Seven Stars

The best and most luxurious restaurants are given 3-Stars.

The most elegant and beautiful hotels and resorts 5-Stars.

We have 7-Stars, Now that is saying something.

When only the very best will do, Seven Stars.

The Stars prove it.
Written and endorsed by Me, Syrbastyian Vzampfyier.

I love Seven Stars cigarettes. They have a wonderful mild taste and they smoke easily and smooth due to there charcoal filter.

If you smoke I highly recommend Seven Stars cigarettes. They are Japanese cigarettes so if you are in Japan you will be able to get them easily, but outside Japan, a good tobacconist may stock them.

Poems about My Thoughts

These poems are about random thoughts that just came to me. These poems wrote themselves and I was not really aware of what I was writing until after I had finished and read it for myself. I like this way of writing poems because there is a purity in the writing when you are not fully aware of what you are creating or flowing out of you through the pen and on to the page. Of course if you have any questions or comments, please feel free to express them. Here are the titles of the poems: "The Finer Art Of Happiness", "Woe", "Year End", "Sharing My Dream", "Sleep", "Staying", "Going Out", "I'm Looking Back", "My Favourite Past Time", "Neon Lights", "Children", "Cold", "Death", "Fascinating", "A Generation" & "An Idea". Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: The Finer Art Of Happiness

" The Finer Art Of Happiness "

Traffic lights go red, green and amber.

Stop, go and slow down.

Riding the emotional highway of time.

You can be brave and tough it out.

You can cry when you are alone.

No one see, no one will know.

Can I tell you a secret.

Will you let me tell it.

The only thing you forgot to learn.

Is the finer art of happiness.

When you were child it was so easy.

Easy to laugh at the butterfly in spring

Enjoy the wind blowing the leaves away.

Now you are an adult, all grown up.

Drinking the bottle to numb the world.

Take the chem for artificial fun.

Long forgotten the butterfly.

The butterfly in spring.

Can I tell you a secret.

Will you promise to hear.

The only thing you forgot to learn is.

The finer art of happiness.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Woe

" Woe "

Woe to those who dream without knowing.

Who feel without wanting.

Think without understanding.

Who choose without deciding.

Woe to those who look without seeing.

Hear without listening.

Who breathe without living.

Woe to those who keep without sharing.

Who share without keeping.

Who take without giving.

Give without taking.

Woe to those who receive without doing.

Who fuck without loving.

Love without fucking.

Woe to drugs and alcohol for the sake of nothing.

Woe to speculating without participating.

To observing without noticing.

Woe to war without justifying.

To peace without needing.

Woe to woe without woeing.

To my words without reading.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Year End

" Year End "

This night, this holiday season.

Old surprises, old friends meet again.

This dream, this fantasy repeats.

Again and again.

This arse, my arse, her arse.

Oh such an arse.

I wish to dream.

Dream to wish.

Lovingly, longingly, heavenly, lustily.

Dream is tonight, is my dream.

Maybe real, maybe illusionary.

Too much to drink.

Too much of everything but not really enough.

Year end.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Sharing My Dream

" Sharing My Dream "

Can you show me the way to Atlantis, across the crystal sea.

Voyage through the iris of an eye, on a tear drop stream.

Take a chance in any direction.

You can soar for forever, in the slip-stream.

When you are sharing my dream.

Listen to the sounds of the alien's call, what could it mean.

Voices sound strange and inviting, can you understand what they are saying.

Images of an alien nation, no time to set the scene.

Ants always invite themselves to a picnic, but who invited me.

Take a look inside my eyes.

Find the crystal ocean on the map of dreams.

I could be six years old or a hundred and three.

I am whomever, wherever, however.

When I am sharing me dream.

Can you show me the way to Atlantis, across the crystal sea.

Voyage through the pulse of the kind, there no need for time.

Now to go to other worlds.

When you are sharing my, our dreams.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Sleep

" Sleep "

Sleep oh sleep.

The blissful rest or is it?

When asleep, the world moves and turns without us.

Unaware of comments and events.

Sleep, where our minds turn.

Ideas, thoughts and inner truths in dreams.

Without the fetidness of consciousness.

Where secrets are revealed to the bright lights wakefulness.

Or half hidden in shape and foggy memories.

Or lost only to be remembered in sleep.

Ah sleep, the bane of staying awake.

But a blessing of inner journeys.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Staying

" Staying "

I am here, yes I am here.

Here to stay.

As long as I choose to be.

Yet, I know not what to feel.

No emotion or thoughts come to me.

Nothing dwells or wells in me.

I guess I shall have to wait.

Wait to discover, find or trip over what I think or feel.

Here, yes here to stay.

As long as I choose to be.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Going Out

" Going Out "

Laser light, reflections mirror me.

Time concept, boundaries no end.

Sweat taste, the sweet salted fragrance.

Mirror time, mirror me, mirror light, mirror night.

End, to know no end.

Artificial, cigarette, human flesh.

To form dense in-toxic, erotic.

Human flesh, to taste, to caress, to smell.

