

But ethnic cleansing does not have as easy moral absolution.

A day without an end

Even if the sun doesn't set,

You have no reason to sweat,

In fact it is something of an asset,

It bodes you no strange form of threat,

So enjoy this light paid as past winter's debt,

And old white moon is the only companion you get,

You could not catch a sight of a lone star even with the largest net.

Why use hacks?

Why do people cheat in an online game,

The only thing it brings is a claim of shame,

It was not your skills that gave victory a name,

You do not posses skills to make opponents tame,

All you have used is unfair advantage to see and aim,

There is no challenge, no joy, just the click of the same,

A spineless snowflake melting to the mere sight of flame,

Day in and day out – and at end of it you only remain lame,

Deep down you know this even if you stand in a hall of fame.

A dead horse

Over the shoulder a large mallet goes,

Before another swing flings towards toes,

There once was a dead horse below the nose,

But it is not an image that instantly shows,

How long this goes on – who knows,

In a way it has become prose,

Like some dried up rose,

Even without a thing to expose,

They must keep doing it just to oppose,

And on and on this charade goes,

Until someone picks up a hose,

And sees this sad splatter dispose,

Regardless of objection some throws,

There is dead horse on their own clothes.

Quick time events do not make a game

Perhaps the story is all that you need,

But if you press a button to proceed,

It is not really that much of a deed,

This is one narrow bridge indeed,

There is not much left to bleed,

If the flaws sprout like weed,

What case can you plead,

Without a corner seed,

A game to play?

Pierce the sky (For a science fiction novel)

You are a speck of dust on a dead rock,

There is nowhere else you can walk,

All you can do now is to knock,

Steal that rocket in the dock,

Set fire to your own sock,

See faces twist in shock,

Become legend to talk,

A sight others gawk,

In a turn of a clock.

Go, pierce the sky.

Blocked by Trump

Part of me feels inclined to condemn,

While the rest of me just laughs at this gem,

No more verified liberals sprouting at tweet stem,

A chance for something more interesting than phlegm.

Some will treat all of this as a badge of honour I suppose,

But most seem to be upset and stomping their toes,

While reaching out for new intellectual lows,

Their tears spew forth as if from a hose.

Named after you

If you were named June,

I do not think you can be prune,

Or repeat a tune of melancholic bassoon,

There is month named after you and it is a boon.

All I have named after me is some silly old bridge,

It lies just over there beyond the nearby ridge,

You have to enjoy the smallest smidge,

If you ever face an empty fridge!

Give me a topic

Give me a topic,

Like a tree from the tropic,

Or maybe something microscopic,

Perhaps a reason to become philanthropic,

Or gaze towards the stars for a destination telescopic,

It does not really matter as long as you just give me a poem topic.

> And done for today… >_>

How to 'cure' climate change sceptics

> How about you make your raw data public?

This way anyone could hire a statistician to analyse the data,

It could be labelled as the global trade of former peseta,

Or perhaps as the number of observations of cicada,

It ensures that results aren't shaped by a dogma,

And that we get correct trend from the data.

> How about you actually address the given criticism?

Not too long ago I read how how you use data from ships,

The sight of white sails is no more the word upon lips,

As the roar of engines brought forth their eclipse,

Can you claim the produced heat never slips,

And cause water temperature to ellipse?

> How about what nations actually follow these global treaties?

A mere name on a paper is no more than a polite sentiment,

Has anyone ever approached any past goal and estimate,

For a cynic this is enough to produce presentiment,

Which nations have done something definite,

Beyond partaking an act of beguilement?

> And generally just etc

Three line thoughts

I should go buy some oranges,

Amount fit for legendary Herakles,

And eat them all as 13th of his miracles.

How can they be so colossally stupid,

It is as if their brains became fluid,

A very stern refusal to be lucid.

The sun is shining a bit more,

There must be a reason to be sore,

And perpetually upset within your core.

We are now living a period of real chaos,

Non can hide behind being famous,

For next day they are heinous.

They have reached a hyperbole,

So severe they have fallen of the tree,

And now crocodile tears are shed as a plea.

I think I would rather have censored internet,

Than live underneath authoritarian threat,

Less mouldy end of the same baguette.

This is actually rather fun thing to do,

Have random thoughts a chance to spew,

And just see what manages to come through.

Anyhow I think I will call this done for today,

As I feel tired with nothing more to say,

Because tomorrow it goes away.

Poisoning pigeons in the park...


Here is one song,

With some lyrics quite apt.

It could be swung as some blunt blow,

Because our world is all wrong,

And we seem trapped.

