Archive for the ‘ Poetry ’ Category

When the Sun Comes to December


Lanzarote windmill

Lanzarote windmill (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

 

Spring, mine
has come Late Summer
Rays lengthening like luminous lashes
on a photoshopped Supermodel

and stars
I mean I see them everywhere
they shine even
by Day

were I a Beginner
it would almost seem wonderful
in brief flashes
between dry Heaves

recurrences begin
to replace
Occurrences and I feel like walking out
on this Movie
Sometimes

really I do
but Mother Universe
keeps inventing

compelling characters
you know, the kind that make you wanna stick around
and see when and how their story ends
if You don’t exit before them

and then controversies
Buddha said “withdraw”
It is Illusion, Maya

but so damn compelling
and you don’t get much press
tilting at Windmills these Days

some battles you win, some you lose
but you know, you stop keeping score after a while
and look out the Observation Deck

and begin to enjoy the Scenery,
its fleeting quality
the evanescence of new and varied Stimuli
that keep you from finally pulling that Trigger

and give you the Patience to wait for
when the Sun comes to December

 

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Oh but it is


Residence of P.T. Barnum, by David W. Wilson

Residence of P.T. Barnum, by David W. Wilson (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

if it were that easy —
Oh but it is

do you need a set of instructions?

If you think TV is there to inform you
<wrong answer>
Correct Answer: TV is there to distract you
and divert you from the Truth

you trust a talking head
but argue “issues”
with those you shared a classroom with
and maybe even your Mom
but the Tube said it were so
(depending on what flavor you’re addicted to)
so it must be True

Fuck experience!
your senses may lie to you
(especially if you took as much acid as I did in ’94)
but the TV never ever never ever lies
It’s rods and cones, they comfort me
and leadeth me by still waters purified by Calgon

P.T. Barnum was an optimist
a sucker ain’t born every minute
a sucker is born with every click of the remote

Distraction
Diversion
Deception
Misdirection

if that’s yer bag, dude, who am I to call you on it?
i mean an Ostrich might find treasure sticking its head in the Sand

but you know me,
well perhaps not,
I don’t buy from Infomercials
the costs of living with myself are far too high

and I’d rather believe the Rumors I make up
than any spread on a Useless Tube

 

fluff


(fluff)friends

(fluff)friends (Photo credit: secondyip)

Fluff

<fluff>
is it <fluff> that you desire?
<fluff> that will help you ignore?
forget?

i’m sorry
turn off my Non Sense then
if thou willt
i do not talk in
and if my words aren’t minced
to your particular narcissistic brand of satisfaction

you know what?
i’m prepared to live with that
prepared to live
without <fluff>

RISE!


Image from the Book of Kells, a 1200 year old ...

Image from the Book of Kells, a 1200 year old book. Category:Illuminated manuscript images (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

RISE!

your chains
have been forged in complacency and distraction

don’t believe
what comes of the Tube
packaged by your friendly “neighborhood” multinational

you’re better off reading the Bible
and thumping it soundly
than feeding off the pap of TV

but there are many Voices,
many speaking of the Times,

and it may cause you discomfort
it may challenge your beliefs

but YOU will AWAKEN from the Dream —
more a Nightmare of self-Destruction
and Realize

what beliefs You decide to hold
should mold your Future

and not some pre-packaged, vaccinated, fluoridated, validated
presupposition of Existence

YOU are organisms
and subject to the Rhythms of this Sphere, Earth
and your Instinct, Spirit knows

this is a Grand Con

 

come look fer yerself…


English: The Battle of Stalingrad (1942-1943)

English: The Battle of Stalingrad (1942-1943) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Charon?
can ya carry me ‘cross
this here Dry Creek?

I got no feet
nor hands nor sphincter
I’m just a bloody
Shady Specter

tired of livin’
a Fool’s Folly
reachin’ into crania of spiders
but very few single GD human noggins
by Golly
I think I’ll make ME

a SPAM sammich
SPAM, well WIKI it if you must
Battle(Siege) of Stalingrad, etc.

’em pigs we slaughtered
fought off the Aryan Horde
at least out East …

out here in the Nether Regions
well
come have a look fer yerself…

 

i won’t be


The worship of Mammon

The worship of Mammon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

i won’t be your superman
and i’ve got no master plan
i’m just doing all i can
to stay atop these shifting sands

 

eating fire from streaming screens
buried in minutia
at once
burn my insides
with the Beauty of a dying ember

 

i won’t hock my soul for Mammon
when i look around me, examine
War, Pestilence, Death & Famine
all Religion controls by damning

 

eating Fire from the Belly of the Beast
buried in the Afterglow
at once
a salty pillar
melting in the coming Rising Tide

 

i won’t sit and wait for Heaven
and i don’t need to be forgiven
a madman with no purpose driven
taking only what i’ve been given

 

eating fire from the fruits of Error
my burial plot thickens
at once
back to Mother Gaia
eating every last Unspoken Word

 

etch each sketch upon the shifting sands


The Etch A Sketch Animator

The Etch A Sketch Animator (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

dreams
and
a sequence relived daily

which are dreams?
which is real?

perhaps the Universe is decidedly
D-I-S-C-O-N-T-I-G-U-O-U-S

contiguity
continuity
an apprehension of a Finite —

Damn it!
something
a Somethingness
persists

throughout my fluid runs
in and out of conscious thought

some call it Essence

— not remembering a Time when
You were not —

Beginningless

early Memories mixed with the
Infant’s Mute Metaphysics

and i have grown wise
i leave no more teeth under my pillow —

i have blocked out the Meadow in my mind
and replaced it with an Architecture
representing my impressions of it

and you read these words
so

Who are you?

Have you lost your way as I have?

I cannot lead you back
we must etch each sketch upon the shifting sands
of our Prejudices

 

SoundCloud reading:  <click here>

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