A flow of poems on a slightly sleepless night in 2000/Oct/25

That Laughing Old Moon Laugh, Laugh, Laugh at pompous buffoon - who thinks he knows his history, but only knows his party's lies and line. Laugh, Laugh, Laugh an old musty, dusty, world trod upon by adventurer'er's from Planet Three Laugh at posturing Pea-cock-ish politicians who say of the one and give of the other -- never denying themselves a rayze. Laugh, Laugh, Laugh oh beautiful, upside down moon, smiling quietly down on Tasmania, Devil, and Wacky Wabbit.
Oh, joys of youth, words most un-couth, Lillting Laughter Children's chatter, Simple joys of young and old girls and boys Fiddle dee dee Twiddle de dum and Alice has more tea than none.
Simplex, Duplex, click, clack Snap, Snick, Crick Crack! Phone calls switching Dwindling humming dial tone busy Drat!
Flow, flow the words, Steams of ideas -- outside of pain and suffering (For surely there is quite enough of that!) Slippery rocks o'er sliding little froggies jumping children all enjoying the muggy swamp-ness of things.
Residential billing, Inspection sticker expired, Past due notices, all but snipplety bippitie papers -- flimsey flimsey excuses for existance.
I think I had a dollar. And I think some one wanted it. First they gave me credit, then they took it away. Then they FLASHED the TV ad's, to make me want more. I think I was happier with the quarter in my britches and a nickle's worth of candy stuffed into my small mouth.
Buy, Buy, Buy Dollars, Credit, and Debt Humor-sense damaged, Captain. Roddenberry's revenge: In the future, All Capitalists will have hugh, funny ears and pointy sharp teeth --- Did I hear a bargain? Can I put the bite on you?
I think that I do prefer Flirm to M'lib -- even 2: to 1:. Anyone would agree that we must be reasonable to be controlled. But if we stopped and thought (instaead of bought and buying and wanting) Then, they, those sellers of the material, and the sue-ers of wrongfull, would have to learn to rhyme or at least to install their own phones.
(carthartic isn't it... but it gets better)...
I met a lawyer and I didn't even punch him, I met a cop and didn't even fear him. I heard a politician and didn't even doubt him. I saw a preacher and didn't even listen to him. I was just tired, I'll try better tomorrow.
An old man, who was a seminole, wrote some letters and his wife burned them for a preacher told her that only the Devil lets Indians write. There was on old Indian who re-wrote his alpha and his bet. And the ghost of Anis the Scribe smiled and picked up another cosmic paint brush and painted flowers on the landscape again.
Sleepless in word land, my mind is a twitter. Und schweiter, and Schweitzer, and vixen, and cupid's arrow my heart a mixin'
Sentinel never sleeping, imagination ever seeping -- words, words, words in the poet's mind. Politicians, Police, Lawyers, Land owners sleep un-disturbed never dreaming that Emily's words are their future's un-scheming. slips of time and branches of space Small minded petty power-holders un-enfolded into nature's true bounty: Ideas. And yet a policeman named Felix crys for what has become of a Black Man -- the one exception to the rule -- perhaps inspiration for change. Or perhaps, to be thought a maudling fool by peer tops.
I thought I had a pain, I was convinced how unjust the world had been to me. I hated God for all that befell my indifferent world. And then I died and saw only grayness in a dream that was only real. So, I went a wandering in a vast, and empty land -- called the world. And at last I saw things as they were. Of Jesus'es packaged and marketted far from a man who was tidy. And a smiling Buddah-moon mocked the powersl-that-bee. And that artists of all kinds, make no money and work as menials. And then of chance and fate that spare children from cetain harm. And of mouths that have plenty but speak only to deny charity to those whose lottery is the short plank. And of religious money worshippers who for-goe charity, pitty, and helping. For there's no money in it, doan chuh noh? So, I set 'em all a-side. And I built me a world and you're readin' it now. Where Kermit's "Lovers and Dreamers, and you" are for ever playing in ellisian fields, of soft-textured sculputures, and sweet smelling groves, and all are love and happiness -- and helping each other.
Why I am not Maudlin' I know how to figure the calculus, I've seen how to kick people down, I hear how the elite lie and try to convince all it's the truth. I know how to destroy and entire world; of chemicals, and mind-controling words, and technologies, and how to stamp out hope, and crush the human spirit. And, oh yes, how to kill even those that think they are Satans -- but hold not even a candle to the spectre of death, which they understand NOTHING of. And I know how to increase the shrapnel production of Grenades. And how to form matrices of Parital Differential equations so as to ensure the concentration of an atomic blast - dynamcially adjusted for cloud cover. -- I said, I knew how to figure, -- I said, I knew many ways to kill -- I said, I can destroy all hope. I do. But, I have nothing to prove. I just choose to dance and chant and to listen to the song of the world. Now, aren't you glad I'm not maudling? cartoon of Pizo and the gang Back to the POETRY page To the MUSE's poetry page Back to the m-a-c page Return to the HOME page

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