Formed smoke, rise, rise, fall, fall, turn, contort.

Shapes in the reality to savour.

Take delight.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: I'm Looking Back

" I'm Looking Back "

I am looking back, to a time when I was untarnished.

Looking back to a time when being a child was not such a struggle.

Time went on and on.

Life was always good even when it was bad.

A child's mind, fresh air, lots and lots of room to play.

Play the games we invented until dark, all day.

Colours, oh the colours.

Always bright, always full even the blacks and grays.

Music was such magic.

Sounds and words would and could fly.

All we had to do is close our eyes.

And soar and glide with them away.

I am looking back.

To a time when your friends were closer then brothers and sisters.

When skin colour was nothing and, rich and poor were the same.

Looking back, as child's eyes and mind.

Tripped over a crack in the footpath, scarped my knee.

Down the creek for world war three mud-fight.

Come home, get yelled at by my parents.

But it did not matter, it was such a great day.

Oh look at that, that eagle soaring high in the beautiful sky.

Speed down the hill on my push-bike.

Like some crazed maniac on LSD.

Going fast, such a trip when you are a child.

I am looking back, looking back.

When I was so small and the world was so so big.

Full of magic and mystery.

It could go on forever, forever and a day.

I am feeling my life going on for miles and miles.

When I was a child.

Looking back, looking back to a time.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: My Favourite Past Time

" My Favourite Past Time "

Wake up.

What!

Wake up!

Why?

Because.

Because why?

Is there there anything to do?

No.

Then I am going back to sleep.

Dreaming of rivers and mountains.

Monolithic battles in the dark ages and maidens.

Oh sweet maidens to save from the evil dark wizards.

Wake up.

What!

Wake up!

It always happens right at the best bits.

Why?

Cause you have got to go to work.

I don't want to work, it is boring of no interest.

I am going back to my dream.

Now where was that maiden.

Sixty percent of our lives is spent sleeping.

Ten percent in la la land.

And four point five percent relaxing.

well that is very interesting but I would rather be asleep at a time like this.

Laying, laying, waiting, waiting.

laying in wait for some sleep.

Magic to provide a great immense journey.

Boundaries, to the boundaries of my mind.

Dream a dream.

To be soaked and bathed.

Not to remember in the morning.

But it does no matter because I will be still asleep.

Sleep, sleep, sleep!

Wonderful, joyful, refreshing sleep.

What would we do without it, ah sleep.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Neon Lights

" Neon Lights "

You and I are doing fine.

Look up at the sky.

See not a drop of rain in sight.

Hey, let's go to the city.

Walk down to the station.

In forty-five minutes we will be covered in neon lights.

See all the neon lights.

Feel the beautiful colours reflected in our eyes.

Walking around, in the city.

Notice the different people.

Hear all the wonderful living sounds.

Feel the warm ocean breeze blowing through our hair.

Motions of the city at night.

Darkness, light, silence, noise, love and hate.

All bathed in universal neon light.

Back on the train.

Heading home with all the memories of tonight.

Yes, you and I are doing fine.

All the dark clouds will only stay for a little while.

And then they will drift on by.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Children

" Children "

I have seen babies born happy, joyous and gay.

Full of energy and life, ready to play.

I seen them born hurt, damage, maimed, burnt and dead.

Never to live, never to try, never to play.

Yet babies grow and children they be.

To laugh, to play, to adventure the day.

But things can and do go wrong.

Children are not always safe.

Their youth, their life maybe taken and,or stolen away.

And still they grow, adults they may be.

Full of hopes, wishes and fantasies, they dream.

They work and reap the benefits of life.

Some do not work, some do nothing, a wasted life.

Some drain others of everything.

A few will become destroyers, monsters of what they see.

Onwards they grow, old they be.

To reminisce life, simple memories.

To dwell on and of lost things.

Of things that never would have or will be.

But whatever should or should be.

Is or has been.

Babies become children.

And children will or will not be.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Cold

" Cold "

The cold.

What a strange sensation and thing.

It creeps upon you.

Like death waiting to sent you to sleep.

Muscles quizzer and lost their feeling.

Throughout the body piece by piece.

Losing the fight.

Awaiting sweet blessed sleep.

Cold has come for you.

Cold, it also invigorates and wakes up life.

Go outside, it hits you and you feel alive.

Cold, what a strange sensation and thing.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Death

" Death "

It follows us from the moment we are born.

It comes close.

It visits us.

Sometimes it takes us.

Sometimes it chooses not to.

It is forever close.

Some try to fight it.

Try to keep it at bay.

Really, what is the point.

It is not going to go away.

Better to accept it.

Feel comfort in it.

Be comfortable with it.

The certainty of it.

Embrace it.

It is with us in even moment.

Until it comes to take us away.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Fascinating

" Fascinating "

Oceans, seas, rivers, lakes, fascinating.

Me and outer embodiment, fascinating.

Discussions of minds exploring the boundaries, fascinating.

The scent of bodies joined in a stationary journey, fascinating.

The dimensions of life and the degrees of death, fascinating.

