Archive for the ‘ Poetry ’ Category
My dream is to make a living wage doing something I love to do for as long
as it gives me joy. I don’t desire riches, in fact I fear them. Fame is a
fleeting friend. But waking up every day knowing that come what may, I will
be grateful for whatever comes my way…
I have what I require in the way of food, shelter, medicine and basic
transportation. (Praise Gumbytron for the use of my sister’s old minivan
which is still running) But concert tickets once a summer would be nice.
Yeah I’d like more, but at least once a summer. Oh yeah and a way to get
there. Thanks Manvir for Furthur last summer, the bus trip there and back
was quite a journey.
Where was I. Oh yeah, it started with a simple question in my noggin.
Am I crazy because I believe it is the right of every human being to be
treated as such when they are actively engaged in doing something that she
loves, that also benefits those around her, should she not expect that for
her efforts on behalf of humanity that she be entitled to a living wage?
Oh fool’s talk! Let’s talk Manchester United, Marc, how is their season going?
(aside to a Facebook friend)
Concert tickets for New Year’s, eh, we may not see New Year’s, I’ll probably
be down at Lake Hope for the Mayan Solstice. The Blue Gate that Knight Chris
and Knight Derek opened in the woods there will be open for three days.
Gumbytron has instructed me that I must remain at the gate but I can’t leave
until everyone is done passing through those 72 hours (give or take a few
nanoseconds) The system will never elminate the human element. That is why
it is called an element. So we must rely on technicians in Snadragon (in a
near parallel universe to operate the controls, for which they are handsomely
compensated, I might add) during the aperture of the Blue Gate.
OK, perhaps the beginning of my earlier phrasing “Am I crazy…” maybe a moot
point after the revelation of my Mayan Solstice plans. But I have a big
problem on my hands. You see, I don’t know where the Blue Gate is exactly
as I was having back trouble and couldn’t make the hike from the campsite in
2001 and listened to Bluegrass Music for three hours while Knight Chris and
Knight Derek went on the quest that I had sent them on to open the Blue Gate
to Snadragon. And Knight Chris and Knight Derek have jobs and families and
responsibilities now and may not be able to make it to help me find the way
back to the Blue Gate.
But, I will go nonetheless. See how much it costs to rent a cabin. Gumbytron
instructed me to stay near the gate for three days but by Pokemon I don’t
have to freeze my nuts off doing it. Probably can’t afford a three night stay,
though. Be happy if I could afford one night but hey rates may be cheap.
Don’t own a tent. Maybe I could borrow Knight Chris’s. Don’t believe that
Knight Derek has a tent. Or sleep in the minivan and turn on the heat every
couple hours.
The things we do for faith in our own dreams…
Listen to this reading of my new poem:
my book Space Christals is available on Amazon
i have my survey map,
my lamp and shovel
there is no trail
but the landmarks are clear
it can’t be much farther
the sun sits
at just the right angle
for my little endeavor
my heart beats faster
as i hear the rush of Griswold Creek
i drop my gear
and take a drink of water
from my canteen
wipe my brow
miles from the road
but this is the spot
the survey says so
gather up the gear and head off
toward the banks of the creek
and in three minutes
i am standing on a small bluff
overlooking a turn in the bed
and put down my gear
looking around and
humming “not fade away”
time to get started
i find a clear spot
five feet from the bank
and spread the map out on the ground
looks like plenty of digging
on this side of the creek
and the sun
oh, the sun!
along the banks
that’s where the treasure lies
i dig one hole into the bank
three feet deep
and water begins to pool
in the muddy bottom
nothing
methodically
i dig like this
until the sun begins to hang low
the light isn’t right
but i’ve waited too long
i’m not stopping now
and the full moon
is already cresting the treeline
try the other bank beneath the moonlight?
or head home and hope for another day
i am the happy idiot by the creek
digging for rainbows in the banks
11.30.20..12
children of the GMO
while there are yet gods
walking the earth among us
can we taste the preservative kiss
as we walk the fields of GMO
eating the flesh of humans
directly from their bones
and dance beneath penumbral moons
while switchblades play in the sandpits
let us exhaust ourselves on each other’s shores
’til dawn bids us to sleep in lullaby bunkers
and dream in the centrifuge of audacity
the audacity against creation that we’ve become
come drink
from fetid stinking springs
that now smell like rosewater
let us dance in pools of toxicity
and fester with the best of them
there will be no time allotted
for regrets, of things undone
there will be no tears allotted
for the blotting of the Sun
we will melt together in the primordial oozes
stratified
and dumb
returned to sender
never to be opened
no filter needed
tap that main line
and let your mind melt to pieces on the floor
phasing out
it’s not extinction
just nature’s way of telling you to move along
neurotramsitters will tell you this
endorphins
god chemicals
look at the dandelion
a weed, yes?
golden crowns across the lawns proclaiming:
I AM
and damn your broad-spectrum herbicides
we got airborne seed
weeds
what does a dandelion think
when it sends its ‘chutes into the air?
little promises
phasing out
acceptance
words like these cast like seeds
to be blown in the wind
in hope
in hope
11.26.20..12
“Consume mass quantities”
you’ll never fill that gaping hole
inside your soul
with stuff
no matter how hard you try
if you can buy someone’s love
with shiny things,
what will happen to that love
when the luster fades?
more shiny things?
that lie in piles unappreciated?
because you have given too much stuff?
because you raised expectations once again?
