Fighting Words (1st edition)

Insinuating that an innocent man is a terrorist?
Terrorizing the populace with populist agendas?
Atrocious behavior and words meant to upset,
the balance of power to bring power to the ignorant.
This is what you get when you spit hate speech as rhetoric!
Better get a better picture of the world Mrs. Palin…
Your policies are a failing and Police State ain’t my idea of freedom…
what kind of message are you bringing?

(CHORUS
Fighting words: giving power to the ignorant
Pushing up the dominant reign of the government
Fighting words: You mouth ain’t protected
By the constitution instigating violence as a covenant

Fighting words: I’m looking deeper at your temperament
Crushing up your lexicon and seeing it as excrement
Fighting words: You mouth ain’t protected
By the constitution instigating violence as a covenant)

Bill O’Reilly, highly stylized Nazi propaganda
Techniques of interruption and rapture
That’s just a picture of one night’s episodes
Who’s to answer when blood’s spilled in name of hate
Sean Hannity, humanity’s void, a pandering droid
With no soul. Can it be true you hold the key to calamity
Its all Vanity, taking the lords name in vain
Blame everyone else for your murderous intent

(CHORUS)
Rush Limbaugh, limping on to the stage
Cigar smoking mad villain with whole crew of slaves
Enraptured to lies and arrogant allegation
Alleging the truth can be trumped by emotions
Where’s the reason? Greek philosophical techniques
Don’t legitimize treason, don’t patronize me.
Fuck yeah I’m a patriot, love to the land and people
Living in it. Don’t you tell me I’m merely inncocent.

(CHORUS)

Then there’s Bush, Cheney, Rove and Paulson,
When push came to shove Hitler never retired.
Retreaded, perhaps, the wheels of Third Reich,
Pandering to people content with living in fear
Fourth Reich inspired its clear the goal
of the soulless is to bring here nuclear war
Pentecostal visions to summon the beast or Jesus,
Flee to a Free Alaska and bomb us from the North…

(CHORUS)

-Sayv1 (myspace.com/godmodest)

October 2008

Dishonorable Diss Charge

Dishonorable Diss Charge

Let's restore honor to honesty and hone our beliefs
that our honey is sweet and our hundred monkey theory
and meme making devices mean lies and deceit
can seem real for time until they dematerialize into white steam and heat.
It seems as I speak that I'm inspired again, not chastised by chagrins
of charlatans charading whose honor is weak, honest to Pete!
My feet is sore and bleeding from all the nonsense we've seen,

What a metaphor that stores the data that a message is complete
Anaphorally speaking, and as Obama would speak, and honor could be
shored up in due course and tied with cord to honesty. Honestly. Honor these
Words and sentences, hence the blended beat recommends a second read.
For a more studiously ridiculed pour over or some sort of comprehension at least.
This wasn't sent from the beast but inspired by the Pleiades.
This is the plea I feel and thus this is the plea I read. Listen if you please.
This is just a tease for what you get when we finally meet.

I share story with first nations teachings, bonfire lit meetings
tears on the cheeks and hearts move together in beating
Like Reiki or spanking our connection makes your energy move
I'll berate the fake uncle Yankee in the same shrewd breath as my prayer
in tune with the suns penumbra magnetic arithmathematicca where
I glow brighter when phonetics used phreneticly scare
The canned-laughter speech-written bullshitting RNC chair.

The McCain camp can't compare couldn't stand wouldn't dare
to duly duel, as dookie talking "duty walking" bullies are inflated with air
First we said it ain't fair, and now we've got a message to bare,
internetted and fully vetted for truth with no comparable flare
to pretty headed lipstick smeared pigs as your proof.
John McCain, this is YOUR glass roof.
You lied and now it’s forever embedded in time.
You shamed yourself for party lines and lies reveal character flaws
so deeply buried inside that they'll never dislodge...
John McCain This is your Dishonorable Diss Charge.
Pun intended and construed
This is Sayv1 and as for this message: I approve.