Someone to talk with.

Open and without judgement.

Without fear of expression and with ideas to discover.

To reveal each others inner thoughts and truths without covers.

Fascinating.

Someone to talk with.

Voyage of complexities.

Understanding, learning, exploring, discovering.

Knowing the essence.

Fascinating.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: A Generation

" A Generation "

Pushing time, pushing plenty, born in sixty-nine.

I am an acid child and I will feel fine as soon as I drop another line.

Line made, line done, bleeding nose, bizarre dreams.

But it does not matter either way as long as I have my cocaine fade aways.

A line to get me up and a line to get me out.

A line for breakfast and a line for dinner.

A line for everything, except my memories.

Living on the line, born in sixty-nine.

My folks were whacked when I was doing nine months inside.

Well that explains a lot but what explains this.

Big furry monsters running in my head blocking everything from view.

White rose petals floating over my head.

Oh do you have the time so I can make love to you.

All the beautiful magical colours I see with my eyes.

They are not real but I see them most of the time.

And life is dreams upon dreams upon dreams upon dreams.

So I am born in sixty-nine and you know what.

I always seem to find the time.

So if you want to sing a line and fly across the planet.

Take a trip down my generation.

Cause I have some real interesting habits

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: An Idea

" An Idea "

Sometimes bitter, somethings sweet.

The bringer of joy, the bringer of sadness.

The revealer of inner truths, the revealer of inner self.

The essence of bravery, the essence of misery.

It comes at wonderful times.

It comes with desperation.

It comes in inspiration and joy.

It comes from depression.

It lets you do and say things that you control.

A need and an abstinence.

The blessing and the curse.

An idea.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Uncertainties

" Uncertainties "

My life, not in the hands of myself but in the hands of others.

Uncertainties, no responses or answers.

Uncertainties, questions I have left in the air.

I know that life is not gauranteed.

But some direct would be good.

Would easy my anxieties.

Trapped in limbo, caught in air.

Turn right, turn left, turn somewhere!

Maybe I should focus on the things that make me happy.

Seven Stars cigarettes, beer, red wine, chocolate.

And tiny feather here and there.

But even things are only short term escapes, reliefs and joys.

The uncertainties remain.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Why learn English? Why teach English?

Why should you learn English? Why do I teach English?

First of all I need to let you in on a dirty little secret, that English Language School in Japan, The Japanese Government (Education-Ministry) and Jukku(Cram-schools) do not want you to know.
Most Japanese people do not really need to learn English. Only about under 3% of Japanese people actually need English e.g. some family relationship, a social relationship or association, or due to academic and/or business relationship. The other 97% do not need English and most could actually live a full and happy life without any English knowledge at all (English words used as Japanese do not count).

If the government and schools(educators) in Japan want to teach English in school then they are going about it the wrong way. English is an ART like music, painting, drama, etc not arithmetic like science, math, etc. If they continue to teach English like a math subject then you will get people who have student English for 6 to 8 years but still can not use the language beside reading and grammatical patterns.
For young children; English should be use as a game or for singing songs, the children do not need to learn it they will just get use to the sounds and words of English and naturally pick it up.
For primary(elementary) students; English should be use in a passive way e.g. the subject is simple math (1+1=2, 3x2=6) but the teacher uses English to talk to the students-e.g. (T) one plus one equals two, everyone repeat. (S's) repeat...(T) three times/multiplied by two equals six, everyone repeat. (S's) repeat. In this way the students will natural learn English and will pick it up quickly without the added stress.
As for high school (Junior/Senior) students, the first year they should learn English but after this, it should be their choice to learn English or not.

So why learn English?

Well for better or worse and probably for the next hundred years English is and will be the THE international language of Business, Governments, NGO's, NPO's, Academics, the Sciences, Technology, Associations and all manner of groups. No matter how much the French complain. Therefore if one wishes to or has to be involved in the international world, then English is a must. Without English you will be at a disadvantage and will not be able to complete. Plus you will miss the vast amount of opportunities that knowing English will provide. For these factors English you will have to know and it why you should and be some cases must learn English.

But these are some of the serious reasons but what about the other not so serious reasons.

Lets start with travel. By knowing even just a little English your travel experience will be so much the greater. You will be able to shop, eat, take tours, rent things and enjoy with worrying about not knowing the conditions and more importantly without getting your money ripped off(over charged). You will be free to explore and not trapped to the tourist places because knowing English you will have access to resources that someone without English will not have. And most importantly you will be able to made connections with people of that country so much easier and quicker by knowing English. Even in countries where English is not the native language, there almost always someone there who knows English.

What about other things?

Well there are Movies, Books, Music, Television, etc

By knowing English your world will expand and grow so much because of the extremely vast amount of the above that is produced in English, plus almost everything is eventually translated in to English as well. No matter what your interests, tastes, styles, likes, etc you will be able to get in English. The Internet is a prime example, even people whose native language is not English use English because they know that English will provide them the greatest number and opportunity to connect with other across this beautiful world.

