Long Antennae Poems
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There seems to be silence within the serene night,
yet those indoors have eternal cries of unspoken fright.
One man drowns in chocolate, shamefully eying his hips,
as the woman next door kisses the hundredth man’s lips.
Two floors below, one screams out in pain,
as fatal anger has won the game.
The killer, shadowed, makes no remark,
but watches the blood flow, immersed in his soul of eternal dark.
Three doors across, an elderly man sits, rejected and broke,
hiding his face with tendrils of smoke.
His trusty cigarettes always at the ready,
when his finances where never steady.
Another flight down, a woman drowns in her agony sip by sip,
her life seems to slip by like a commercial blip.
Yet all she can think
is that her marriage is on the brink.
Before she fades into the night of another day,
all she remembers is throwing her wedding ring away.
Traveling down to the ground floor,
the troubles seem to equal more.
A woman tosses about in her anxious bed,
while her worries do pirouettes in her head.
Try to let the past and present go,
but the future looms like a horror show.
Outside, in the darkness, a piercing light shines
as a moth flutters by, on the still air it climbs.
It seems this beacon, as bright as the sun,
new hope has just begun.
The moth bangs itself against the glass,
trying to reach glory at last.
Yet no matter how much its antennae bend,
or wings grow fragile and not able to mend,
it seems like the only thing to do
to deal with its feelings, old and new.
Until it steps back and looks at the light
realizing that harming itself won’t set anything right.
With the last of its strength, ending its plight,
the moth flies off into the night.
At this moment, the man decides to rid his house of fat-packed glory,
as the woman on the ground floor takes a deep breath, changing her story.
The killer at large turns himself in,
the end to his years of sin.
The woman pours the bottles of wine down the drain,
finally she can remember her name.
The elderly man exhales his last puff of smoke,
the grueling memories no longer prod and poke.
And the woman kissing her hundredth man
lets him go, heart no longer sinking in deadly quicksand.
The light of dawn finally breaks,
and the darkness of the mind no longer takes
away from the people’s lives
as the light of hope is now by their sides.
The slowing whine as it came to rest
A spacecraft settled down
Like a mother bird into its nest
Glowing there green and round
Smoke spewed from open ports
The air smelled of gas
Little men came out of doors
And laid upon the grass
There soon formed a crowd from town
Peering at this awesome sight
The spacecraft there coming down
And glowing in the night
The mayor spoke and said he knows
What to feed these creatures green
They feed on French tomatoes
And drink the juice of beans
This is why they landed here
By this garden in the grass
But first to have a nice cold beer
From a large and frosty glass
Now arrived the TV news
Those men of truth renowned
And started doing interviews
To spread the word around
Camera trucks and many more
Big frames of antennae
Microphones by the score
And dishes ten feet high
Beaming waves of HD pics
Popping flashes all around
Sending data high speed flicks
Of the creatures on the ground
Throbbing cables glowing hot
Plugged in every place
Trying to get a camera shot
Of the first from outer space
To scoop this scene
Would guarantee
A place for them
In history
If one could see from outer space
The light from each ones screen
Glowing back in every face
As they peered at those men green
Then finally in a casual way
One begun to speak
In a manner rather cool to say
We come to here in peace
Our trip was going very well
Between some outer stars
When a passenger ask do you sell
Those peanuts grown on mars?
I am the steward here
I serve folks while we fly
Bean juice and good cold beer
And peanuts you can buy
Many times our flights are long
My supply of things run out
We know if things go wrong
The captain starts to shout
We had just crossed the great black sea
A dreadful place to span
This chap had then just beckoned me
For bean juice, another can!
I opened up the saucers store
To take his order back
And It was empty, was no more
The captain blew his stack
We were only half way there
How long here who knows
But the captain does not care
If we need French tomatoes
Our snifter found your plot
This garden full of greens
French tomatoes all you’ve got
And the juice squeezed from beans
Fear not earthling creatures
And even though we’re green
Maybe strange our features
But our nature is not mean
Steward sir, get the door
Our loading it is done
We now have filled our store
Goodbye ..to everyone!
