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?
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