So these are some reasons why you should learn English.

Also all of the above reasons are a part of why I want to teach English to non native learners but they are not the main reasons why I teach English.

So Why do I Teach English?

The main reason I teach English is that I truly love doing it. I love to teach. It gives me immense satisfaction and pleasure to teach English. The fact when you start the person can not express themselves and say what they want to. With my help little by little they can say what they want and you can see their personality and mind coming out, plus seeing their world and life knowledge expand because of English and because of my teaching. This is awesome, it is pure magic. Also in a way it is like being a parent. You teach and show them, help them with their mistakes, praise them when they did well, encourage them when they are depress or feeling negative and sometimes spank them when they have been naughty. So that in the end they leave be independent and live their life without really needed you. This is what teaching English is to me and what I strive to accomplish with every person that I teach English with.

So these are the reasons why you should learn English and why I teach English.

Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

H.R.Giger

My absolute favourite artist ever is H.R.Giger. These a just a small sample of his art work. (To see more please click the link here or the link under the post. I liove his art work bcause it is so different form all others. Plus his work makes you react in some way. It forces you to think about your sensibilities and your own ideas of art and morality. I hope you like his work as well through I feel his art work will most likely shock you in some way. Syrbasytian. http://picasaweb.google.com/nihon.no.seba/HRGieger

Poems about No Special Meaning

All these poems have no special meaning. They are just poems that came into my head at the time or they were writing when I was out on the town have a drink and/or just wandering around the city. Maybe you will find some meaning in them for you. In any case, I hope you enjoy them. The titles are: "Light", "Glass", "Beginning The Night", "Corners", "Some Things", "Another", "Club", "300 Yen Bar", "Pendant", "Stolen From The Good Book", "A Teacher's After Thought", "Clock Time", "Promise", "The Word", "Tomorrow" & "I Made The News And Never Knew It". Syrbastyian

Poem: Light

" Light "

Do you see the light.

Does it cover you.

Blind you with it's glare.

Do you see the darkness.

Does it fold and hide you from the stares.

Step into the night.

The city lights will provide islands with little fear.

Small alleys and lanes.

Where no light penetrate.

What mysteries and unknowns hide in there.

Look under your bed or in your closet.

Do you check before you rest your head.

Most of the time you will find nothing.

Just lights dancing with shadows.

Maybe there are monsters.

Hiding from the light.

Or only the monsters in your head.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Glass

" Glass "

Glass, what a marvelous substance.

Clear, transparent, to see all within in it and on it.

To see around it, under it and through it.

But add some frost, some cloud, some colour.

And visions are unclear, understandably blurred.

Strong, tough, reflective.

It is able to withstand heat, cold and pressure.

Being pounded and hit.

But if it gets the slightest tap may shatter it.

Broken into a million shards and pieces.

Variety, many there are.

All shapes, all sizes, colours, styles and uses.

Yet from the same beginnings and origins.

Glass, what a marvelous substance.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Beginning The Night

" Beginning The Night "

Brown, the scent of Seder.

Wooden comfort, leather caress.

Amber liquid, golden, a happy influence.

Soul and jazz playing.

Through the box a grooving vibe.

Sitting, relaxing.

Feeling the joy of a jumping place.

People rocking, people moaning.

Bodies swaying to the beat, to the heat.

Alone standing, together standing.

The journey.

Club where it starts.

The beginning of the night.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Corners

" Corners "

Did you see it, that quick flash.

At the corners of your eyes.

Did you see it, a sudden shadow.

A dark patch.

Like something or someone standing.

But when you turn, gone to air.

Did you hear it, a soft voice.

A whisper.

A quick sentence that sounds like a word.

It was there but now gone.

Nowhere, it was there.

Must be my imagination.

Must be the corners of my mind.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Some Things

" Some Things "

To learn, to know, discover, to understand.

Many things we bring to us.

Many things we learn.

Many things we throwaway.

Many things we burn.

Some things we build.

Will evolve our life.

Some things are stagnate.

Destroy our life and mind.

How we absorb and view will determine.

Which affect, effects and actions.

The direction's, paths and roads.

To our travels.

Our journey will end.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Another

" Another "

Another cigarette.

It's smoke whirling and curling to the ceiling.

Another bar.

Beer flowing, beer drinking.

It's amber blessings rushing through us.

Another time.

No flowers to caress.

To open, to impress.

Another place.

To be here, to be there.

Alone, together, to know.

To know another.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Club

" Club "

Rhythm, beat, melodic, repetitive, tribal, animalistic.

Bodies entwined together, apart.

Movements basic, complex, free, sexual, sensual.

Sweat perfumed, sweetened, musky, desired.

Lights fantastic, rainbows and black.

Now but not now.

On then not on.

Dance the physical form of thoughts.

Dance the physical form of emotions.

Dance, dance, dance.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: 300 Yen Bar

" 300 Yen Bar "

300 yen bar, 300 yen bar.

It is a 300 yen bar.

Hip hop music, hip hop beat.

It is not Australian Crawl.

But this place is cheap.