:)
What kids are watching on telly
are crimes and crimes in all variety!
Crimes of hate
crimes of passion
acting it out at shocking rate
thinking in some wild fashion
then ending up cell mates!
When kids watch their movie heroes
shoot down people with the gun
they are incited to do the same
to achieve some thrill and fun.
When they see their very film star
slash someone's throat in a fit of anger
they think well of crimes of rage
and plunge everybody else into danger.
The tendency to portray the violent scene
luridly and shockingly on the Big Screen
Ah even for the small screen, tis the gory
that makes for the dark and thrilling story.
Now that technology's long opened this pandora's box
the dispersal of amplified social ills ain't no hoax
The rowdy hoodlums and reckless gangsters
are simply by-products of Tv influences
The world watches the thriving of the bully-boy pranksters
passively in helpless terror of their offences.
It's all portrayal of the vulgar, the obscene
by that devious Silver Screen
And the horror movie
though it may seem groovy
begets the horrendous
and drills evil thoughts subliminally
into the subconscious!
It's an unrestrained dark faking
of real life reality exaggerating
Whether it's Bollywood in the East
or it's Hollywood in the West
they don't merely impart tactics of defence
but rather those of aggressive offence
Viewing those gruesome swashbuckling films
gives rise to morbid sadistic whims
Flipping through the TV channels
just ponder if the telly's the perfect channel
of information is it a proper panel?
Dad always tells me, 'fear ye the roaches' flicking antennae?
While you oughtta fear the influence
of 'em' flickering images by dish antennae'.
Then a mere single merit that I dug
as I drank cappucino in my mug
that atleast one couldn't live in a bubble
daily watching the bubblebug.
Ah but then tougher gun laws couldn't halt
even underage shooting sprees
Rather it's stringent scanning of Tv content
that might make it all cease
Parental supervision too tis gravely essential
Should've been of parental code quintessential
So the next time you catch your teen
absorbed and engrossed while glued to the screen
Just sleuth a bit just to make sure
that for the x-rated he's not too keen!
*After my last post I thought it would be nice to lighten up a bit with some warm, happy (well, not so happy for Elmer) pest poetry. Who doesn't love bug humor? This one actually won first place in a Deb Guzzi contest back in the day.
"And so this court finds you, Elmer T. Roach XXIII, guilty of the crime of pushing your fellow bug off the edge of the pan and into the hot oil below, thereby ensuring that he would be fried to a crisp whilst you nibbled, alone, on what was left behind. For said crime you are hereby sentenced to death. You will hang by the neck, er, that is to say, you will hang by the antennae until you are dead, dead, DEAD! Do you have anything to say for yourself, sir?
"Yes, your Honor, if it pleases the court. When in the course of insect affairs, one often finds oneself in a situation where difficult choices must be made. To eat or not to eat. To run and hide in a crack, or to stand one's ground. Indeed, to live or to die. Your Honor, let's forget for a moment that I have two hundred twenty-one mouths to feed, with one on the way. Let us ignore the fact that a father must keep up his strength in order to ably support such ones. Must I remind this court that we all live by the law of the kitchen, that it's each bug for himself.
And so Your Honor, there I was, placed in a most difficult predicament. With only enough droppings to feed one bug and not two I made the decision to push him over the rim. Yes, I freely and of my own volition make confession to this hideous, yet necessary crime. However, let no man, er, bug judge me. Let he who is without malice, she who is without greed, they that are without the constant, ever present pangs of hunger cast the first stone.
I am free. I am freeeee...."
