Archive for To Fetch My Tennis Racket For Wasps

TO FETCH MY TENNIS RACKET FOR WASPS

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , on February 26, 2017 by John E WordSlinger

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TO KNOCK THEM KNOTS TO KINGDOM KOME

INVISIBLE GOLDFISH

THE VINE
ASSASINS OF’SAY ATHEISTS

HERO IN ACTION

PIN PULLIN’ INC.

XI KEYS TO DIVIDE THE WORLD

BLOODLESS TERROR IN THE BLINDED AGE

THE STUBBORN WITNESSES,

A FAMILY NAMED HISTORY

ARE STILL PRESENT, SMILING,

& CREATING BULK BUSINESS

 

NAUSEA

FOREST OF RAINBOWS

HOW WILL THEY DEAL WITH MY BODY?

SLUMBER NO MORE / SPARKS OF HEAVEN IGNITE ITS STAMPEDE

THE CALLING

SALVATION

WHO’S INCOGNITO?

WOMB OF FAITH

THE DARING ENEMYS OF HEAVEN & LEAP DAYS’ CHILD

SATANS’ FUNERAL

OPIUM & PLATO

 

-… …-

THE VINE
 
Life by thousands of qualifications
 
When I say ‘God’
 
I use every source of amplifications
 
Pick up the word, and use it
 
Use your humanity talk, though fuse it
 
 
Be free with a dynamic personality
 
Inrageous contagious soul seizure
 
Ethics use to be adventures
 
 
This is no puff or a short lived fickle
 
Nor a cash value, I’m a Poet with a faithful sickle
 
My life is not exaggerated
 
I see the worlds’ blindness
 
It is so constipated
 
 
I roll n rock the modern clock
 
I’ll be held in all coming ages
 
To you all this must be a shock!
 
Godma- a word like that
 
I ‘am a miracle that was spat
 
 
I ‘am smiling to you from this side of the beyond
 
Pull the vine, chime too, by WordSlinger John
 
Look up the word blik
 
& then look at how you got here
 
Like a secret camera-less porn flick
 
Bamm magik!
 
 
So shut your mouth
 
And take this as truth
 
This is an historical event
 
For all of the non-cognitive
 
Who is all hypo-bent
 
 
I ‘m from the supernatural
 
So be cross, it’s your upper loss
 
Get to know the names
 
& all of their language games
 
 
Faith transcends and shatters
 
All straight jackets of ideologies
 
Me, an intellectual rebel you don’t see
 
This gives me a wider range to sling
 
Ya ya baby, you’re slowly getting to know me
 
 
ya ya th’C inside th’Circle John E. WordSlinger
 
a poem from a new book ‘To Fetch My Tennis Racket For Wasps’ ha
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