J and the mob are in the house.

Having a few, a few drinks.

To enjoy, to celebrate a new year.

Everybody put your hands in the air.

Everyone is too drunk.

Ok keep your hands down there.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Pendant

" Pendant "

When you look at this pendant.

What do you see.

The patterns and designs on this pendant.

They have no special or real meaning.

Just pretty patterns.

Pretty designs to see.

Now look at it again.

Let the patterns envelop your mind.

They will tell a story.

A story for you to find.

They look to venture a journey.

Travel in time.

Discover new worlds.

Magical places.

Memories lost in time.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Stolen From The Good Book

" Stolen From The Good Book "

Life, death, resurrection.

Church ministers teaching hypocritical incite.

Salvation witnessing armageddon.

Bible baptism, bloody cross.

Consequences of corruption.

Murmuring news of an unforeseen occurrence.

Brothers calling, mind your own business "error".

Operation of the excused.

Hell, hades, sheol prove to be proverbial utterance.

Devils and demons.

Sin of earth.

False prophets.

Images of healing tongues.

Stolen from the good book.

Looking for a bottle of coke.

Pay attention man of lawlessness.

Rights as a citizen nonexistent.

Bodyguard broken, spiritualism.

Soul wickedness, world distress.

Clan chief fooled fraudulently.

Whitewash, creation ransom.

The memorial mass.

Religion first days of the sabbath.

Sovereign lord.

Heaven in opposition to persecution.

Costly criticize the kingdom.

Stolen from the good book.

Looking for a bottle of black gold, coca-cola.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: A Teacher's After Thought

" A Teacher's After Thought "

Straight line, straight line.

Better travel in a straight line.

Do not waver, do not falter.

Not unless you reach the end.

Hey, I am going to kill myself working twenty hour days.

Hey, why don't I kill myself just to what it might be like.

Can not do that, I have got thirty student test to mark.

Slowly, slowly declining.

The light ebbing away in the western sky.

Orange glow fading into pinpoints of twinkling light perforating the young night.

Coffee and biscotti by my side.

Paper work only half done, long night, long night.

Packet of cigarettes in the draw will make it alright.

Hey, I am going to kill myself teaching thirty student's their A B C's.

Hey, why don't I kill myself just to see what there could be.

Light up a cigarette, friends say I will die of lung cancer.

Funny comment that, I mean.

Most of them die from drinking and driving.

I do not drink, funny that.

Hey, I am going to kill myself, thinking over and over that is me.

Hey, forget that thought.

I have a date with a beautiful lady.

By the way I am not a teacher. I am a cafe owner.

How could that be, how could that be.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Clock Time

" Clock Time "

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tock.

The hands of a clock.

Measuring time within time.

Read once, read twice, read once again.

Read between the lines.

Electronic and print media don't always say the truth.

Well not the complete whole truth.

Reach across, hold my hand.

Reach across for where you stand.

Where you stand is not where you stand.

Where you deceive yourself, that is where you stand.

You look upon something but you do not know what you see.

Lips say one thing but the says a different thing.

Look for answers, try at least to find them.

Don't go blind when you discover you do not like them.

What is there to see, what is there to be.

Body aches, police crimes, supposed justice.

How can that happen when everyone is guilty of or committed some crime.

Now, I ask you to take my mind.

Take it away.

I give it freely, it is yours to take.

But beware of the secrets they might jump out and bite you.

Enough, enough, enough of this talk.

It is time for pleasure or if you want something relaxing lets make it leisure.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

You see, you hear.

It is a clock, yes a clock.

Open your eyes, it the counting time.

Open your mind, it is count down your time.

Open your life, for time, to time.

Clock time.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Promise

" Promise "

People talk, people walk.

It is all the same.

Play the game.

It is all disconnected.

See the shore.

Beat the drum.

Watch the sun until you are blinded and numb.

People lie, people cry.

Some day people surely die.

In their hearts and mind.

People believe, people ask why.

Watch my eyes, don't watch my hands.

Do you trust me, you shouldn't, I wouldn't.

It is human nature or is it a failure.

Understand to not understand.

You can try, you can lie, You CAN lie.

You can scream, you can cry, you can plead.

It is all the same, just a game.

A game you lose to think you have won.

It is a game. It is a shame.

You promise, I promise, we promise.

Promising a promise, promise.

People walk, people talk.

It is all the same when you are covered in rain.

Feathered with blood and dust of the earth.

People promise.

Promise people.

Promise.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: The Word

" The Word "

So soft, so gentle, a power connects the lines.

Time in a word and the word in time.

Crossing and testing, making the unmaking.

The word defined.

The word is the word.

It is always here and always now.

See, it is not hard to refine the word.

You know the word.

Smoke rising in the air.

Yes the word is there.

Round, round and round we go.

Going forwards, going backwards.

Going for the sake of going.

No direction, to little time.

The word is the word.

You know it and I know it.

And the word is.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Tomorrow

" Tomorrow "

As The light of fire dims slowly form the reflection of one's own eyes.