It is what we should not allow,

But already another incident has come along,

Because the source of this human monstrousness is not sapped.

We are the pigeons in that song,

So let us just sing along,

Gather up in a throng,

The end won't take long,

These cyanide peanuts are strong.

I do not know if this can be said more clearer…

Ramadan is here, and suffering is here,

It is just life's skittles to cause death and fear,

I think the deadliest time of the year is Ramadan,

I do, don't you, 'course you do,

But there is one thing that makes Ramadan complete for me,

And makes every evening after prayers a treat for me…

All the world seems in tune,

On a Ramadan afternoon,

When we're killing infidels during Ramadan,

Every evening you'll see,

Another chap just like me,

As we slaughter and main infidels in the name of Allah!

They never see us coming, they cannot run or hide,

They do not even admit we are killing them like cyanide,

Oh the crescent moon is shining bright,

Everything seems all right,

When we slaughter and main during Ramadan!


We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety,
In the infidel society,
With our games,
They call it impiety,
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety of unpleasant names,
But it's not against our religion,
To want to dispose an infidel like some pigeon.

So if this evening you're free,

Why don't you come with me,

And we'll maim and slaughter for Allah,

And maybe we'll even do,

Some Sikh or a Jew,

While we are maiming and slaughtering during Ramadan!

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment.

Except for the few we take home for enslavement,

My pulse will be quickening,

With each violent act more sickening,

We force upon an innocent infidel,

It just takes a truck or a knife,

To main and slaughter infidels for Allah!

A blue plate shattered

My old a blue plate shattered,

When my jar of dill saw it battered,

And it is strange how much it mattered,

Since I'm distraught to see pieces scattered,

How that sound harrowed and clattered,

Underneath water tab that pattered,

Danced with pieces shattered.

Nonsensical documents

Another 'leaked' document about Russian hacking,

And it is funny how actual evidence is lacking,

But that won't stop parties from attacking,

Or how 'journalists' deserve sacking,

For allowing such easy tracking,

To give 'a leaker' a smacking.

Therefore I guess there is another goal piggybacking,

A warning for those considering 'ransacking',

Releasing something worth whacking,

That you will have no backing,

They'll be backtracking,

Your meatpacking.

It is sad how I could something far more convincing…

Headache of a god of the sun

Now, I have a colossal headache,

It wormed its way like a snake,

And soon rain clouds shall break,

Heavy drops will see rooftops shake,

Wash over when only a few are awake,

Thus I cannot catch a single break,

Or at least an offering of a cake,

Possibly a well done steak,

So sun wouldn't forsake…

There lies some mud

There lies some mud,

Perhaps a flower will bud,

But the seed might also be dud,

Thus your expectations might thud,

Do you even understand game of stud?

Perhaps I should be interested in this thing,

See how they raise their axe to swing,

Try dethrone the American king,

But their knees lack spring,

So it is mud they sling.

I would be little shocked,

If the narratives were rocked,

I cannot think either side knocked,

Ideological forts with escape blocked,

Too late to turn with their distance walked.

Thus I expect nothing more than the same,

Yet another barrage fired without aim,

They just wish to fan the flame,

Perhaps gain a little name,

As they shout: shame!

I see this as tit for tat,

A game between cat and rat,

Both immobile from being so fat,

And it is their own chests that they pat,

As if their wobble amounted to brave combat.

> I doubt nothing comes out of this

> It is just same old status quo

> No end to this nonsense

Communists against fox hunters

I suppose this sums up the election,

Neither side truly deserved any affection,

And this failure deserves some inspection,

Some of that good old honest reflection,

The party leaders are up for dissection,

One of them can only face dejection,

While the other has cult protection,

The failure was of her direction,

Hubris cost parliament section,

And creates a doubt infection,

How to maintain collection,

With failure's perfection?

If everything comes in pieces,

How good is your political adhesive,

And can you maintain a line that is cohesive?

Words think and believe

> You may believe it,

> But it is not what you think.

> You may think it,

> But it is not what you believe.

Now this is one curious thing,

It is the same thing these fellows sing,

Yet the meaning comes with a broken string,

Unless the words get swapped with one fast swing.

Thus in a way words do matter,

But this is no reason to see someone flatter,

Because any smart fellow understands this with chatter.

Whether you think or believe,

Someone else's preference is not any attempt to deceive.

And I guess that's about that.

Something good

There must be something good,

Underneath this cloudy hood,

And wind that twists the wood,

It will appear just as it should,

Rain clears away the falsehood,

So just wait if you just could.

