acronymity of lonesomeness by Jennifer Louise Croft

what would happen if you was the last one on earth? would you turn out the light, say good night, or clamour on that this ain’t right. me, with no cares, i’d be the girl of my dreams, even though no one could help me change. i’d manage, a skirt, a drink, every other day i’d allow in the hurt, but what animosity would you blurt?

first, second, now last. no past, that dont make you cry to remember. would you surrender or realise, at last you can be a winner, no one can call you a sinner. my friend, you’re free at last. how would you have a blast without the monotony of civilisation holding you back?

i know this is a distant future but there is no one who can say what you lack. no one can fratch against the decisions you decide to make. would you become bored, playing chess against yourself, till your demons of mental health win or would you say fuck this. throw the bad tidings in the bin and travel a world that was always unknown, unable to be travelled but now that plight has been unravelled.

will you plow your own field of dreams. i dont know, it seems to me, we’d be lost with the acronymity of lonesomeness. no threats to your own survival, no means for a cure. this lure that will never catch the fish you want. will you wither and die or survive, and let old age reminisce?

its an untold arbitrary moment but one day some one might have to suffer it and i just hope they don’t be a git and give up. i’d slap the shit if i was there, but i’m just being a square. i’d be the future’s past, i just hope my ideologies last at that and survival will re-compensate for the sedate moment of mourning that occurs on a daily basis across our present.

worry isn’t a curse but its not a blessing. there’s no messing with the times of our lives but we could alter for the better and this one soul survivor vision, would never occur, but it will. the one pushing the button, they wouldn’t imagine the pain it will surely bring. no birds left to sing, no roads left to travel. no soul to battle to the edge of your wits, no pricks, that fuck random holes, all goals incomplete.

its a dramatic image of fields and trees burning, fowls on fire as they accidentally torch the sky, why? cause this life is so fucked up. how can humanity end at the push of a button. i worry but i’m a none, what about you, do you have a fucking clue?

fuck the oppression of self-delusion, is there an unselfish conclusion that won’t leave this planet devoid of life or will our entrenched, incensed strife just allow us to die and scream what happened world, why am i the only one left? why was life stolen, who allowed this theft?

who destroyed this gift? i just wish this won’t come true but sadly with all this i’m left turning a revolting shade of blue. humanity’s curse is its life, its loving wife, its juvenile sidekick. quick don’t blink. i think it’s sorted or was that push of the button aborted?

retarded, that’s what we are, unanimous, am i! this ain’t the path we were chosen for. this i dramatically implore but as we pass through this trifled landscape, i realise i can’t ask for much more, then you take a step at a time, and don’t plant the landmine that kills yourself! because if you was the only one not left, who could we accuse of life’s abysmal theft?

battle-lines by Jennifer Louise Croft

my words are put to shame, at times. grimace of a smile. but the nature, is to better, any other in this game. the aim is to topple all, puncture their ball and stand tall, on this pile of other artists.
prancers, in the midnight light, that think fickleness can impress. this should interest, those better then me. if true, state your name and prepare to be driven insane as I will wrap words round your membrane. only condolence is, your empty space will stay nice and warm, as my sentences swarm in your ear, and blow what little you know, clean out of the water.
I don’t want to put a dampener on your spirit. ill give it. im not that good, but under this hood is a mechanical wonderland, that spits vocab for breakfast and then snacks on your mushy gizzards.

through all this, arts the winner. we the writer, a major sinner, as we fumble for the next rhyme and or reason. we commit verb and noun treason, as we re-arrange the infrastructure that collaborates with our minds sound and so as we spin on this never ending, merry-go-round, ill pound you to the dirt, with my insightful lines. my tremendous, under-qualified mind and set fire to the pages, you haven’t even writ yet.