The mind trips over thoughts of dreams once gone by.

You heard a sound.

Feel a strange particle of chilled and unforgiving air.

And you know.

What is there, which awaits your coming.

It sees, it knows, it awaits your coming.

Still you watch the flames until they dwindle to nothing.

Tomorrow you will go.

Tomorrow awaits your coming.

Tomorrow.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: I Made The News And Never Knew It

" I Made The News And Never Knew It "

Rolling, turning, tumbling towards emptiness.

Dancing, flying dividing all my senses but all my eyes see is darkness.

Am I here? Do I exist? Am I dreaming? Is this reality?

It must be, why else would I be here.

A family got killed yesterday, just outside my apartment building's front door.

From my second floor apartment window, I saw it all.

Saw the car, saw the guns, blinked my eyes and the family was no more.

I think I understand a great many horrors of the world.

Maybe I just pretend to understand.

Even if I fool myself the reality and the results are still the same.

Am I awake? I hope I am awake.

I can not tell, I see images speeding through my mind.

I see wonderful colours, sometimes I see a lovely white light.

I grays and blacks of every tone, sometimes I this great darkness.

Sometimes I feel fantastic.

Other times I am in great pain.

Like bleeding, like my body ripped open.

I don't know, things get confusing at times.

NEWS AT ELEVEN: Good evening. A Mr. Stephan Gates died earlier this evening from three gun shot wounds.

Mr. Gates was shot while sitting on his second story apartment's window seat. He joins the four members of the Woods family who were also gunned down, in-front of Mr. Gates' apartment building, in the same drive-by shooting.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poems about Society and the World-Society

All these poems are about society. Mainly they express the negative points in society. For example the poem "Behind The Suit And Tie" talks about how we as a society rely on image/appearance to establish credibility. We see someone in business attire and we think that they must be a respectable person. But most of the worlds most evil people throughout history dressed and gave an image of respectability. Another poem "I Have A Dream" talks about how we are given/shown a path to improve our world but we do not take this opportunity because we feel it is too difficult or we really do not want to do it because we are satisfied with the status-quo. Other poems talk about how we are small minded and selfish or how we use religion or cultural differences to breed intolerance and at times hate. I hope you will enjoy these poems of mine and I hope that they make you think about your society on a local to an international scale. We may not have the power to do something about social problems but we all have the power to think, say and write something about society and it's problems. Here are the titles: "Behind the Suit & Tie", "I Have a Dream", "Not Understand", "Women", "Quick", "Age to Same", "All the Same", "Convicted by Society", "I Don't Want to Hear it", "The Undefeated Opponent", "Drowning", "White Trash", "In the Name of God" & "A Baby Cries". If you have any comments and/or questions, please feel free to add them. Syrbastyian

Poem: Behind The Suit And Tie

" Behind The Suit And Tie "

Mash the babies against the wall.

Watch the brains fall on the floor.

Feast on them with fork and straw.

Put the bodies in a blender.

Add some fruit and ice, and give it a whirl.

Baby fruit crush, tasty, what a treat.

Baby killer, Child murderer.

Behind the suit and tie.

Child's flesh, baby's blood.

For my sex, tender beautiful little boys and girls.

Money, candy and sometimes a lost puppy is all I need.

To the little innocent ones in the car with me.

And no one will notice cause I wear a suit and tie.

No one sees.

Look at me, Look at me.

I am a respectable man with my business suit on and briefcase in hand.

I love my family, I love my friends.

I love the little ones, mmm I love to play with them.

So be aware of those in suit and tie.

Cause you never just really know, who they are inside.

Behind the suit and tie.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: I Have A Dream

" I Have A Dream "

I have a dream; poor Martin Luther King Junior.

I have a dream; yes a mighty good dream it is.

Pity because no one really wants it, everyone is actively fighting against it.

We mouth the words but how many of us really do something about it.

Most are satisfied with the status quo.

I have a dream; it is called oneness, togetherness.

But everyone want labels.

I am this, I am that and you are this, you are that.

We are this, we are that and they are this, they are that.

I am, you are, we are, they are.

I have a dream; No labels, no categories, no groups, no separatism.

Only oneness, togetherness and openness.

I have a dream; I hope for Martin's sake, for our sake.

I hope it will be.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Not Understand

" Not Understand "

When we do not understand, we go mute like dead fish.

When we do not understand, our minds slam shut like a vault door.

When we do not understand, we throw sticks and stones to chase it from their sight.

When we do not understand, we rant, rave and abuse to block the sound.

When we do not understand, we will not learn and we will not evolve.

When we do not understand, the seeds of hate grow into trees.

When we do not understand, friendship can never be and never flower.

In the end, when we do not understand killing is easier to complete.

Maybe we do not try to understand or maybe it is fear.

Maybe it is just human and our default reality.

When we do not understand, great evil becomes our history.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Women

" Women "

Why do they suffer us men.

Why do they suffer so.

The pain, the agony, the stress that we men bring.

That each time and each month that nature brings.

Men can not understand it.

Do not know it and can not feel it.