> Hmn

There is always something good,

Lurking underneath a disaster's hood,

Lost leg can be replace by a piece of wood,

Focus upon what none would but you still should,

Because the quest for truth will tear away all falsehood,

A path you must choose yourself because that is all you could.

> Hmn

Um, sleep sounds like something good,

I will go lie down and use blanket as a hood,

There will be no creaks as my bed is made of wood,

Perhaps that is something that you too should,

Rest and enjoy your dream's falsehood,

For a hundred years if you could.

> Hmn

Everyone of us wants to become something good,

Even if they are a mere thug underneath a hood,

One whose fate is already carved out of wood,

Forced by a mere choice they never should,

Or made to bow their head for falsehood,

There was nothing else that they could.

> Hmn

Something good,

Here is my brand new hood,

Along with old chair made of wood,

I think a nice pot of tea is ready or should,

While we turn on the radio for a new falsehood,

Such is life and there is little to change even if I could.

> Hmn

Oh just sod off,

I am done with you!

> Hmn, you heard a new song, didn't you?

And #GamerGate pops up again…

Imagine a harpy trying to claim a little fame,

Shrieking as loud as she can in order to shame,

Because that is the only way she can make name,

She needs to be the loudest to shout the blame,

Just in hopes that she manages to defame,

And hurt the sales of a single game,

Yet her crowd has little to claim,

As they are largely all the same,

Liars in the things they proclaim…

A desperate attempt to fan the flame,

Somehow prove their part in the ballgame,

But three years after they haven't bought a game,

Which means that all their noise amount is all the same.

> I don't know about you,

> But The Last Night looks like a pretty game

A result of local political theatre

Oh these little schemers at work,

And now they brandish their smirk,

Pat their backs for a maintained perk,

Thinking that they have a clever quirk,

Failing to understand what made me irk,

It always caused that reaction of knee jerk,

And now there is no longer guesswork,

Half a party thought it best to shirk,

As democracy made them chirk,

Now their spirits might murk,

Because they lost a big perk,

And this makes my face smirk,

What stands out of the framework?

Suddenly the political parties number just two,

The one I shall vote for and all the rest in the other queue.

Who knew that such petty act of political theatre could grant me clarity,

I gladly reject this decades old notion of European solidarity,

And rather embrace freedom in all of its vulgarity,

Because it is the only path of prosperity,

A path chosen with temerity.

Oppression Olympics

You may know of a rainbow flag,

And a change to it made me choke and gag,

Should I blow out my brains or raise a finger to wag,

Because black and brown were added on top of that age old rag.

But before my reaction becomes chronic,

Although this change is in fact something utterly moronic,

It also a sign how 'Oppression Olympics' are made into something canonic.

And should this latest nonsense ever catch on,

It is a matter of time before your position in the hierarchy is where your colour is drawn.

Who knew I would one day wish to see a flag burn…

What to say…

A world view construed upon a weak lie,

Is honestly nothing new under this blue sky,

If it gets challenged there is not much to imply,

Violence besets those that dare or refuse to comply.

Thus trend of political violence appears on the diagram,

Brains of the mildly insane now turn into ham,

Encouraged by their favourite program,

And I could not give a damn.

I am tired of the sun already,

Grey clouds my body is ready,

Let the rain fall down all steady.

It is better than being sweaty,

I guess I am being petty,

Where is spaghetti?

Hats worn on feat,

Same stuff on repeat.

All I do now is laugh,

As I draw a graph.

What to say?


Call of Meh, WW2

As a kid I liked playing Call of Duty,

And now the game is supposedly back to its roots,

But news made me feel quite a bit less fruity,

As there are no swastikas with those goose stepping boots.

In my opinion historical game requires historical accuracy,

This is one requirement that I will not put aside,

Thus flags with an iron cross is unbearable inaccuracy,

A hill where contents of my wallet just died.


I think it is a time for a non-American game,

For example play as a German without a shame,

Control a tank with Polish horse riders to aim,

From victory to victory you would claim,

Only to see it turn into ash in a flame,

What little of it actually became,

When the west finally came.

Or what of the smaller nations trying to survive,

When forced to pick the side of a lesser hostile hive,

Or perhaps how Yang Kyoungjong stayed alive,

There are so many stories that could thrive,

If you looked past American archive,

And just dared to take this dive.

> But all that we haveIs just another Call of Meh, set in WW2.

Where darkness goes… (For a science fiction novel)

Who are you,

And what have you done,

You went and crossed the line we drew,

You might have just as well pulled the trigger of a gun.