"And so it was that justice was executed in behalf of the state of Bugdom. Elmer T. Roach the XXIII hung by his antennae until he breathed his last. Alas, he professed to be of no particular faith. Nevertheless, a mass of Christian burial, presided over by the Very Reverend Heathcliff J. Bug LVI, was arranged for him by his dear widow, now heavy with nymph. It has been reported that the hymn chosen for the memorial was, Go Rest High Upon That Cupboard. Further announcements to follow.
Tentative rose thorns graze my skin as I push through the plant-walled garden
They neither break skin nor draw those secret white lines across it
Lillies of the valley wonder where their valley has gone when they realise they are on
flat land
Their delicate white petals stare at the clouds which gather like ants to an amberule of honey
I can feel the rain on the air, it clothes me in a heavy gown of foreboding and expectation
The birds who once called across the garden to their avian lovers silently flutter home
In the tall birches and oaks and evergreens, in the bright aboreal verendace, their world
I walk through a stream which has trickled and will trickle for ages,
patiently it cuts away the tarnished granite bed, deeper and deeper,
Tiny frogs leap away in instinctive terror, my feet suddenly transformed into evil monsters,
and as I step out of the stream bed, I wonder where all the butterflies have gone when I
see a moth
With spanning black wings as dark as night, edged with gold as bright as the sun,
its antennae are feathery and magnificently plume the insect's noble head, a crown above
all crowns,
Its six legs are carried tightly under its richly-furred black body, little dagger-glows
sheathed,
I reach out a hand as tentative as the rose thorns, and the moth plays with me,
taunting me with its nocturnal majesty, with its iridescent wings, with its reflective eyes,
To my eternal satisfaction the lordly moth alights upon my fingers,
and I wince as its claws grip my tightly, it folds in its wings, its royal robes of office,
The golden filligree glitters and the soft pixie dust all moths carry falls unnoticed onto
my hand,
Body quivering, I see the unmistakable mark across its elegant wing-shape;
death's head, a human skull, remnant of a past life,
laughing at me in my folly,
the lordly insect takes flight, leaving my with the sliently roses, the apathetic lillies,
the meandering stream, to contemplate the incomprehensible
and I breathe in the dust of the moth,
forgetting butterflies had ever existed, for the death's head
rules the secret garden day and night
and now I understand these things,
which only the whispered languages of the garden could say.
Third level CCTV audio recordings
of the last occupants illegally departing the
quasi-safe, Area 4, Sector 9 quarantine zone
— Seventh vol. of the Ghetto Chronicles
We hate to see you all go,
good company is hard to keep these days
Time is marked as being irrelevant here,
idle eyes patrolling
each iron-bar clad window
The klaxon sirens blaring outside,
gives an aural stench
As motion metal beasts come to
an abrupt screech
Slumping sound of a sickly thud
Concrete ground flowing with blood ...
a poverty-racked body: raggedly, last gasp breathing,
has just treadmark died
And the ghetto violence ever abides
We of the pavement sweeping, creeping crowd
have seen this snuff scene a-many times
Abandoned hopes ...
barely living,
desperately cope in deserted buildings
Surrounded by disease and dope,
provides a-plenty self-inflicted killings
Come inside this iron-bar jungle cage,
and feel the rage
of these walking dead lions
Their lionesses and cubs constantly crying
Sadly, the ghetto violence steadily abides
We of the chittering, unclean-up crew
have tragically seen
the mane numbers a-dwindle to a few
Our antennae eyes
are always patrolling
every crumb-laden floor and creaky locked door
We would love if you last oomans could stay —
Disregard the filth
and diseased surroundings
It ain’t that bad,
once your settled mind
don’t ever troublesome ask
why
you in this pestilent predicament
in the first place
Help that was forthcoming,
just got ambulance carried away
Aw, my bad ...