Can not even possibly imagine it.

I feel the reason is simple.

Women and nature are one and the same.

What nature is, women are.

Nature gives everything, gives it all.

It's beauty, worth, pleasures and magic.

And so women give and are the same.

Nature suffers our abuses, our destruction and our selfishness.

Nature bleeds for it, for life and for time.

And so women suffer the same.

Women the greatest of gifts and the magic of life.

And so nature is the same.

Without women we are nothing.

Without nature we all die.

And so without women it is the same.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Quick

" Quick "

Quick to judge, quick to call.

One quick glance and you know it all.

Quick to say, quick to state.

One quick thought and there is no mistake.

Quicker to hear, one word, a sentence.

And your quick to judge, think and say.

Your so quick, you haven't seen a thing.

Your so quick, you haven't heard a thing.

Your so quick, you do not really or even know.

Your so quick, you do not have the knowledge.

Your so quick, you miss all the information you need to think, judge and show.

What can you say or state.

Your so quick, you can not say a thing.

So quick, you will never never know.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Age To Same

" Aged To Same "

When I am ten and they are naught.

I am satan incarnate for wanting them.

When I am twenty and they are ten.

I am a monster and sick for wanting them.

When I am thirty and they are twenty.

I am considered dirty or lucky for wanting them.

When I am forty and they are thirty.

I am no longer dirty but still lucky for wanting them.

When I am fifty and they are forty.

This people say is nature for wanting them.

When I am sixty and they are fifty.

We are aged to same.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: All The Same

" All The Same "

Am I unjust?

When I search myself.

Yes, injustice is there.

Am I prejudice?

I look at myself in the mirror.

Yes, I have judged before knowing.

So yes, it is there.

Am I sexist?

I ponder this.

Yes, I believe there are differences there.

Now the most difficult question.

Am I racist?

I journey deep within my self.

To discover hidden thoughts and feelings.

Yes, I have been.

Maybe I am or can be.

Am I different, unusual, strange and not like everybody else in the world?

No, I am not.

We are all the same.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Convicted By Society

" Convicted By Society "

I do not care for the convict who puts a nine-millimetre to an officers head.

Pulls the trigger, the jacket falls, brain dead.

I do not care for the convict who goes to gaol for their crimes.

I can see how society makes a person commit a crime.

Take a life, fight, looking for a fast track out of a bad time.

Pushed to the edge, societies rules are not mine.

Make my like and money in crime. Take what is rightly mine.

So send me to prison, send the police to take my life.

I have been and am the reject of society.

I am the other end of your social spectrum.

You can not deal with that, you can not deal with me.

While you whine about your white picket fences and petty little things.

I live and breed in your orphanages, reform schools, your prison and your lower class neighbourhoods, that is me.

You asked have I paid my debt to society. You say I must paid my debt to society.

Fuck you and your fucked up so called society.

Fuck the saviours, the protectors of moral conduct, the PTA, the FCC.

Fuck you social workers, teachers, self-righteous politicians and religious leaders on TV.

And fuck your law enforcement officers cause all they want to do is fuck me.

You do not see or understand me.

You just see the clothes, the colour of my skin, the way I wear my hair.

The fact that when I put my hands in my pockets there is no money in there.

But the is a gun, so fuck you and get them up in the air.

So I do not care about the convict who take a jacket's life.

Because the convict is me, that go your attention I see.

He did not even see me. I left him dead and bleeding.

Society has already caged me. Society always blames me.

Now I am not afraid. Now I have a gun.

Waiting for a bullet and then it will be done.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: I Do Not Want to Hear It

" I Do Not Want To Hear It "

Daddy why is that man lying in the street.

Daddy he looks like he is about to die.

We have plenty of money, we can buy him something to eat.

Hush, now child, I do not want to hear it.

That man is lost to our life.

I do not want to hear it.

Now lets be on our way.

Just a conversation between a parent and child.

The child sees the pain of this man.

The parent just sees a pile dirty rags.

Does not want to hear the child's pleas to help.

There are millions and millions of homeless.

Homeless men, homeless women, homeless children.

Homeless families, homeless communities, homeless tribes.

And millions more just living on under the line.

Politicians, governments and corporations.

Do not want to hear it.

Ordinary people like you and me.

Do not to hear it.

And the famous just use it to increase their reputations.

Have we gone so far in society to block a senses.

Have we gone so far that I hearts are close to it.

We do not want to think about it.

We do not want to solve the problem.

We do not want to deal with it.

We can do something about it.

But I guess we do not want to hear it.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: The Undefeated Opponent

" The Undefeated Opponent "

White is the night, the clouds have fallen down.

Four thousand hooves travelling under the ground.

The earth splits and opens its mouth, swallowing the surface.

Disaster is about.

Vacuum overfilled with an in rush of air.

Puts stress on the northern hemisphere.

Barometer readings falling in rapid degrees.

Sky opens up and everything concedes.

Stand on that spot just a little longer.

Take a look over your left shoulder.

Could you destroy all that you see.

