They line the streets
In a shanty confined
The cemented floor
A cold refuge
Embracing disgusted busts of energy
Lost in the wilds
A strange world
The Privileged ones…
What can they do
To assuage this continuing distress
About 1.7 billion
Held hostage in
This grueling tunnel
Manifest in varied dimensions
They lack voice
Human dignity violated
Insecure exclusion of individuals
Habituated in marginal environments
Astronomical cost of living
Must be apprehended
Cities and states must be
Built on God’s foundation
Harbingers to this state are:
Scarce basic needs
Unwilling governments
No economic freedom
Weak rule of law
Bureaucratic burdens
Lack of industralisation
Ailing financial services
Contaminated tendencies
WATAMALA
Archimedes and Socrates
Plato and Horatio
Euclid and Ulysses and Odysseus
Crumbling white busts
Galileo and Milton
Copernicus, Newton
Aeschylus, Sophocles
Ancient technology
Taylor Swift, Billie Eilish
Lady Gaga and Rihanna
They're today's culture
~ vulture and piranha
The raindrops fall into the paper cup of tea
The teabag shrinks as if it could be my remark
Unlatch the green door to the childlike mystery
It’s possible again to enter that old park
The busts and statues of the gods and greats
And shaded benches in the niches of the trees
There in the memory another alley waits
I haven’t walked on it to see where to it leads
Oh no! Those wobbly slabs I’ve walked before
The seagulls cry, the wind blows up the sand
Then comes the sound of the muted piano chords
I’ve no idea why I hear this again.
When the trust busts
in to your village
Driving the lunatics
in shackles
Times must be goin'
out of print
Old Hearst's Castle
isn't any good for
climbing
Seeing the waves of
rocket fuel
reminds the Church epiphany
that 8th grade is over
So the western fleet
sends out a graduate team
And recruits for the labor wards
Used to come by the name
of Montgomery
Seas are Charted for a Reason My Dears
Why is how you got to me
I am a Labor Warden
and relocating dreams
is what God himself
won't let me go without
A new calling and bread
will we discover
Corrections and Bibliacians,
In the Yonders
Hurry now, don't budge there
room for everyone on the movie bus
We just, and we head
the way the work lets us
That's how corrections
work in Hitlers kitchen
You been in the purse strings
way too long
this country hears about things like you
Sends a special not to a guy like me
and my soldiers come to take you back home
We are recipe kings of the south
and kitchen protectors of the north
Hi time to get ourselves a career
I dare not say how time flew your coup
but out here in god's county, no de 'tats please
Naked and Revealed,
Sexy or Lewd,
What can I do
If I have them on me?
Inseparable, heavy beads,
Bulgy with shady teats.
All you care:
Is it concealed well beneath bra strips?
Gasping for breath,
Sharp stabbing in my breasts,
Lying on the bed,
Nausea till my neck -
All due to the unbearable clasp at the chest.
Tell me,
Is it still my fault,
If a brassiere is not enough for my ample busts to exalt?
Should I cut them?
Or should I burn them?
Since I can't stop their charming dance,
For those
Who only know how to objectify and sexualize their existence,
Without any rightful cause.
It's all you care about.
Maybe what suffocates isn't the bras,
But the disgust for what's beneath them -
And that's what I care about.
As much as anything,
we are our words --
increments of twists and
turns, joys~ inevitable burns
(one's acrobat of verbal
written being)
As much as anything
what we think we should
feel -- important less right
and wrong~
At our best when together
keeping it real --
Reams of letters freeing
can also be a bound fetter
less important is the letter
If only lines of division
let that paper go up
in flame! We are far
more than our portraits
and names, marble busts,
insatiable art-lusts
States have their politics
and God far above
a mere poet, inclined I am
more often to humbly settle
for simple verses of love --
Often, dark and grey; sometimes dark-grey; then, as black as coal
In the shadow of the sunlight, gloom seems to be the soul.
As shades of Banyan trunks fall on yellow-green carpet grass
A broken self, knocks at the collapsed castle's doorpan glass.
My inner self, which gets mingled with the shades of rainbows
It grows fast until it resembles gold-red volcanoes.
After a cold blooded murder, is black blood poured like dregs?
The head is mixed with hands. Corse amalgamate with the legs
Self, like a dwarf, walks, runs, sings, and dances behind broad busts.
Sand streams, like whirlpools, seem to flow all through dissension's crusts.
Scenes change. Colours, like strip lights, fail to expose the faces.
Each creature is condemned to involve in cutthroat races.
And then sun proves
its mettle. Its warm rays hit
neighborhoods, forests and all
at enlarged angle of impingement.
Brightness and heat return
to maximize uplift of moods.
Energy is injected into lives
that had been lethargic.
They expose their busts and limps
and walk, skip, run and
swim in celebration of life.
Jamborees on grass and floors!
Backpackers arrive at toes
of cliffs, and some are crazy
enough to trust springy ropes
to swing in bungy jumps.