This is the end of the queue,

Have a look at the last glimpse of sun,

Please try and understand all that you just threw,

How there is no safe haven you could eve hope to run.

Now death is the only future in our view,

And there is no hope left for any of us to spun,

After this no one can hope to dream to start it new,

There is no stopping that which you had to see begun.

What would a lizardman say

What would a lizardman say,

Would it admit it or deny,

If we pointed out one day,

That his skin suit was all dry?

> Why, I'll never know why...

Where would you run? (For a fantasy novel)

My lost son,

Where would you run,

There is no peace under the sun,

Against the whole world you are just one,

What wonders could you ever hope to see done,

When you remain weighted down by burden of a tonne,

Why cannot you see that one day all of it will stop being fun,

No matter how far, no matter where you are, or how long you run?



Say whatever,

This may not be clever,

Nor refute another's verbal endeavour,

But you can say it whenever,

You feel like whatever,

In hopes to sever,

What goes on forever,

So just say the word whatever,

And literally whenever,

Or perhaps never!


I think I ought to sleep,

Venture into the dream's keep,

Where heroes and maidens alike weep,

For there is a beast that slays armies with a leap,

And steals all the wool off the backs of their royal sheep.


This might be the last time,

I have this particular hill to climb,

A mere check mark for a poetic mime,

How table contents is accurate to the dime,

Thus I stand by a last chance for a verbal crime,

I could squeeze out some words of slime,

Or those scented just like thyme,

Offer a drink with lime,

A glass of grime,

And I'm…

I'm… Writing a poem about sixty-nine,

I do not know if this will ever be fine,

But this is no day to spend on a whine,

So have some pride and carry a spine,

You are so close to the end of a line,

Therefore you ought to fill out a stein,

With whatever between water and wine,

Because this is an achievement to sign,

I now have 969 poems that are mine,

And while very few of them shine,

Together they form a forest of pine,

Underneath events that did align,

And there lies my lone goal line.

I cannot even

I cannot even,

If you just believe in,

Things seem to break even,

It is your poison you are now eating,

It is your very own rope that you are weaving,

And is that your very own grave that I am now seeing?

> I condemn how Anita Sarkeesian harassed a member of her audience,

> She should know such open vulgarities are an act of gaudiness,

> That she has turned the safety of an entire auditorium,

> Into flames of harassment fit for a crematorium,

> And does VidCon stand with intolerance,

> Do they think bullying is glorious?

I will wait and see…


The line that creates monsters (For a science fiction novel)

There is a line drawn on the sand,

Go and survive – or – its death where you stand,

The weight of this decision can only be understood first-hand,

You have had the luxury to never face it – so who are to make a demand?

I had to cross that line on the sand,

If I had not – there would be nothing left to stand,

I know what a real monster is – I had to became one first-hand,

My reason and action primed to meet what survival happened to demand.

If there is another line on the sand,

How long do you think your morals let you stand,

Will you act or break when fate presents this choice first-hand,

When everything spirals out of control and there is no mercy to demand…

I have now drawn a line on the sand,

Only one of us can walk while the other must stand,

The choice is now yours and you know the burden first-hand,

And I ask – what you once asked – how is another's life yours to demand?

A poem a poem…

A poem a poem,

I need to write a poem,

But what rhymes with a poem,

Could I call this a poem,

As I repeat a poem,

To grant visage of a poem,

So I can say I wrote another poem,

Or is this not even a poem,

Is this a fake poem,

I need help with this poem,

Do you know what makes a poem,

Can you just call it a poem,

Even if it is not a poem,

Will pretence turn it into a poem,

And once more have I now written a poem?

History repeated…

I wish I could hope for the best,

Allow ignorance to put my fears to rest,

That I could smile as if merely presenting a jest,

But Germany is a nation that remains profoundly messed,

Where public problems are not allowed to be publicly addressed,

Thus merely voicing dissent makes you a pest,

Even if a mere like button is pressed,

It is prison for such protest.

Therefore day by day,

There is less and less that you can say,

It seems that goose steps of past did not go away,

And like that carcass once left to decay,

The state demands you to obey,

In all but visage on display,

Mistakes of past spray,

Grow day by day,

Here to stay,

And the price to pay,

Could not be any clearer today,

The party line is now all that you can say,

The need of the state always outweigh,

What rights you had are taken away,

And state terror has its headway,

It only gets worse day by day,

And if you could get away,

Please – just flee today,

Nothing else to say.