where does it end?
buying things you don’t need
with money you don’t have
to prove you are a good consumer
you should have that written on your epitaph:
“here lies a good consumer.”
i’m not saying you shouldn’t give,
but give your most precious gifts to those you love,
build some memories that don’t involve wrapping paper…
give those the Lord has entrusted to your care
the lessons they will need to face the future
give them the tools to think for themselves
and not the pap fed to us by the commercial media
life is not about the stuff you accumulate
and Mother Earth is already stretched to her limits
swiping that card one more time adds to her misery
and adds to your misery in the long run
but this is the way things are, you may say,
if i don’t buy that technobauble for my child
she won’t fit in, she’ll feel inferior
is this what you wamt your children to believe?
that what you have defines who and what you are?
you may believe your value lies in these things
but do you really want to pass
that diseased philosophy
to your children too?
greed is good
more greed is more good
can’t get enough greed
all that stuff you find so precious
can be wiped out in a single instant,
a fire, a tornado,
what will you have left of yourself
if you place your value outside yourself?
here are some lessons that will last a lifetime:
restraint, you don’t have to charge over the precipice
with all the other lemmings
value, for the blessings we receive each day
just in drawing another breath
love, for those around you
and not all those things falling out of your closets
the greatest gifts we have are the times we get to spend together
on this short ride through the galaxy
don’t let shiny things get in the way of those great gifts.
11.26.20..12
Tuesday, November 19, 20..12
My book “Space Christals” was published on December 21, 2011 and I still can not be found on Amazon’s search engine even though I published it with their service CreateSpace.
When I go to type my title in, the search takes you to listings containing “space” and “crystals” and has no direct way to find my book. I conteacted them about this problem and they said they would get back to me and that they would be working on it.
It worked briefly when I would type in my title, it would still say “space crystals” in the search but offer an options for “space crystals books” and take me to my book. Now that doesn’t even work so I guess ‘ll have to call again.
Anyway, since there is no link, you can find it here:
I’d like to poste a reading of one of my poems, an irregular Jesus, which is from this book.
an irregular Jesus
an irregular Jesus
who likes to take vacations in the asylum
walks into Ace hardware for some glass cleaner
and gets lost
he finds himself in line with a bottle of pneumonia
when the lady in front of him has her credit declined
and walks away empty handed
he yallers, “Hey! i got a GOLD tooth.”
but she disapppears
he forgets his first miracle for a moment
and the pain in his chest nearly drops him to the floor
he laughs and waves at the security camera
remembering to wander
to the corner to clean a few windows for the Man
Thank you for reading,
Agnew
Monday, November 19, 20.12
Somewhere near Snadragon!
May Gumbytron bless you who are reading this. Another week has passed and I have not resumed my task on level 4 Matrix panel version 2. As you may recall, I had a major problem with version 1 when I installed a “superiority” complex in a chaos region of the map. I’m gonna lay off the superiority complexes for a while. Vers. 2 has a “pizza” mandala octagon in the center of the prime matrix. Vegetarian.
http://soundcloud.com/agnew-t-pickens/monday-mourning-musing
My fears are all sleeping on beds of nails. I’ll play loud music in the echo chamber and let it reverberate through their nightmares. added to that is this:
no sleep, clogged neurons
and neurotransmitters going haywire
too early to start drinking
tv news drones on about politics
scandals as if
nothing else happens around me
i look out the window
nothing has changed
not even the weather
toxicity levels rise so slowly in this atmosphere
that one day it’ll all just sputter out
i’ll just sputter out
sputter out or tune out
a slow fade to paradise…
turn up the volume
don’t worry, the neighbors won’t hear it
they’re watching tv
11.19.20..18
at my level of debauchery
i was seriously thinking about cracking a bottle of wine
it’s not even nine
speaking of debauchery
Agnew reports that on the Hamster planet of Snadragon,
on Mondays,
no one was killed by space junk
an orgy ensued
only there were no paparazzi
no one died and no one fried
the hamster was not made for Sunday
Sunday was made for the hamster
wake up with dreams of Snadragon
fading in the noonday sun
foggy memories that haunt the waking hours
do a quick check of all systems:
body, check
vision, check
imagination, check
serenity, check
drink a glass of water
stretch, stretch, s-t-r-e-t-c-h
fart
another day, another Sunday…
another gift from Gumbytron
so many hamsters worshipping their football
sit and worship briefly
bless the forward pass
take the hrududu to marionkind
on a sunny afternoon
hamster paws serenely holding the wheel
there’s always a wheel somewhere with hamsters
a familiar road
under November skies
the King’s taxes well spent
mad Mike is out on his bike
and Father Time is assembled in his usual spot
flipping his remote between football and murdering shows
let’s go to Pittsburgh!
and do what?
you’re right
Max
the perpetrator
the crumbhunter
the shiteater
his hind legs aren’t always cooperating these days
and the fur on his back is sparse
he’s begun to expect a Slim Jim
so we walk to the store down the street
time for the smoky communion
pauses in the thread of conversation
considering the thoughtsicles
that crust up in the imagination
floating back to the galleon
to take my place among the galley hamsters
push button-get reward
our only motivation
push button-get ignored
our state of stasis
no response from the ethers
no pushbutton validation
string a few syllables together for no one
in particular
the point of making a point in pointlessness
sit beside the traffic
smoking a cigarette
as the breath clouds up the night
content with something
content with something
11.18.20..12