I didn’t know that was yo’ adopted Uncle
But, Sam-bo
shouldn’t been talking back too loud
to the Po-po Five-O
Oh man, all of you be a-packing yo’ bags too
This rat-infested dump gon be cupboard empty
without all of you Good Timey yahoos,
drinking and singing those darkie blues
Alright ... since you put it that way,
saying how’s you all can’t no longer stay
Before you go,
will you do me and my partners —
Us cockroaches,
bed bugs lice and mice,
a favor, please
‘Preciate it, if you turn off the lights ...
before you leave
Leccy Powers in the Air
Nikola Tesla knew the score,
back there, wayback in 1894,
send-em power through the post,
bloody radio antennae, sends the ghost ,
wireless sends the power,
from the insulated tower,
tuned aeriel sucks the most,
fine tuned it is the host,
a quarter wave deflowers,
when electric car un-powers,
recharge from power radio remote,
a constant radio wave, unquote,
or constant flow empowers,
Leccy car you Billy Goat ! :}-
So ac power is in the air,
detected by the car, right there,
powered then the Billy Goat,
tuned aerial , sucks in the voltage, know it!
Leccy car can run 4 sure!
Don't need no petrol, where?
just leccy techs, leccy motors go-at,
says johnson, with a slight unquote,
the new world is to share,
if it catches em by the throat,
the dimwits wouldn't dare,
but some ones got to show it ?
Eg frequency of 27 megacycles cb radio 27,000,000 a second.
So put a 9 foot antennae on you car to receive the signal current?
It works out shorter for much faster frequencies like your mobile phone.
A few inches, a few centimeters etc...
So the sent electricity gets collected at the right length antennae and
runs the leccy motor in your car...sounds cool to me …
id be wearing wellies or gum boots to avoid a shock from the powered antennae 250volts maybe, if I touched it:} kill switches needed hey...
Don Johnson
BEFORE 20,000 YEARS AGO THE ATLANTEAN PEOPLE OF THE RED SKIN TYPE,
HAD SUBMARINES AND AEROPLANES. {VALIXI}. POWERED AND CONTROLLED BY RADIO WAVES TECHNOLOGY REMOTELY..{ARE WE TOO RETARDED TO DO IT???}...INDUS VALLEY PEOPLE HAD VIMANA
FLYING MACXHINES TOO AT THAT TIME....AND WROTE HOW FIX THE MERCURY ENGINE...
Do we have to res-surect ole Tesla?
to get it to work? ac electricity can be
transmitted through the air! as he said...
easily converted to dc voltage by rectifiers...as in power supplys....
like having your own power pole on the car...
Is space-time a fabric that stretches and strains,
like a grass harp ruffling across the great plains,
when the force of a huge body in motion
makes waves akin to the billowing ocean?
LIGO’s antennae have finally disclosed
those waves gravitational Einstein proposed
that travel along with the swiftness of light
and can’t be obstructed in their spatial flight.
A faint fleeting whoop is the sound that was heard,
resembling the chirp of a faraway bird.
So the Nobel winner, with brilliant foresight
a century past, was again proven right!
In Einstein encomium much overdue,
we praise and applaud what he already knew
from his relativity theory acclaimed,
that pillar of physics for which he is famed.
The presence of mass as a part of his theme
makes space and time curve, in that elegant scheme.
And this is indeed how gravity functions,
not as a force, but as cosmic conjunctions.
Two black holes colliding, a billion light-years
removed, gave a sign that brought triumphant cheers
from the LIGO team, with a soft rising tone
making Einstein’s ineffable notion known.
The project cost umpteen millions of dollars.
Astronomers seemed the leeriest scholars
and felt the investment would be a big waste,
not trusting the models on which it was based.
Miles of steel tubing in L-shaped position
of vacant chambers were used in the mission
for gauging expansions and fluctuations,
with an outcome exceeding expectations.
The breakthrough implies that stargazers can peer
not just with the eye but moreover may hear
stellar storms bending space and changing time’s flow
in colossal activities to and fro.
Yes ripples in space-time were validated,
as Einstein had long ago calculated.
