Best Dada Poems
Dear dada
add an “ist”
to it all
I reject
in the face
of it all
Aestheticism
true beauty
is found in the
ugliness of it all
peaking out
under coverlets
of mud
throwing
spit balls
of pulchitrude
wrapped up
time bombs
that stick
to the banal
unexpected beauty …
of it all,
ambitious
edges and curves
open and inviting
accompanied by caveats
there will be
splendid over-ripe
gardens of Eden
followed teasingly
in close pursuit, by the
madhatters’ tea parties
and Hugos' balls
rooms too large,
and rooms too small
it’s all
rather
simple
underneath
the dirt
of it all
precious
and most expensive
jewels are found
smudged kisses
mascara stained
cheeks of Cinderellas
holding spaces
for roses are red
and violets are blue
daisy chains
of love me
love me knots
tightly
tied
small victories
virtues held
and lost, conquests
stroking glass slippers
drinking in the gins
and espousing
their 3 wishes
looking for
long lost Kings
failing that,
settling for
paupers, not
princes
their crystal balls
over brave and
missing the mark
shattering
then later
lying unclaimed
under the sun
melting
through the
flaws
Dear dada
add an “ist”
to it all
escapist
artist
tourist
minimalist
extremist
illusionist
fatalist
but never
realist
escape artist
mud wrestling naked
in poetic jello, at the
Cabaret Voltaire
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Dadaist.
The
random
selecion-
a hobby-horse
art.
i call you dada
yes you are my sister
though we are not related
your attitude concerns me
and you don't seem to care
because that's what you are
dada,my sister
that's no way for an african beauty to behave
hanging around bars and pubs
waiting on men to buy you drinks
i call you dada
that's swahili
it means sister
dada,have you ever wondered
why they call you malaya?
change your ways dada
i urge you
get a job
if you wanna make a life for yourself.
.
Umbrella
calls
evening
This
,
bring
this
.
Your
for
rain
In
,
Pours
and
just
rains
it
when
it
The young generation shouts
“we don’t have a navel because we are descended from above.”
We have no way to measure their eccentric conduct
with an ordinary scale, they drink water from a toilet bowl,
they step on a wall to urinate face down and nibble their own flesh burnt under the scorching sun,
they shout mother down
who watches them worrisomely with great care;
they set against their father who reproves their mischievous behavior.
However, the sisters of those audacious rascals have navels,
they wear sleeveless slip-ons because they cannot afford
neither sleeves nor shoulder straps,
their lower garments are time worn jeans
the miners discarded,
its lower parts are gone above the knees
and holes here and there.
They stroll the shopping mall licking ice cream
swaying from left to right and right to left
exposing their navels. The rascals wowed
peeping at their navels, they jump out from the alleys
and admire their sisters’ graceful walking figure;
then, they say “if I have a navel,
I should have a home to return like the others,”
though they always assert uglier is fairer
and crooked is straight.
I suppose probably they have a body temperature
like all others, you and me.
the absurd
riding its
hobby-forze
calling all mistreated jugglers
and wretches of condemned madhouses
bewitched by fingers of freak fame
the spindly fingers of trickster twins
that open the floodgates to occult caverns
unleashing the brusque wraiths
the brittle symmetry of her glacial eyes
cast down from the empyrean skies
as a sanctified abyss from ancient past
eyes as candlelit rectory windows
shining bright like voluptuous pyre
and ferryman’s lantern on turbid nights
calling all gritty peyote coyotes
gargoyles of noxious mind germination
whistling by the graves of stars
in the form of ravenous black holes
so vexed by the self-immolation of lovers
the musicality of their hearty asphyxia
tantalized through thick and thin
falling in cascade down the wailing well
how do we always end up vampirized
singing the longeval sardonic litanies
outliving the meteoric tremors
as monuments of the past tumble down
calling all incorporeal beasts
to swing the fate’s pendulum in effigie
and mourn the motheaten grandeur
of lofty and aged Victorian ancestry
within the reach of eternity’s gate
disemburdened and lost to the ether
melting at last in the muse’s embrace
eclipsed by the fading night gyrations
there’s no excuse not to leave in rapture
one last rainy walk by the derelict wharf
ready to fall down the fissures en masse
into the ruptures of our narcotic glossary
Dada, a.k.a.: "Cold blue hammer running red hot."
