Cranium Retaliations

Isaak Sank

Description

The Flags represent some of the icons that made the human history and their values are still alive to this day.The Broken Bottles represent the misadventures, obstacles and sad facts that can pop during a lifetime.The image of Senses Weeping represent all kinds of emotions generated by the first two, love on top of all.Through three symbols, sense of humour and storytelling, the Italian poet Isaak Sank talks about literature, art, history, social injustice, world politics and his roots. Please feel welcomed into the mind of a young artist.RETALIATION (Noun)* The action of returning a military attack, counter-attack."The bombings are believed to be in retaliation for the trial of 15 suspects."* The action of harming someone because they have harmed oneself, revenge."She rejected as preposterous any suggestion that she had acted in retaliation."CRANIUM (Noun, Plural: Craniums or Crania)* The hard bone case that gives an animal''s or a human''s head its shape and protects the brain.

Sujets

• Poetry

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 29 novembre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528964210
• Langue: English

Extrait

Cranium Retaliations
Isaak Sank
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-11-29
Cranium Retaliations About the Author Copyright Information © 22 Waterlily ’40s Song Al Supreme Aquarium in Favelas Cold Jazz Expositions Part 1 Expositions Part 2 Expositions Part 3 Marquis FM, AM On the Stairs Once My Autumn Is Ended Prosper Screen, What I Think Shangelin and the Theory Soldier Myls, Soldier Selfs Starred Yawn The City of Porcelain and Smoky Quartz (Opened) Touch Versailles’ Opinion Writing: The Witness Carnival Just a CCP Story The Brahmin Winter View Peephole Through the Fence Jesus and Sprite (First Chapter) Blue Chessboard Dear Collard At the Floor 3 and 9 Balcony Above the forest Cameroon Blues Penmanship Fruitful Wi…Fine? When I Pour It Some for You Zodi-Acts (The Stains of What Is Like) Killed Mike Orlando, USA DP (Dead Poets) Electronic Zoo Silvery Barefoot Across the Park Benjamin and Faith Canary’s Legacy Canvas Drooling Cranium Retaliations Julie the Tulip Letter to the Friend I Have Never Met on Trip Pastels Seneca’s Garden
About the Author
Isaak Sank (04/08/1993) is an Italian poet who graduated in languages in 2010. At the age of nineteen, he started to travel the world while cultivating his deep love for poetry and the English language. Most of the short pieces inside this book have been written between 2016 and 2018. Originally divided in three chapbooks, these poems have been collected together to create Cranium Retaliations . As the title suggests, the collection is about a real ‘war’ of thoughts, beliefs, personal experiences and feelings. The Flags are the important figures in our society and history. The Broken Bottles are the issues and the bad things. The Senses Weeping are the feelings of love, happiness, hope.
Copyright Information ©
Isaak Sank (2019)
The right of Isaak Sank to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528923576 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528964210 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
22 Waterlily
The Waterlily’s jungle hosts lazy flowers and sick fruits, don’t burn it,
Want more to lose? (22 syllables poem)
’40s Song
Please sir, don’t take my son, but me instead
I had my time, and now it’s left
far behind the bales of hay, I got a rural house,
some chicken and a couple of cows,
an orchard to protect from the hard summer rain.
I don’t have any more teeth, but only a rotten stick,
with it I conduct the sheep, I can’t get more sick,
the labour sucked out all my ambitions,
I just wanna see him, continuing to cultivate his own nutrition,
who’s gonna provide crumbs to the fat pigeons?
Please sir, don’t take my son but me instead
I got only one pair of trouser full of patches,
I got a folkloristic song written in prose,
I take off my shirt,
here it is my consumed skin, you can lash it,
I gave all, it’s time to trash me,
I got a mandolin without strings,
I got on the stove warm pasta with beans
Please sir, don’t take my son but me instead
I do not attach manifestos on the wall against the current regime,
We go to church every Sunday to expel every sin,
Look at me I’m a rusty body,
take a look at how much he gleams!
Please sir, don’t take my son but me instead
we can repair or even wear your boots,
we can be blind and deaf as bats if you need,
I can fish tasty products of the little stream.
Don’t touch your pistol,
is about a future planned more important than how it seems?