September 20th, 2008

(This poem won 1st place in Portland's first poetry slam in 6 years)

Duality

Duality

My life-line lies just to the left
Of being convinced in the system of the deft
Thieves and jesters with agendas of stress,
Vendettas against us, intelligence suggest
We don’t trust anybody at the eye of pyramid.
Should I appear to hide in fear from it? This is some serious shit.
Serious black magic versus first peoples
Underlying understanding of Earth’s deep, old knowledge,
and the worth of spirit.
As of yet we’re only modestly commanding the will and feelings
To alter or change the wheel of life dealings.
So I kneel before this alter of change,
This mantel of pain, the yoke of chains
Broken and strained, choking my brain
Hoping just to remain breathing one more minute
Asking for the finish, open to planes
Vast, furrowed and veined
Falter and feint, dreamtime and escape
Meanwhile in parallel state
My farewell debate rages with tempers irate
Semper fi to the life provided by my corporal real estate.
Order of the Black Snake spies on my astral,
Conniving to baffle me with illusions of flame
Using the bait that appeals to the most base
Most tasteless parts of my creation:
Self loathing, boasting and hatred.
Arrogantly joking with fate,
Even though I know that hope is the token substrate.
Substantially supporting will and love in embrace.
Suddenly
Half my soul about face, and without the other half gives chase
To what’s left of the light, and holds God in his proper place in the mind;
While the right fights the time and holds wrong in his vision.
Mission complete, balance sheet math’s to show proper division.
Positives annihilate negatives reversing a universal castration.
Healing the wounds previously inflicted at will
Through a vast misunderstandation
Grating the nerves since the beginning of creation
And waiting…

Can you hear this tale as I can hear it?

December 2008-January 2009

Nebulous Metaphoric

Nebulous Metaphoric

From the smallest pebble to bubble nebula
seen by telescopics like the Hubble its incredible
the way we bobble with our mental making molecules
the center of the transcendental incidentally we say we keep it simple.

Now the crowd of angry people gather to stampede and rumble
Trampling the temples as the center trembles falls and crumples
Under the lantern of a moon mantel illuminating the clouds cuddle
Humbling the masses as this battle breaks out from their huddle.

So you’re calling me a rebel when I could have been a fellow
fool like you following these fables to the devil
Instead I set the levels, bettering the treble,
On the double skip the trouble of both the pot and kettle

Topple any feeble competitor sever the jugular
with evil shards of shattered bottles watch ‘em wobble give a tug at your
sleeve tap on the shoulder, relieved like extra batters, believe you'll never battle
leave your dreams in bloody puddles of muddled metaphor…

Little balance in the middle path, heart to dignify the chatter.
Juggle roles of regal beings to settle the embattled
bit of my bitter, battered 32-bit broken brake-peddle for a mind.
Tattered and talented in tattle-tale shuttle-cockamamie crimes.

Giving all I got I gotta get it while the getting’s good
Living for the moment but the moment must be understood
Its fluctuating waiting for a spitting neuro-rhythmic wizard kid
To lift us from the ditches stitching meaning in a blizzard fit.

Who let the lizards live they loosened up a mongoose tongue.
And now I kick the fissures closed efficiently ending tubes that run
Twixt dimensions for the beings to enslave and then encapsulate
Your life. Your strife erased with words shaved from the immaculate.

I embody a lot but not a God, an odd proposal.
Self employed and what a job, Spot on with what I’ve chosen
Deepen inner feelings for feeding my sullen soul so swollen
So-so sewing holding my seams together for this stolen moment.

