Heaven for tortured souls


1960's era prison warden

1960’s era prison warden (Photo credit: andreakw)

there are no locks on the Gates
of Hell nor Jailer there
the prisoners do not remember

they are Spirits still
and Free to Dream
of other Worlds

my pops did 3 bits
state
and would read adult westerns
from the prison library

read happily in his cell

probably nicer than the two room shed
he shelters his 5 cats and dying dog in

but he seems happy with his channel flippin’
remote control

and they took away his food stamps for not filing

back in California I met a drifter
claimed to be a writer and carried a staff
it wasn’t as nice as mine
when first I hailed him

it took me a while to gain
his Trust
he had been evicted by the police
from his spot under the bridge again
and lost all his writings

i think he may have been stretching it
telling me he had a valise full of writing
but he told me some fine stories
one afternoon

i never saw him again

and people think
or is it? don’t think?

a man like that can be happy
have dreams?  create?

tell me, Father,
what Hell have you left behind for your Children?
what Heaven have you created for the tortured Souls?

Obituary: Poetry died today


English: Kate Blood's Obituary

English: Kate Blood’s Obituary (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Obituary:  Poetry died today
it is survived
by voices stifled in the heat
of all the System has to offer

Poetry was born
when humans learned to speak
and the rhyme it used
carried human stories
before Writing was developed
(see Obituary)

Poetry was a caring member
of the Human Community
and lived a long and valued life

It succumbed to the diseases
of complacency and censorship

Services will be held
by those that have hearts
that still beat to its rhythms

 

 

 

Hear the Word on SoundCloud:  <click here>

 

set my fears, why don’t cha, Barry?


One Fear illustration from Book of Fears

One Fear illustration from Book of Fears (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

set my fears, why don’t cha, Barry
you burn my ears, like Stooge’s Larry

set my fears, why don’t cha, Barry
you just keep it draggin’ on

The N D double A took my baby away
and Honey Boo Boo is all the press have to say

You live a lie and you spread it to us
why don’t ya give some reg’lar  folks some Trust

to think just for themselves

I get sad when your media tells us to cry
sad that people believe in half-truths and lies

set my fears, why don’t cha, Barry
you make me sick, like dysentery

set my fears, why don’t cha, Barry
you just keep it draggin’ on

 

Sucky SoundCloud vocal attempt by Agnew, drunk:  <click here>

The Ballad of Marshall Awe


Marshall 100 W Super Lead modifications

Marshall 100 W Super Lead modifications (Photo credit: germanium)

 

The Ballad of Marshall Awe

Marshall was born to humble folk
mixed and outcast from his friends
no one listened when he spoke
he daydreamed daily, means and ends

Marshall vowed one day to rule
and never to be looked down upon again
he worked into the finest schools
and formulated his ruling plan

there’d be none of this or none of that
once he had taken charge
trifles he would substitute for math
and only his cronies living large

he had devices and eyes in the sky
and massaged the media with his charm
of course the people never knew why
his system brought them only harm

but perplexed and maybe lulled to sleep
by TV, smartphones and the internet
people forgot every promise Marshall didn’t keep
and spiraled into slavery’s debt

prophets, poets, writers and such
had desperately tried to warn the masses
did their efforts result in much?
Marshall vowed to never free their asses

 

purposeless


Blissful

Blissful (Photo credit: Emre Ergin)

 

sometimes i feel
like i don’t care
about the story
or dream i’m in

or any of the people
who populate
the MultiPlex of
my interactions with Other Beings…

if such Creatures exist

if it weren’t for the intermittent Echo
of unfamiliar voices in my head or on the net

i’d swear that i was
by my lonesome

and then

the question arises

if I truly AM Alone?

who will be my playmates
and tell me stories
I never would have dreamed of
or imagined?

who would cut me off in traffic to remind me
to be on Guard
for my Serenity?

purposeless,
that’s what i’d BE

maybe
Blissful

but Purposeless nonetheless

 

maybe I’ll just tire of it All


An image from the Electric Sheep.

An image from the Electric Sheep. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

maybe
I’ll go
to Bed
to Sleep
to Hell
and back

maybe
I’ll dream
of Electric Sheep
or eating turds in Hell
for people I have wronged
maybe
I’ll dream
of movie houses on another planet
like I once did

maybe
I’ll end it All
You
not me, I have no end
I am a Recurrence and have no Choice in the Matter
but you, youze
are projections of the One
that I once was

and maybe, I’ll just tire of it All

 

when it was more than dust


Corpuscles of dust

Corpuscles of dust (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

reach for it
like your life
depends on it
because
it does

well
maybe not your life

you can live
like a sluggard
and still get by

you can congregate
around screens
like little moths
and let the world
pass away

if dust thou art
i suppose
it doesn’t matter

BUT DAMN IT!

i know
the dust can dance
and dream
and love
and remember
moments

when it was more than dust

 

Jehovah’s kiss


The Statue of Liberty front shot, on Liberty I...

The Statue of Liberty front shot, on Liberty Island. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

mad men in their vestibules
seeking counsel from vexe’d mules
pass this rider, here’s more cash
deals made over sour mash

written in rivers of corporate ink
how can the politician even think
that folks on main street will not hear
the American dream is strippin’ gears

gathered in the coffee shops
the radical quickly licks his chops
small businessmen invest in fear
in hopes of holding on just one more year

and teachers teach to worthless tests
to youth, imagination, none invests
while all about us the planet rages
no shelter found in cardboard cages

will we dream or face the depths
of Judgment’s fated gallows’ steps?
will we shine or cease to dream
inside this broken star machine?

i’d hope there’d be enough who wake
to save us from this planet’s fate
but hope is nothing, fools know this,
annihilation is Jehovah’s kiss

 

grass grows through the asphalt


Picture of pavement with grass in the background.

Picture of pavement with grass in the background. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

what can you say?
on a perfect day?
and i’m really not looking to rhyme
but it fit

so sue me if i lived
moment to moment
taking it all in

in good company
among the kindred
who have found a way
to unplug

and maybe have a conversation
instead of sitting mesmerized
before the Screen

Gumbytron!
don’t let it go away
don’t take them all away
the waking Dead

let me tell you something
you can fool the masses
but there are always some
who will find a way to free their asses

and i want to be there
to soak it in
with every breath i draw

the gift of another Day
drawing breath
with those that speak their Mind
and the word Unkind
is just in jest
and we can take it
because we know

this Joke
this Wink that woke

a lion’s roar is just a kitten’s purr
among such as these

and now i see them Everywhere

don’t tell me Humanity is dead
don’t tell me People can’t relate

despite the best efforts
to the contrary

i see Hope
even in this Nowhere town

so look around

listen

you might be surprised
at what you see and hear

grass grows through the Asphalt
and oh the stories

I have heard today

 

dark side of the farce


Formation au CFPJ

Formation au CFPJ (Photo credit: Zevillage)

 

giving in to the dark side
of the farce
parading as reality

the almost magical sound
of bitcoins jingling in your empty pockets

twisted into ‘why’s and ‘not’s
at every claw machine in the gallery
never enough

and then the parading streams
of in Formation
line us up like pretty little cabbages
destined to be rotting cole slaw
on the ash heap of Misery

but we need more bigger better faster grids
to move in Formation
around and around

and never ever notice another cardinal
sitting in a tree on an April day again

 

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