Saturday, February 27, 2010

The Time IS Coming ...

They say the time is coming in my lifetime. I want a revolution but there’s not quite enough desperation yet although everyone’s in a state of exasperation – I get the impression through open discussion that there’s been no preparation for any revolution. Our great nation under direction of a new world order. I’d like promotion of peace to be the solution to the problem and I try my best to add my contribution to the plate.

I wonder how we’ll have peace without a fight for our rights? They’re not gonna give us what’s ours because they want it and they got the power. At first I thought the new world order was a joke, with the growing euro the new world order is a threat to our economy.

Puppets run our government. You tell me how many of the current run of presidents emerged from the slums or city streets?

We’ve never even had a Jewish president and probably never will.

Global warning is a conspiracy? That’s what your government wants you to believe. How can all the harm we cause our mother do her no ill? We pull her insides out – all her hidden jewels and resources and tell me this doesn’t affect our earth?

You stop drinking your one large cup of coffee everyday and tell me you feel nothing?

Everything is connected somehow – is it free will or coincidence? I like to meld between the two.

Do you think there are no connections or is it all random selection?

Gehinnon is only 12 months not eternity like for Christians and you have to do so something unforgivably bad – some big sin that most of us won’t do I like to think so anyway

I keep promoting peace in spite of people telling me revolution is blowing in the wind

Caught in a tailwind spin, we’re all blind on a work grind, and stabbed from behind. Everyone knows being taxed this way is illegal and was meant for corporate America not us poor working class shmucks who can barely pay our rent.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Shirk A Hard Day’s Work

Night filled with red light energy from softly lit candles all aglow
Smell the spell of delight, a complimentary southern belle
Cell phone perfect in my sight, a knight without his armor – it’s worth another write
No sense being polite when I’m shaking with stage fright
Uptight dwelling in resort new york, my crash pad my quarters my crib
Just because I’ve been a good little soldier all these years doesn’t mean I wasn’t tired of it
Let loose is what I say
As the intruder compels me to my computer
I have the link whaddaya think?
the living never run out of to do's,
only the dead do, got to keep up with the joneses – no flaccidity only morbidity
run the washing machine with some caffeine sprinkle of morphine
I wasn't here - brought the cats to get them care
If you go to jail don’t depend on me for the bail
My new york voice jams with music for free provided by gcast puts me on blast
Hark the herald angels sing – glory to a newborn king
I left my grad degree in Tennessee for all the good it does me
I had my first degree from the school of hard knocks
I’m not suicidal – my life’s a tidal wave – I’m a matinee idol who’s homicidal
My crows’ feet don’t impress, I’ve lost the scent as I bless the winter cress and pray for a stress less success to reassess I won’t confess – I’ll digress again
My bridal suite awaits, no more tweets, it’s not a balance sheet of vanilla velvet draperies
My new wedding dress, the press release went out yesterday
The ring's a perfect fit – diamonds are a girl’s best friend
The noblesse requests to attend, progress to a soft caress, a recess to excess, suppress the acrid taste of fecundity laced with equal parts serendipity and alacrity, laudably posted digested and vested accessibility perhaps a touch of civility blended with acceptability
The North Star, a bright white light providing the spark to find my way home in the dark

Monday, February 01, 2010


Been waiting all night
to hear your poetry, I said
You’re that beat generation
spewin that heat and light
Pure energy, that scene
You were on the bus or off it
I should’ve been there
with ya’ all back then

You were hardly born then, you answered
probably just born in tha sixties
No, I said,
I could’a been there
I was born in ‘50
I shoulda’ been there
But somehow I never went anywhere

I admit it tho,
I wanted to Be On The Road.
And one day I almost took The
Electric Kool Aid Acid Test
But on that day,
I was absent from life.

I should’a been there
But somehow I never went anywhere
I cud tell you sometime, ya said
why you never went anywhere

You, with your omnipotent self
How would you know anyway?
I wondered, Did ya really know
why I never left home?
It was a prison
built of fear
emptiness and despair

I never had a life
A child’s needs unmet
never given what I longed for

I couldn’t have what wasn’t there
Fuck it, I’ll say it, it was
abuse, neglect
comes in so many forms
eats away your self esteem

Made me weak,
slow, scared to go
Robbed me of my faith,
my soul, my glow

My inner harmony,
my sanctity
my sanity
I was a prisoner of fear,
a prisoner of war.

I met you, read your sixties words
your suffuse charm
emanating from your Hobo soul

I wanted to possess your poetry
your style
the 60’s and the 70’s
poetry of hope
An air of romance
a taste of escape

A breath of fresh air
from a smog filled street
the smoke and stink
rising slowly like gases
from the filthy pavement
I was a prisoner of war

Your words bring back the time ...
Words like book, crib, jibe
a stone’s throw away
the sun low fives the trees

God damn! Your words excite me
Sex talk, like poontang, tallywhacker.
Wow man, I never heard it,
But it’s cool, I understand it.

Your blatantly primitive lust
your licentious eyes
devouring me

Staring at my sagging breasts
cruising over my body
as though it were highway 59
Resting on my nipples

like a jellied door buzzer
my fallen butt and
orange peel thighs

Only served to fuel your lust
my allure waved strong
snagged by your naked desire,
your lust

as you gorged on my scent
teasing my libido
A test in trust

Your tongue flicked against your upper lip
What’re ya’ havin’ babe, ya’ said
No thanks, refused the drink
Been waitin all night to hear your poem

a moment abundant with heat
stifling humidity
complaints about intensity
panties clinging damply

Unbearable, prolonged
I want to hear the poem
my date languishing in time
Your glass passed to my hand
Contact, your eyes implored
lust and soul

Give me sixties or give me death
symbols of peace,
Baby you’ve got heart,
Go with the flow
no looking back
no sorrows or regrets
resolute to recreate
a life renewed
more chances to fulfill the goal
Don’t hesitate
Go on! Get on the road
Don’t worry if the bus is full

Symmetry of faith
advancing on satori
will get you there
search for more
no more prisoners of war

First published in 1995 in Grist on Line one of the first online poetry mags that came into being. At that time several people accused me of being a "post modernist" and I had no idea what that was so or more importantly who it included. I immediately began reading post modernists to understand what I was being accused of.

I couldn't format this right for blogger but on the linked version above, the formatting is correct. This poem is a throwback to the sixties generation