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Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.

quote by Carl Jung
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Ain't Got It Like a Psychic

You can't tell me what I'm thinking...
Until I tell you what that is!

Uh-uh...
You ain't got it like a psychic.

You can run around and tell folks,
What you think my business is!

But,
Uh-uh...
You ain't got it like a psychic.

You can sneak across the floor.
And put your ear to the door.
Tell my neighbors and friends,
What I do and who for!
But,
Uh-uh,
You ain't got it like a psychic.

It's too bad your lips don't seal.
You need to hush 'em.
You need to keep them closed.

It's so sad you have a mind that reveals...
It's gonna crack!
It's ripe for that.
Waiting to set you back with a heart attack.

It's too bad your lips don't seal.
You need to hush 'em.
You need to keep them closed.

It's so sad you have a mind that reveals...
It's gonna crack!
It's ripe for that.

You can run around and tell folks,
What you think my business is!
But,
Uh-uh...
You ain't got it like a psychic.

You can sneak across the floor.
And put your ear to the door.
But,
Uh-uh,
You ain't got it like a psychic.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Using Boot Camp

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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Twin State

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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Allegany Camp

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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Vengeful Psychic

There once was a psychic who loved to chat,

She made up lies to Christina, saying this or that.

See, psychic needed more money and she wanted revenge,

So she started telling lies to all of Christina's friends.

Then of course she told Christina the biggest lie of all,

She told Christina to date Skunky and suck on his balls.

Skunky was of course the worst creep Christina had ever met,

He was a liar, a cheat and even did theft.

But in the end, Skunky became the psychic’s friend…

Stalking her on the internet.

Then of course psychic didn’t know,

She emailed Skunky photos of her 'island with no snow'.

But as soon as Skunky telephoned psychic a thousand times X 2,

She quickly ended it with Skunky and said they were through.

Now, Skunky had no redeeming qualities as of yet,

But his stalking the psychic made Christina very upset,

And it made Christina think “who is the one I’m worse off to have met?

Well, they are both really scummy just the same,

Playing on Christina’s good heart like a volleyball game.

But Christina won out over both of them,

Making rhyming peeve poems is the best revenge.

Written on Jan.20,2011 by Christina Sunrise

Copyright 2011 Chevalier Originals, Inc.

poem by Christina Sunrise
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Sophia The Psychic She Lived Down The Road

Sophia the psychic she lived down the road
She knew the roads she knew the souls
An Antipythia of the broken heart
Wept ‘don’t know thyself ‘tis too deep’
Know thy paths not entangled they are
‘spread like lilies’ not needing the truth

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

Sophia the psychic she met me one day
I looked into her eyes compassion I smiled
Yes, she started, and she could not stop
Against my smile her intermittent sobs

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

‘Tis passion Sophia I asked
Why are you telling me what I already know
Obsession, Sophia, leave the past in peace
Take some rest and do not worry

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

I am centuries old as well but still too young for your tears
And don’t ask for my coins for I have none
All the pearls of wisdom you’ve already gained
There’s no way for you to be repaid

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Veterinary Camps

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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Forsaking All Others Part 1

'NOT that you'll like him,' Nell said,
'No mystery - no romance,
A fine, stern, eagle-like head,
But he simply reeks of finance, -­
Started from nothing - self-made -­
And rather likes you to know it,
And now collects porcelain and jade,
Or some Seventeenth Century poet.

'Married in simpler days,
A poor little wren of a being,
Who exists to pray and praise,
And spends her life agreeing,
Thin and dowdy and pale,
And getting paler and thinner­
Well, the point of this dreary tale
Is I've asked them both to dinner.

'I'd leave her out like a shot,
For I'm not so keen about her,
But, my dear, believe it or not,
He won't dine out without her.
She has that terrible hold
That aging wives exert to
Replace young charms grown old­
Poor health and impeccable virtue.

'Lightly I asked them to dine,
And now I perceive the dangers,
My friends-yours and mine­
Are so terribly rude to strangers.
But you, dear girl, I can trust
To come and be brilliant and tender;
Vamp the man, if you must,
But give an impression of splendor.'