I pray for you and to you, tell your man to not tie his limbs,
around here we say that makes more sense to slaughter an unproductive beast,
Give me rope I got you these oxidized wrists
Please sir don’t take my son but me instead,
Don’t point the gun to him, his sister is crying,
Appropriate of my white hair,
my tanned wrinkles, my excoriated palms, my exhausted eyes,
my big nose, my cracked ears, my painful ankles,
my dry elbows, my geometric head and all of its angles,
my last force lost digging for that tree of apples,
motherfucker shoot me, and carry the weight of this dead corpse!!
Shoots.
(Dedicated to the Italian fathers who lost their lives facing the Nazi cruelty)
Al Supreme
Greetings,
It’s Mr Supreme talking to you, I got big answers, but I don’t deal with anybody because it sucks to be Schengen, since the first breath after the placenta, me and my mother’s vagina, have been handled with white gloves, thanks god for that, I hate dirty strangers my thoughts are well sterilized, and I love to exterminate bacteria, pure talk to offend them
(Jack come on, they are still humans …) shut up, look at my eyes, these are real gems, doesn’t make you better to act as an advocate for germs
Brutal, no fear of darkness up in the system, only hatred for it, to celebrate with a toast, sweet sound of shiny glasses full of bleacher
Different men it means bad manners, that’s how we say in my town, and I can highlight my sorry but I’m too brilliant
Don’t cross my line, but cross the way and let weird ideas go by, you’re just a sucker, I pay taxes, when I sneeze I can get so many aspirins, I’m accurate because I escalate as a fantastic dream. I’ve built my country, we are modern Christs and you a fucking anti
So soft and fair is my family and my darling, and we would kill to not let talk or teach something, an animal who wanna act like a scientist
The true ones got a white lab coat, remember it before pronouncing your moans, stupid animist
If perfection was a dude, for sure would be albino, I’m the king of my land of walls and bullets, if you step in, we do, kill you, we don’t need more arms Visnu, keep on playing your games of Indu or whatever
Keep for your sake, Saké, Sade, Santana, Yoga, Yellow Rice, Curry Chicken and Tempura Shrimp.
Me, Mr supreme, I own a percentage of capital, you still got a long field to dig.
(Just a reminder of how much dumb racist people can be.)
Aquarium in Favelas
I hope my planets will align like the stripes on the Adidas I have always ever wanted, no lie,
Do you wanna know how’s the air inside a glass box?
Do you feel interested to see our phases hanging from a line,
like my socks between the cemented rocks?
Grandma shows grey hair out of the window, waving at the cameras and the docs,
it reminds me, turistas which tried to pass into the crack, it ate all their canons and telescopes,
so profound are the alleys, the law is to scare to dare even with a torch.
It’s so cynic to look for, a reportage about who suffers more, don’t you think so?
It makes you appreciate what you consider mediocre, then you bump on the theca while we scuba dive in the abyss for seafood and goals
Never dies the value of the short story, about foxes and grapes, tropical fruits and vegetables refusing to raise,
I live this, big sinners and huge faith
Sometimes food is dropped from the face of ozone and fat waves, elated mongoose just saw the snake
But how it comes then it goes, the breeze at the bay, Coco-nuts lost so many times job claiming to be not their fault, but of the flour,
they should measure out their doses if they have prepared a right dough
I turn up the volume every morning, different spices can’t change the usual orgy,
I blow the coffee to get it cold and have nothing to worry,
roll some macoña , then day light already reached the credits of your documented story.
To be locked inside the aquarium it’s not cool, but they will never change diet, until the vomit.
(Dedicated to all the people stuck inside an aquarium, and those who take advantage from that)
Cold Jazz
In 1963, Suge, Curtis, Walter and Ben
were sent to Russia,
for a private party at Brezhnev’s mansion,
to do their best,
play some Jazz.
Imagine four guys freezing,
not because of the icy express,
seated for ten hours and a half,
sharp number like
the first rehearsal of Sax,
But between old time buddies
there is a match,
and the music can be the gas.
They have been chosen
to represent their country,
US,
They felt lucky to depart,
due to Johnson’s request
so avoiding the risk,
to come back in Georgia wrapped by the flag,
from a front row in Vietnam.
Suge at the drums
Curtis, the pianist
Walter at the Trumpet
Ben at the bass.