Researchers gave credit to LIGO, although
he is probably saying, “I told you so!”
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
One of the articles that inspired the poem was “Gravitational Waves: What Their Discovery Means for Science and Humanity”
http://www.space.com/31922-gravitational-waves-detection-what-it-means.html#sthash.pFxWYwlQ.dpuf
Run, run, run little animals, over sand, over rock,
everywhere, dragons fly, mantis, butterfly, ant and moth.
Beetle, grasshopper, bee and wasp,
insecta the class, to which you belong.
These are the insects, from sea to tree loft,
the most diverse and plentiful of all creatures walk.
Compound eyes can see far beyond mine,
in their ability to define fast movement and light.
An exoskeleton, in three parts divide,
offer protection as armor to a softer inside.
The head, boasts antennae, these sensitive organs,
feel vibrations, smell, and heat sources.
The thorax is next and from it, sprout legs,
some insects have wings and it's here their arranged.
The abdomen comes last, it is found in the back,
with reproductive organs and a digestive track.
What to eat? It depends, what mood are you in?
I know some feast one leaves, still others, humans.
Some insects enjoy other insects as food,
some prefer plants, almost anything will do.
There is quite a contrast in insect behavior,
at least 8 million species are uncharted in nature.
With life spans of hours to 50 years later,
they've walked 270 million years on this great earth.
And upon new arrival we'll see you as eggs,
and then you're a larva, a wormish-like stage.
-Or a maggot, or grub and then pupa comes after,
wherein your cocoon becomes your Alma mater.
And soon you progress from this metamorphosis,
fully dressed as and adult, you have developed.
And impressed are the creatures that gaze upon thee,
from colors of warning to palette’s from the trees.
We enjoy many treats your kingdom has conceived,
insects such as bees produce honey we eat.
We wear their creations like silk on our sleeve,
I do believe they recycle more than human beings.
So Blessed be these creatures all,
of big and mighty, tiny and small.
You are the most noble of finds in this life,
you make up in numbers, in heart, in pride,
in honor, in innocence, and everything inside,
for what you lack in size.
Notre terre qui est à Votre taille
Forgive us please our enormous bilious hubris
The quasar-lit heavens smile only down upon us
For Our Master he presideth over the Universe
Our Architect-Father he beds down in the blackest holes
Our temple bells and lodges’ knell toll only for Thee
While Thou slips from one parallel universe to another
Yeah, notre terre qui est à Votre taille
The muezzin’s cry reaches far into the darkest cloud
From turret to galactic turret resounds the prophetic call
Colliding antennae make a murky Baghdad morass
The fallout heralds the bigcrunchy messianic massage
Our Master who art the shine on the Brahmin’s head
Which knows no limbs feet chest nor shivering loins
Forgive us our cowering at the spewing Purusha mouth
For Thine is the thunder exploding forever and ever
Did not a bodhi prince once keep a damning silence
He saw no need to undo Thy mighty male tie
Lest he’s forced to traverse this soil again in rags
Notre terre qui est à Votre taille
As for the other fully bearded nodding mates
They are those who first invoked Thy game
They’ve now bought the world over in Thy name
But prefer to run the banks ‘ere Thou cutteth the rates
Notre terre qui est à Votre taille
Is the epicentre of the roiling boiling might
Where domes echo for the right to languish at Thy side
And watch the Goya geek chew the heathen to shreds
Notre terre qui est à Votre taille
All the stars you see out there in the ever-ever
Are but the conjurer’s balls dancing up in the air
The illusory waking dream of the never-never
Notre terre qui est à Votre taille
Give us every day the fireworks in the sky
For Thine is the show and ours the joy
For ever and ever spinning a lie !
T.Wignesan, November 3, 1997, Fresnes-Paris (Rev. 2012, Paris)
From: T. Wignesan
Copyright ©: T. Wignesan, rev. November 3, 1997 (from the collection: longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999.