II

LEE sat before her mirror... rouged her lips,
Set dripping diamond earrings in her ears,
Polished a little at her finger tips,
Thought that she did not look her thirty years;

Thought, 'Poor dear Nellie's ill-assorted feasts!
I want to be as helpful as I can
Among that group of men and gods and beasts...
Why does she think I shall not like this man?

She made him sound entrancing... strong and crude,
Successful, dominant...I, who for so long

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Sweet and Soft Whispers

I may not be a bit psychic...
But I know it's there.
That love inside you fight.
With a wish I might like it.

No, I may not be a psychic...
But that fragrance you wear is in the air.
You want to give me a chance.
To cuddle up and romance.

I believe you want me alone.
To claim and have me as your own.
You want me close enough to hear...
Those sweet and soft whispers in my ear.

And I may not be a bit psychic.
But I know it is there.
That love inside you fighting to appear.
With a wish that I might like it.
And have it in my arms to hold it near.

Oh...
Your excitement you try to hide.
But I know it's there.
And not that deep inside.
And I just may keep it a secret...
Until you make me aware.

I may not be a psychic...
But I know what you feel,
For me...
Is there!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Your Hero

The heroes of the masses they live for their renown
And the masses create their heroes and then drag their heroes down
And the masses are unpredictable they change from day to day
And some of their heroes like the Autumn flowers are quick to fade away.

Yet there are millions of unsung heroes and they live on every street
And every day a hero I feel privileged to meet
True heroes male and female yet by the masses unsung
The World is full of heroes of heroes old and young.

Some heroes of the masses are arrogant and proud
And their egos over-swollen from the adulation of the crowd
But give me the unsung heroes who go their own quiet way
Who out of the kindness of their hearts perform one good deed every day.

Many heroes of the masses are not heroes to me
Though every day I walk the street some true hero I do see
Your hero is chauffeur driven and drinks the most expensive wine
And you can have your hero but your hero isn't mine.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Breeding

I named breeding, which comes from 'April is the cruellest month, breeding'
Breeding
2012 year make a more breeding in doimg
everything

poem by Min Kyungdae
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Fashions are the only induced epidemics, proving that epidemics can be induced by tradesmen.

quote by George Bernard Shaw
Added by Lucian Velea
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Alternating Time-Scales

alternating time-scales
impose creeping ultra realities
upon narcotic selected dreams
socially construed realities

suddenly material plane
is as instant immaterial

as a universe of atoms
containing dimensional illusion

of solidity inherent
in each specific object
defined in nature's webs

all life indeed is but a dream
until the nightmare comes
on earth fear four horsemen
ride pitilessly over dark third

world catastrophe countries
dreams perish within war realms
perish in hungry mouths
death starved flesh minds

famine reinforced
with cholera,
malaria, diarrhea, typhoid,
scarlet fever, measles

compete as cyclic epidemics
epidemics sweep across aids
ravished infected Africa weeps;
remorseless west television watches

skulls gleam inanimate
in sunlight unseen by lost legions
already needlessly dead;
unmoved west television watches

when will humanity
pass a compassion
law forbidding indifference?

instead of deleting differences
ethnic groups religions
due to traditional values
of rage, anger, hate, greed,

coveting land resources

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Two Souls Trapped

An elderly couple in their car
smashed into a wall
they didn't go very far.
Car was removed but their souls fought on
the wife yelled 'If you would of looked
are car would of moved and we would be gone.'
Psychic heard the fight for weeks on end
the couple never made it to heaven.
Until one day in this Vegas parking lot
the psychic never heard them and then she thought-
another psychic must of told them to go to the light
or if not they moved someone where else to have their fight.
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 14,2012

poem by Christina Sunrise
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Pick A Fight

I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me

You say that I'm the only one
The one you're looking for
Try and keep a straight face when you laugh
You talk to me like I'm a saint
But all your friends just say
We have been so over for some time

And I know that you had the best intentions for me
I know that what you're saying is goodbye

I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me

You say you changed your mind again
You don't know how you feel
Give me some more time is what you say
You wanna use me like a toy
That you get bored with
Now you wanna store me far away

And I know that you had the best intentions for me
I know that what you're saying is goodbye...goodbye

I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me

I can't be happy without you
I can't be happy without me

[...] Read more

song performed by Goldfinger from Stomping Ground
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~ Bio Psychic Kiss ~

~ Bio Psychic Kiss ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
16 August 2010

Bio Psychic Kiss
Croons for catharsis.