Yet there is more that whirs,

Because in Russia truth has no askers,

As majority are taught to worship old monsters,

Kept unaware of the inhumane list of errs,

A land where fact and fantasy blurs,

Where another disaster stirs,

Even under new banners,

It is the same blinders.

> Oh, and there is the powder keg of middle east

Ain't so great today

I wish to laugh,

Like drunken riff-raff,

Holding the final bottom half,

Send it down with a gulp of an epitaph.

But I will not,

With sourness I rot,

Unflinched from this spot,

Stuck with my brooding thought.

Thus today,

Not much to say,

No fun games to play,

As dull things hold sway.

Oh great,

Is it what I ate,

Or perhaps my fate,

To feel this old weight?


With rope,

You can mope,

Without any hope.

Eh… ?

Caesar play

Now you have Caesar dressed as Trump,

And some think this depiction of a death is dumb,

Which makes them keen to protest and jump,

Interrupt a play as if they were but scum,

As they long to verbal spank a rump,

Show how they wiggle a thumb.

Caesar painted his own face red,

And as a result was stabbed to death,

But while life still somehow bled,

He did ask with his last breath,

Why a trusted friend's head,

Had brought him death.

Commentary at its best,

Ignored by both right and left,

As both see the other a pest,

And their actions lack deft,

In this situation stressed,

As they screech bereft.

Look behind the curtain,

Ignore the repeated jargon,

It does not make you certain,

Blades are sold with a bargain,

See a man with a fate uncertain,

Mere glimpse at his burden.

> Jargon, bargain, burden?

> Yeah…

There is bravery and suicide

There is bravery and suicide,

You may let it slide or stand for your pride,

Honestly it is for you to decide,

But it ain't my fault if your head hits curbside,

As it was you who went cockeyed,

So enjoy what consequences happened to provide,

A lesson lashed straight into your hide,

And perhaps in future more common sense is applied.

> The fine line between fantasy and realism,

> Ain't that just one strange schism,

> When peered through prism.

Star Trek Discovery – trailer thoughts

The trekkies expect a specific frame,

And that alone makes it a bit of a shame,

That this does not come by some other name,

The fan expectations can be hard to tame,

While fans are very quick to take aim,

If some offends a cherished flame,

They are quick to take up arms to maim,

A product for the crime of not being the same,

Because they fear the series will be lame,

Something so bad that it will defame,

Even the things that already came.

Now while this trailer does look good,

What lies underneath its hood?

It reminds me of Firefly and the Expanse,

Instead of Star Trek on a first glance.

China and Germany: brothers against internet anonymity

The news celebrate gay marriage,

How they have placed horse behind carriage,

In hopes to bury down what might cause some disparage.

There is no more internet anonymity in Germany,

As “corporate” STASI is now a certainty,

So consider your words carefully,

They are listening tirelessly,

Because all speech is now a felony,

As it violates their totalitarian harmony,

And it is nothing new in the land of East Germany.

Eh… No fucks given today…

Yummy, yummy, pizza in my tummy,

So good it could resurrect even a mummy,

And turn all horrible people a lot less scummy!

The quality falls

The tenth season of modern Doctor Who,

And the criticisms it now faces are kind of true,

The 'pro-feminist' angle makes it so dull to sit through,

And feminists dislike that totalitarianism is something to shoo,

People making it are holding breath until they turn blue,

Like trying to stomp a cockroach without a shoe,

Therefore the end result has failed to woo.

Therefore in next season they have to choose,

And determine a definitive set of views,

As a guide how problems diffuse,

The current mix is a snooze,

One you cannot reuse.

Which side will you pander,

Take time and use your best candour,

Not that it would save you from any slander.

Imagine a companion turned into the deadliest mortal enemy,

Imagine the Doctor trying his best so desperately,

And pushed until he is without clemency,

Forced to see the lack of empathy,

Act with dreadful clarity,

A sight of ecstasy.

But we got a happy end,

And we saw the Doctor bend,

Without a real loss for him to mend,

Just a continuation of the same old trend,

And even if acting is something to commend,

It is not a change on how the series is on descend.

The deaths and bad decisions have no real consequences.

Ye gods have mercy on me…

I am going to write a religious holy text,

Because some ideas just oddly vexed,

And made me feel quite perplexed,

Without any additional subtext,

I will see what I get flexed,

Even if it gets me hexed,

It is what I'll do next.

For a mere wrestling gif

Wrestling is nothing more than acting,

Predetermined scenes waiting for enacting,

At best fun and merely momentarily distracting,

So if you add my face to a clip – I will not be reacting.

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