Angels Come and Guide This Pen

Please Angels Come and Guide this Pen


Please Angels comes and guide this pen, and help me write these sentences
At this instance it’s a struggle when I hear the news that’s happening
My mind is strained and can’t conceive that the heathen voices are believed
Thus relieve my torment lead my focused intent toward a forward scene

Please Angels move my fingers free, for sight and sound absurdities
Have flanked my voice in unity and try to drown me in uncertainties
But certainly, your majesty my mind can be controlled by thee
So unite mine eye with hand and pen and when I’m open be released

So flow your grace and majesty into this song of passion
And think not of the dark clouds wrought by godheads clashing
I know that true the spirit calls and with that lift I my finger
To give, to live, to love, to have naught but that which I did bring here

Not to linger, but to travel many light years gifted and free
Shedding anger and frustration of my making, lifting me
Above my body pulling language from formula unknown
Intermingling intuition with words direct from Angels tongues.



Fall 2008

Still Grinning

Still Grinning

It’s the mythic mystic
decrypting hieroglyphics
Egyptian piscus like vesica, fix this
Eye-like lens inward to focus on reminiscent
coincidences and say word.

Grinning with a sarcastic smirk works fantastic
as plastic lurks inevitable,
We’ll weather it though.
Imagination hurts!

Oh, these drastic herds
of human cattle and battles of war.
What kind of tattered realities
rattle the rabble to roar, scabbard and sword
strapped like seat belt.
Heat felt in all vicinities from Seattle to shores
of foreign soil.

The fall is beginning
in every heart and mind to boil
over the brim and when
the simmering spoil spills,
hits flame, and fuels the fires of the mortal coil,
I’ll still be grinning.

Introduction

Introduction

Finally I sit down with my pen, ready to begin
from here to who knows when and when
these words are heard by friend they will comprehend
the situation at hand you already understand
that we've got to get ourselves moving forward
so this forward to this writing is more than four words
as the sweat glistens on my forehead…

[…having written this be forewarned.
I've been scorned from the day I was born
for asking for the reality from which I was torn,
requesting information to inform my current form,
gazing at the floating sea foam, realizing now that the New Morn
is already more than a century gone or more;
but the masses have passed through it in a constant state of war;
observed so well in 1984 by the prophet George Orwell
with a story to tell; so we mourn we all knew this hell
was coming but the dumbing of the mind
has obscured thought until I wrought from the Divine
these rhymes to untwine the serpent from your spine,
to make the snake continue to climb while at the same time
digging deep through the feet to roots to supply
the need energy for the next phase of Gaia's life line;
life like lines of poetry sow the seeds needed for enthusiasm like mine
eschew the chasm between like minds that’s why this pen writes rhymes.
There is noting quite like breaks in the writer's block
allowing flow to talk woes that might otherwise not be heard locked
away from logical thought; so I'm logging these blotches
on consciousness' watch face as everyone watches
Now it is do or do not!
So why curse as everyone's watches are synchronized?
Blink your eyes and stop the hypnotized when you hear the hand clap.
The mental sand trap disappears, think back more that 10,000 years
We've got this message in genetics which without egos is thoughtless.
In fact, it’s taught this exact knowledge with no practice
and spat this material plane into existence.
Pay attention to the thoughts reminiscent
of human kinds original mission: divine co-existence…]

…but never mind the tangent, I'm back to the issue of poetry management
As it must be for you as well as a tool to follow through
with promises made to my many selves.
I have attempted communication with the elves
and asked for further help in which to delve
into subconscious knowledge and partially received a "hello"
so my fellow traveler have a learned experience
as I present my past work up to the present as a present to you.