Do you safe and protected, well not me.

Daylight growing shorter, nights getting colder.

Winter, brown leaves caught in a circular breeze.

But maybe no more winters.

It only takes a few degrees.

Volcanic eruptions throw fire in all directions.

Underwater eruptions, building walls of immense destruction.

They will come, will come crashing down.

Levelling what used to be mountains.

Stand on that spot just a little longer.

Take a look over your right shoulder.

Do you think we can destroy all that you see.

It will continue, even if we are not here to see.

We could eliminate a trillions species.

We could nuke all our cities.

But when it is all said and done.

Nature will continue, it has already won.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Drowning

" Drowning "

Everyone needs a little warmth.

A little touch of the heart.

To keep this world from tearing us apart.

We try to swim against the tide.

Stroking harder to remain topside.

Until a rip pulls you under and you hope that you will survive.

To feel the sun in day's light.

Living in the nineties.

Drowning in technology.

Our name and identity is just a number on some government computer file.

We try to escape in our music or our interests.

But we really escape or hide and nothing lasts long.

In the computer chip millennium.

Corporations rule the world.

Government and politicians are just paid company fools.

Compassion has no place you see.

Especially when your living on and under the poverty line.

Life has lost its value, did it ever have it, in our civilised money motivated societies.

Living in the nineties.

Drowning in toxicity.

Through industrial anarchy, killing the planet and the air we all must breathe.

Natural wonders and beauty culled to advance our self-inflicted realities.

Lying in a plastic coffin.

With all the victims of this mass homicide.

not is wrong with us, can't we see.

Looks like we are blind.

Well on to the step, self-inflicted genocide.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: White Trash

" White Trash "

Oh how they judge.

White boy, white trash, trailer park.

That is what they called me.

Well I do not care if I am a piece of white trash.

At least I do as I please, I always run free.

I am just a piece of white trash.

With my unkempt hair and clothes.

On my dirty white knees, slip my head between your girl's legs.

Yes, and lets hear her scream, dirty white boy!

Shoot down a bottle of tequila, that sure feels great.

I am going to kick your fucking head in if you do not get out of my face.

People tell what is right what is wrong.

Why should I consider them when all the see is scum.

Just look at me as a piece of white trash.

Fuck you, fuck them for judging before knowing me.

You, them can kiss my white ass.

I have one thing left to say.

Between to opposing sides there is equal ground.

What you expect some higher thoughts from a piece of white trash.

I may be dirty but I can read.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: In The Name Of God

" In The Name Of God "

Sit my child, let me show you our past.

As you can see, it has been a bloodbath.

We have murdered nations and raped our lands.

diseases and famines, I hope you understand.

In the name of god, we started biblical wars.

In the name of god, families tortured their own child to save their souls.

We did all this and why.

In the my of god, it not a good enough reason to die.

Religion has lied, corrupted and desecrated.

Burn women on the holy stake and make their men watch so there would be no mistake.

The draw god's sword to make sure no innocent could tell the truth.

Of man's blind righteous hate.

Most most horrific crimes happen when religious men step in.

And denounce a society because their gods do not suit them.

In the name of god, religion has a feast.

Just to satisfy some power hungry priest.

In the name of god, we are suppose to find a way.

In the name of god, there is never a way.

How can you believe in men of god, when death at their followers hands is their only solution.

How can you believe, when your fear of them is your love and respect of them.

How can you believe, when they cause nothing but pollution.

How can you believe in men of god, who do not hear the children's cries.

How can you believe, when the allow and wish mothers to die.

In the name of god, they say we should trust.

In the name of god, they say we shall die on a holy quest.

In the name of god, this is how the rhetoric goes.

In the name of god, our blood shall flow.

I do not pretend to know the answers but I sure have a lot of unanswered questions.

I hope we on this wonderful planet can find a way to live without havoc.

I hope our children are not as blinded as we.

Acts in the name of god must end or we will never be free.

For now we walk our separate ways, I hope we will walk together some day.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: A Baby Cries

" A Baby Cries "

We travel up and down our cities streets but do we ever stop and take a good look.

Suicide is not that painful, homicide is all the rage, death is close, I know it so.

A baby cries for its mama, in vain.

Mama can not hear her because she caught a bullet from a senseless war.

Baby has grown up hollow and harden, she has become a young woman.

Baby's feet walk the streets now. Selling her body is her life not just a child's game.

She turns fifteen on her next birthday but, she knows, today is the day to slit her wrists and watch her dreams fade away.

Suicide is not that painful, homicide is all the rage, death is close, I feel it so.

A baby cries for its mother in vain.

Mother can not hear, she is out cold on booze and pills.

The child is a teenage boy, he is so out of it, he can not tell what is real or fake.

life is so fucking hard, full of madness and pain, you have to fight just to get something to eat.

I do not know why, I had to be born. It is not like I was asked or anything.

I wish my life would just disappear, disappear, disappear, disappear!

Suicide is not that painful, homicide is all the rage, another baby cries for its mother in vain.

by Syrbastyian Vzampfyier