Limbaugh Mueller intrusion
Harsh fraud gangster Trump
Russian Democrat fusion
Vivid collusion
False doughnut rump
GPS hotel conspire
On sanctuary city impeach
Asylum California fire
Wall Pelosi dire
free speech
fake muse
by, Martin Braun
11/29/2018
we only wanted to be kids
not heroes.
we wanted to catch ships of clouds at the sky
not black seadevils in the drain.
we wanted lemons for lemonade
not salt for our wounds.
but there it came
the dramatic change of scenery
prohibition of dreams and innocence
he iron lung in the birth parlour
rabid dogs raiding the cathouse
curtains falling over our eyes
Mad Hatter suddenly cured & sane
Laura Palmer found safe and well
pitch-black darkness in the lighthouse
silver screen cockatoos on the loose
teddy bears in war with smartphones
hangmen having a morning espresso
moth children scared of Vincent Price
giant blood oranges with hematophobia
ballerina’s alcoholic husband tin soldier
drunk on moonshine from golden sunshine
such a wrong time to be a human being
paradoxically, we only wanted to be kids
at the wrong time
Sorry...No Time To Play UNO With Dada!
Forgotten memory jarred
beholding two decks UNO
materializing from...thin air,
(Spongebob Squarepants nonetheless),
I vividly recall both offspring
as bubbly little girls
their most favorite card game
both daughters grown
into independent womanhood
(playtime verboten shunted aside,
they now chess attend Life)
relished with zeal
beating pants of this papa
feigned shock, when fingers
strained to the max
grasping bulk of cards
heard the word "UNO"
followed by profuse laughter
which round mirth
subsequently invited eager plea
to play board game "SORRY,"
outcome already predicted,
but yours truly,
he indulged revelling
giddy atmosphere,
and willingly acquiesced
arbitrarily choosing
least favorite color
arranging game pieces,
within designated starting place
half heartedly perturbed
nary a dice throw yielded
thee requisite number one
finally after Oracle of Delphi
bore predicted rout
with near defeat
meaning either lass
almost got all her "men" home,
aye cast die for numeral uno,
gingerly proceeded to roll dice,
a long shot ambition
to advance my four pawns,
and exalt with sought after
glee to edge ahead,
but lovely girls strategy
and motive (dispensing, donning,
trumpeting... retribution – payback,
when supposedly this “sir” mean)
uttered sinister laugh
as one or more selected
mine "men" almost home
happily sent back to start.
He came beating a path
That devolves everything
That is norm
Strangely kitted
Strangling patterns
Dawning and hatching
Stirring the hope
Of the unmasked kind
Erasing all dreads
Settling to rest
All that was held aloof
follow the poolside shadows
Venus of Delphi
daughter of bitter waves
peek through the peephole
of my glaucous thorax
open your byzantine eyes and
spurn your locomotor ataxia
one glance at our vitreous hands
– a sight for blind sore eyes
one brush of our riveted lips
– gone astray in malformations
one ponderous confession later
– immaterial as a shadow of the lash
let the weeping corpuscles lie
swarm and jostle in the grotto
rattle and blather away our days
I’ll wait for your recriminations
fall asunder under your touch
fastidious in my entomology
let the bouquet glide downstream
the scytheman is still in his kingdom
then we rejoice in endless daze
the lingering beaten with bravura
Das dada = codified bonafide anachronism
me thoughts infused
with thom hankering for yesteryear
circa antebellum i.e.
American Civil War era veer
rilly, teetering, smoldering, rumbling
upon iniquitous tier
United States greenacres crossroads
with petticoat junction spear
ritually hexed courtesy anti abolitionists
pitted against unfair
slavery, yours truly spellbound
gravitating, fixating, entrancing,
an invisible sonneteer
disembodied spirit transported
back in time,
qua closing first decade
of twenty century aware
how historical events will unfold,
yet lacking means
to affect alternate outcome,
though yearning to spare
fledgling democracy deaf to blare
ring coming fury me unseen
relishing preponderant naiveté
and childlike innocence
before internecine warfare
many stripling young lads,
yet to sprout facial hair
trumpeting, scampering, rejoicing
after favored lass with no care
gathering rosebuds while they may
before their brave hearts got
touched, torched, taxed...
with fire, ah... so cavalier
wondering, speculating, nursing
curiously piqued how adaware
those who frolicked
within Autumn mist did revere
observing what didst appear
oblivious laughter and attitude
analogous to good cheer
omnipresent at Renaissance Faire,
no doubt trials and tribulations
compromised welfare
envious countless scores generations
past knew not global threats,
nonetheless societal fabric circa
early/mid nineteenth century
severely wrenched when
Emancipation Proclamation didst declare
manumision, though sadly
blatant anti semitism, bigotry, racism...,
trumpeted within rank putrid odor
doth still fill the air!
hobby-horse
performance
art
with
appeal to
our sensibilities
"MoMa Dada"
baby's first words spoken in broken English