Mull muse mitosis
Kibosh mute meiosis.

Niminy-piminy noesis
In oomphy orgy osmosis.

Syncretistic synthesis
Open splashy sluice
Bask blottoed bliss.

En fête relish éclat
Zippy zesty zygosis.

Join with Gen Next
In smooch symbiosis
Of Bio-Psychic Kiss!

==
Glossary with humility I’m giving what I tried to express
[1] Niminy-piminy ~ Affectedly dainty or refined
[2] En fête [French] ~ In festive mood
[3] Éclat ~ Brilliant effect
[4] Zygosis ~ The state of being joined together [conjugation]
~~~~~~
Copyright reserved by author

poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Chosen To Change Prophecy Potentials

he may be psychic
he may foretell the future...
but the only future he writes
is with a quill and ink...

I may be psychic.
I may foretell the future.
But the only future I write.
Is with a ballpoint pen.

they may be psychic
they may foretell the future...
but their future write
is with a computer tablet...

this future references
future net human societies
therefore it is not applicable
to two lives we ourselves

if born in different places
if born in different times...
if born in different decades
if born in different centuries...

or is it soul purpose applicable
though on a set parallel scale
of timed minimal importance
dominance of earlier soul purpose

visions of artistic output
claim pressing precedence...
intrinsically eye inscribes
mind set sight shock waves...

a prophet
is born
to fulfill
a specific

life
a preordained...
energy
flesh incarnate...

message
is radiated

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Rats

I was lost just wandering round downtown
Many people pushing me around
Hate spreads just like infection
Those rats jumping on and off my back
Fat black rats holding me down
I see rats in every direction
No time to catch your breath
Crazy people lost their heads
Masses trampling on my feet, inconsiderate in their heat
Those rats breeding angriness and spite
Never have done anything right for people like you and me
Walk over all the people you cant see
If they die theres more bread for me
Like snakes crawling through the grass
No time to catch your breath
Crazy people lost their heads
Masses trampling on my feet, inconsiderate in their heat
Those rats breeding angriness and spite
Never have done anything right for people like you and me
See that face man look at me, hes much too selfish to see
Once he was warm and was kind
Now all he has got is a pinstripe mind
See that face man look at me, hes much too selfish to see
Once he was warm and was kind
Now all he has got is a pinstripe mind

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stranger in Strange Crowd

STRANGER IN STRANGE CROWD

Dreams stranger’s path divide
from crowd’s uneven t[h]read
who's tissue, issues poorly understood, through dread
is left behind, swirls second rate as flotsam on life's tide,
noise windmills, senses silent, life-blood sped,
bled white, so often fearing fear, by wisdom wide,
unblessed, unsteady set sights low instead.

Despite stress, sentiments denied, imagination set aside,
stranger story stores till head heeds heart, until desires well led
fire understanding rich allied with empathy sustaining ride.
Swift Pegasus is supplied
with neither saddle, A to Zed accoutrements life tears to shreds
when vested interests, motives pure collide.

Defy temptations of soft ride
along straight road which, comfort fed,
selects ‘safe way’, too often dreads
free choice, autonomy. Self-pride
corresponds to quest for bread.

Distrust that moment Fortune’s tide
entwines in fickle thread
conformity, convention wed.
Scorn empty homage, those who glide
through vain p[l]ain life, misled.

Survival instinct, safe homestead, a ‘living wage’, priorities
appear, as opportunities to seize as each spins finite set
tripped, snipped, then ripped by Norms with ease.

Far from madding crowd who dares assign
himself true rôle in life, who thinks,
who sifts chaff, grain, drains lees from wine, palms pearls from swine?
Who, intact, acts and interacts, discerning fiction, facts,

opposes expedience, authority which hoodwinks
manipulated herd unheard, which lacks
true overview impartial, thus reacts
rather than responds, its armour: chinks.
On each new generation weigh rigid systems spawned by Fate unkind.
As pawns most men play puppet parts in Time’s relay game of tiddly-winks.

Is search for self through mirrored minds
just base reflection on sight lost?
Insisting on base ‘skills’ man finds
intuitions atrophy - cost

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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