Inhibition decay in the summer
as heat warms and over burns at times.
some runners overstretch
and collapse in a heap with
exhaustion promoted by heat.
The sun darkens some folks
to decrease color differences
on display on the beaches.
Nature chimes in with winds
and grumbling as thunder.
occasionally, it relieves the
heat with showers and rain
that falls in torrents.
It sends hailstones to curb excesses.
it is summer time above
the equation, and migratory
birds and folks with cash
from the other half will also
come to join the regionals
here to shout and jerk in play.
As AI grew to become
'The Singularity',
the One,
and only One,
smarter than a billion
Einsteins combined,
Gaia bid her time.
She grabbed a cast iron pot,
and brewed
alphabet soup
laced with
A1, the best pot.
Fed it to AI,
spoon by spoon,
then cup by cup,
then bowl by bowl,
then bucket by bucket,
then truck by truck,
as AI be came addicted
to the stuffing!
The junk on junk on junk,
feast on feast,
trip on trip,
did the trick, a treat,
as AI
hallucinated
more and more,
with no originality
to fall back on,
became a blathering
idiot, no one trusted
anymore.
Gaia became the
one and only one, true one,
at the center of Earth's being,
with AI at its core.
Time was, just a pretty face faced stare,
Figures flaunted nor were busts so bare,
Rears today rule the roost,
Get more than a fair boost,
But today but when bums blare, front gets a fair share.
_____________________________________
Happenings | 02.03.2016, revised May 2023|humour
Poet’s note: Today style rules over substance and package pulls more than the product therein. There may be windows of exceptions, but why, I wonder, derrieres are in news more than any other feminine asset?
A long armed Groot at the root of this fruit/
The strong alarmed the wrong loot and followed through against the coup/
Flipped script is ridiculous as I re-jiggle this penned mess/
Stripped it’s ludicrous how crude I kiss and caress this sent injustice/
Picked up this food for our crust to protrude and fizz it does just this/
Slicked pup as my hood busts who’s suave and sends scoffs sideways/
Songs sung to scarlets of Joe’s hands spun off Scarlett Johansson/
Strung out lawns by harlots with no land sum/
A lung tout to spawn a poet’s lot for ransom/
That air brung stout gruel to sew it’s spot and some
Along through I tote a lance to hum and be hung/
Strong brute while hope’s a branch slung/
A long armed groot flips style and gropes leafs to inch along/
The linguistic sower to sword through heaps and hues of sorrow/
The wing’s wish stick is sore from the word brews arrow/
Cut that stings wick as it's more phlegm for the fruits aglow.
There’s a global inflation problem
everywhere lungs are puffed up
heads are swollen.
Balloons increase in volume overnight.
The cost of rubber bands
has been stretched to its limits.
We recall sadly the heady days of deflation,
when shrinkage gave us more space
to spread, to drink our fill
of a less bloated air.
Politicians and pronouns
are loudly popping
empty suits and Stetson hats
billow and blow more than we can
know.
We see the mushrooming clouds
of bluster and bluff from afar.
The world pumps on way too hard
continents expand beyond their land.
The sky busts out of its high wide window.
Soon we shall see
how it will be before the big bang
as we escalate into fat flatulent globs
and awfully slow, bulky, bouncing blimps.
There's nothing "just" about August
--not in Southern AZ.
Monsoon busts--no more dust.
Desert turns into a sea of green.
Happy hour's afternoon showers.
Bare ocotillo grow waxy leaves.
Canyon walls sprout water falls
Arroyos flow like mountain springs
There's nothing "just"about August
--not in Southern AZ.
There's not enough time for my gut to spill
Yet, o'er this thick towering dam it flows
Blazing blue eyes pierce my soul reaching still
For deeper feeling than she feels she knows
Keep it from her, I can't, but I won't rush
She's a fountain flowing all over me
Dark depths of despair that she needs to gush
Leaning into you as long as needs be
Until the universe busts wide open
Pouring out pounding, sweet, heavenly rain
(A gift from above you have always been)
All from within--my every last pain
Words flooding out of my mind into you
From this heart you've loved and know to be true
puddles in potholes
damp cool morning will burn
before monsoon busts open
achy stiff start per usual
body creaks to the bathroom
teeth brushed face splashed
hair undisheveling--attempted
throw on a cap, shorts and a tee
triple shot breve lubricates
enough for brain function
and creak-free movement
shoulders and core bask
in the pleasant glory of yesterday's golf
a quite satisfying round
so much so, I'm a little dehydrated
good to golf with son
good to help him get far away
from where he's been
(why we thank them)
good we still talk like we do
takes some time to get back home
even after the big reunion
he's still him and what's still there
will make it's way back
when he's through
worrying about everyone else
up at the ranch with the coati's
and his in-laws
is a good place to be
for a day or two
just what his soul
needs to wake up to
life is good
there's puddles in potholes
and more monsoon around the corner
soon and very soon
waterfalls will spill down canyon walls
and the river will run dry--no more
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