Twelve Links

…the familiar game of Bridge
between Old Age, Sickness Death and Bliss-going by his other name-
rages for days;
but the blame is passed and the bid rolls on.
Looking to the sleeping baby in the corner of Reality’s room,
Sighing pussywillow breaths from cotton lips
Bliss points his finger past the contempt filled jars
Catching sunlight on his window
And stares maliciously, angrily,
And the verbal arrow punctures time.
“Three days ago I was yet to be born!” Christ cries defensively.
“Besides, you made the doctor conceive of me,
reaching with your outstretched fingers, grasping past rubber walls.
Lets get first things first, it hurts that you curse me
And whats worse is, even I can see you’re still thirsty!”
Caught off-guard
And feeling the goosebumps and billion pons stickle the skin
Bliss reels, and looks past the curtains,
Bliss feels fear rising to the surface, and then past it
The expanding knowledge from the
Plastic contact of this physical existence contorts and is a hallucination of bombastic proportions.
Three-deimensional bubbles bobble by, budding new brains and pains
And necks tense with fears all along the six-sense spheres
Floating in the dead sea.
In the next room,
Consciousness stares at her own body
Her form in the mirror
Who stares back. But neither can understand what they are seeing until,
Making loe, the cry each others names to the stars
And poke the polished vacuum with frail forks and Nova knives
Merging actions with questions and losing touch
With stuff they sluff much to escape the crutch of the such and such
Named bliss.
“Come back to the Table,; cuz we can’t just play with the three of us!”
cries death as old age and sickness nod in agreement.
Stop getting so excited by your nightly denial.
And over-inflated question marks make the shape of a billions Suns and Planets,
dancing circles unknowing, haplessly going on…
Forever flowing past…
The familiar game of Bridge….

Naked

Naked

I am naked here without you.

Does that turn you on?

But this is not a love song.

This is a fear song, a weird song,

A 'while you are over there' song

An 'I’ll see you soon, I hope' song

A 'cross to bear and rope' song

And an 'I am naked here' song

Because somewhere between then and now,

I habituated you. Comfortably situated in my brainstem.

I barbiturated you; way past the point of addiction.

Track marks running through my

Aching arms, swelling and subsiding

Depending on my mood.

But I don't care what condition

This has left me in, let me just relax

In reminiscence.

Maybe this is a love song.

Stronger than fiction, coincidences existing

Just to point out the obvious:

I am obviously smitten.

And I miss my kitten. Tit-for-tat skipping back

And forth missing each other by minutes:

listen, I’m kissing your image in mind and in my mission

Yes this is a love song.

Contradiction to earlier diction dismissing this poem

as the bitching of lonely leprechaun’s intension

Without his pot of gold,

as I had originally thought was brought to be tol

--but, ah, how the plot twists!

As your image manifests gold in my moldy cortex

And instead I am blessed and emboldened by

This cold air of the evening, though it makes my chest shiver,

It sends rivulets of considerable energetic twitter

Throughout my skin as it shimmers from within:

Just thinking about you.

Tonight I was drinking without you, a six-pack purchased to share with you,

But... I can’t drink for two…

Obviously. For I am just one without you, and six is more than 3

but I couldn’t Sayv1 or even take five to break stride,

Next to you there's nothing quite like a cold one for comfort…

Then the room spun, and I was soon done.

I love you, hun.

And this poem has consumed the mundane

Effects of some lame attempts to escape the drone

Of silence with you gone,

Because when I stop talking, its a mute tone...

...and isolation has not been in our lexicon,

What a 'strange turn of events' kind of song.

As soon as you come back, then I’ll be gone.

And on and on. Day and night, moons and suns,

to think I 'never knew you' once,

and now in your absence I might come undone.

I’m naked here without you.

Does that turn you on?

---Sayv1

12:31am June 12th, 2009

First Post: An Explanation

Greetings philospohers, humans, journalers, poets, MCs, hip-hop fans, hip-hop ignoramuses, animals, aliens, foreign intelligence services, CIA, psychics, and any of you others who find this series of peotical posts pertinent to your persons. I am posting a blog a day, illuminating the many poems that unto now have sat useless in my folders of poetry awaiting a moment of publication. Now is that time, and I am happy to present, in no particular order, a blog for my poems of old, poems of now and poems of the future. Please enjoy and write me at godmodestone@gmail.com for more information, booking, and performance info.

--Sayv1