but if I did this, id pass on miraculous remedies, that’ll fix your shit and would lead me, to a big tumble and fall. and after all, why would I do that? a sardonic twist to my good nature, might cripple this fighter of words and grammar. its the only time I could possibly win as im rarely a fist swinger.
so ive pitched my weapon up against the pages margin, and into the bargain, a rubber. my mascot, as I write in pencil. but I could still stencil in your defeat, with our battle of words. the ergonomics of it all, would mean I miss out on profits of the pocket, but my morals will rocket up so fast, im clinching the edge of the space-craft, via my fingernails.
ive caught the breeze, without sails and my ship is going knots. so my friend, my literature enemy, take heed as we wage war on one another. my brother, lay down your pen, this is one battle you’ll never win. just accept your my squire and im the champion knight. exquisite at wordplay. my pencil’s my sword. my paper’s my shield and with this I will wield all the letters I can, to demoralize the hater’s and nay-sayers.
in principle, my fight for success is worth something. so I press you for your stance. will we make world war three or use our words to save the breath of humanity? or capitulate it into a debauchery of insanity?

art is still the winner, and we are still the sinner, as we act like congress. baboons, not the American government, with faces as red as our bums. the funs in the sharing and enlightenment of others, not the tragic solitude of wizened ideas, left unknown.

possibilities by Jennifer Louise Croft

i’ll stop
crying, writing
when happiness dont cost
a life
a son, a sister, a father or mother.

if one day
i can travel the globe
and see no nose
out of place
no discrimination
due to race, gender
when this world
does an about face
and stumbles upon
a friendly grace.

i’ll stop
when hope isn’t needed
parley doesnt have to be pleaded
and everything
given or taken
doesn’t involve a risk
to humanity
of starvation
homelessness
or our salvation.

i dream a dream
but it does seem
i’ll be writing
forever and a day
because i don’t see a way
my dream will ever come true.

i’ll stop
crying, writing
when happiness
doesn’t cost a thing!

one by Jennifer Louise Croft

from skin to sex, to choice of wear. some people try to tear the fabric, cause a ruckus for some self demented magic and all those cells they lack, cause the crap that hurts me, you, all of us. with this there is no plus.
its been spoken about for years but that hasn’t stopped generations of tears, a millennia of fears. it spreads from one to two to three to four and now you have more, pain, less to gain but this is for all those that chose to stand tall for their given thing and sing the changes needed.
for those that lost their life’s for doing what’s right. in hindsight, it should never have been but what can we do about that? well these days cut the crap!

it don’t matter if your black or white. of course that’s right, cause no matter the skin, we are all people just trying to get better. we are all a brother, a sister, a father and or mother. we are all part of one another, in some way or other so in the end, your hating yourself my un-friend.

its a shame hate can exist. i guess it would be miss to say that if there wasn’t, they wouldn’t and brave men and women would never be known in that field even though it did yield a saviour of man or two. it also allows the real evil few through and then it stacks up, in a fucked up game of top trump and it leads to new good and bad deciding who they should bump.
but all this is wrong. this verse, not the song. hate leads to hate, from good or bad. the hated still have hate had and that pilferates all veins and good and bad ends the same and that should not be the final frontier of this desire of peace with common man, in a place, where the only demand is love.
come one and all, lets hold hands, not that i believe but lets pray to the gods above. every religion, the gods are waiting, as we’re placing our priority. i reckon this has happened before but someone got greedy and that lead to all this hating. im joking.
it was a fucked up head, a brain dead mind that decided they were better. in reality they were naïve, wetter behind the ears then a new born babe. crazy i know but that’s how things sadly go. one small mind to another and then peace unravelled, leaves this world, you and me, troubled.

it dont matter if your black or white. of course thats right, cause no matter the skin, we are all people just trying to get better. we are all a brother, a sister, a father and or mother. we are all part of one another, in some way or other so in the end, your hating yourself my un-friend.

to all those great men and women, killed way to young. for hero’s of sex and colour, you all chose to bother and achieve a better equality. to the new that are protecting the hate crime of gender. im not that person, though id love to be the ones that made the haterz, surrender!
it will be a person in the crowd, with a known face and an unknown name. this person will re-change the game and there will only be the normal hate of poor, defenceless Brussels sprouts to get heated up about.