Long Conformists Poems
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at last he knows what
has been kicking his ass all these years
living a slow trauma smelling of empire
guardians of civilization on strike or asleep
concluding that non-conformists are all alike
but wait I am harsh this is all from memory
must have been the Kristalnacht last night
the simple concept fire is hot
does not have a subjective alternative
I tell you this with both lips
eyes watering from the smoke and prayers
in an instructive grand demonstration
of just the right amount
at just the right time
fortunately the farm subsidies
kept his garden of delight
in full Amsterdam trim
until Dr. Schnitt opened his skull
in a state sanctioned inquiry
involving all manner of pageantry
gave me a jolly good boot up the spizzerinctum
I'll tell you that right here right there
tweetering bluebirds now circle my head
the hum of life in there somewhere
most thoughts are unoriginal anyhow
you don't need a text balloon to survive
but it's a lot more contemporary
makes the aerodynamics a little smoother
my geneticist says I must be careful
several members of my family
have perished from documented cases
of spontaneous human combustion
must have fallen off the chameleon ride
but no matter they love you one day
hate your ashes the next go figure
not all internal signal input is valid
for this reason scalpels have been handed out
a National Dissection Day special
Nurse Lefty in her lightning bug suit
was just trying to get the job done
after the renunciation of befuddlement
and the realization she had fingers
that were much different from her toes
oh boy we're on another subject already
rhyming crocodile and Nile somehow
fighting fire with smoke see above
partially eaten in spite of the effort
even the effort was eaten
cough cough
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
The Power Of Three Little Words (2)
Therefore please let your word be like the word of
one of them, and speak encouragement. - 2
Chronicles 18:12
I Thank You - Gratitude is an exquisite form of
courtesy. People who enjoy the companionship of
good, close friends are those who don’t take daily
courtesy's for granted. They are quick to thank their
friends for their many expressions of kindness. On
the other hand, people whose circle of friends is
severely constricted often do not have the attitude of
gratitude.
Count On Me - “A friend is one who walks in when
others walk out.” “Loyalty is an essential ingredient
for true friendship; it is the emotional glue that
bonds people. Those who are rich in their
relationships tend to be steady and true friends.
When troubles come, a good friend is there,
indicating “you can count on me.”
Let Me Help - The best of friends see a need and try
to fill it. When they spot a hurt they do what they can
to heal it. Without being asked, they pitch in and help.
I Understand You - People become closer and enjoy
each other more if they feel the other person accepts
and understands them. Letting others know in so
many little ways that you understand them is one of
the most powerful tools for healing your relationship.
Go For It - Some of your friends may be non-
conformists, have unique projects and unusual
hobbies. Support them in pursuing their interests.
Rather than urging your loved ones to conform,
encourage their uniqueness - everyone has dreams
that no one else has.
I suppose the three little words that you might have
been expecting to see have to be reserved for those
who are special - that is
I Love You.
If you know how to die you know how to live.
Listen to Bryant
In the basement by the light bulb.
Live and Let Die
Let Me Die First.
(Release some air for the breathless)
Die with a whole heart, unbroken, unfixed
Die without orgasms
Die at 47--Depression
Die at ten and seven--Fell off the earth
Listen to O'Neill
I know this guy, I know his circles
I've inherited his gift/curse of
Seeing the insides of people through their pupils
Blue, Hazel, Brown, Black, they're all the same
They hate their lives but they don't show it
They sob sitting on the cold steel toilet
No periods, no commas, to hell with punctuation
There's no poetry, no fiction, no prose
Stop writing
Stop drinking your coffee and
Typing on your laptops
Stop your romanticizing
Nobody cares
The best have already been
You're only copycats and imitators and posers
Amateurs
The great ones dig deeper in the ground
Away from you
Read and don't write
Or
Do some math problems
"Everybody needs math nowadays"
Become a
Doctor or a
Stock broker
Or
Go turn to dust at your cubicle
Do some slothful American job
Communication Nation
Industrialization
Mechanization
Machines run the nation
People watch the machines
And wet themselves
And soil themselves
And ejaculate
Listen to Bob Dylan
Was this good enough for you
Poetry Soup, poetry.com, winningwriters.com?
Did it make the minimum amount of sense?
Was it modern enough for you?
You're just like the rest of the jungle
"Phonies"
"Conformists"
Praise be to Jean Marie Marchese,
And Tony Bush, and Deborah
Simpson and...Gods of the poetic universe
If only I were a Premier Member
The nascent mind is confused
By the chaos at birth
By the maddening way things happen
To acquire existence
Beyond comprehension
To see the first light
Unwrapping the discarded darkness.
The unsensed mind lies hidden
As in the womb
Somewhere deep beyond perception
Maybe in the gene unseen and undefined
Covered by the fabricated layers of reason
Drowned in the indoctrinated norms of normalcy
And strangled by the senile tenets of tradition
All cascading down the generations
Take the mind through time
On a subservient journey conformists perform
Without any query or qualm.
Some who stand up against the tide
And refuse docile submission
Discover the mind born in confusion
And ask questions on life’s rationale
But find no answer
They tear the attire of life called normal
And rake up the mind disposed in disarray
They pay a price for the choice
For they pave pathways to travel alone
Build fragile homes to live forlorn
In the world they make of madness.
Those who can’t pay the price
Go back disowned and discarded
As mindless entity
To the self-designed womb
They feel secured
For those who can’t conform
Madness is a luxury
They can’t afford
And can’t pay the price for.
_______________
July 17, 2017
For A Brian Strand Premiere No. 1108
When conformists' adherence to
irksome, empty, shallow, hollow
obsolete rules
overrides unadulterated substance...
imported intuitive works
of essence, potence...spirit
When lettered law
obscures, obliterates
disintegrates
vital verve
When egotistical opinion
ascends higher, reigns over...
tramples on authentic art
This is when I dispose and disclose
I hold scant esteem for form...
mundane reins
colorless, humdrum
lackluster genre
or those whose swollen ego
is entirely, absolutely
engrossed and entombed
in them
Genuine unfeigned expression
shatters traditionalists'
trivial thrashing trash
Veritable voices resound
thunder, reverberate
resonate
in spite of outdated
highly esteemed
decadent modalities
education... influence
bound, chained
shackled, inhumed
by absurd vanities
veritably pluming pride
ignorance and arrogance
boorishly dispatching
meaningless, lifeless
senseless, worthless
drivel
It clouds the vision of its proponents
Causing them to see things that are not.
It mixes their minds into components
To which rational people give no thought.
It dismisses those whose eyes are angled
Or whose skin is anything but white.
It is quick to see the homeless as mangled
And to surmise they cannot be half-right.
It believes its views are singularly correct
And all other positions implacably wrong.
It lumps non-conformists into a sect
And treats them as a misguided throng.
It forecloses on every outreached move
Designed to help it achieve perspective.
It knows what it knows—nothing to prove,
Unaware its thinking is grossly defective.
It owns uniquely the truth of every issue,
Taking care to avoid having facts intervene.
Its arguments are made of gossamer tissue,
And in time they are sluiced from the scene.
I am but an outcast member
Misfortune led my reputation astray
Fake people led me to nowhere
So it's futile to prolong my days
If only I were more rich in hope?
I am a lion missing from its pride
Predatory dominance expelled me
Roars of strife that cut to the inside
Casted me out to the open where I'm free
I am more fierce than the break of dawn
I am an exemplary rebel of the millennium
Integrity, honour, and bravery is what I live by
To see conformists act as wrongdoers,
When it's total hypocrisy, for the time is nigh
A dawn of a new age awaits
Now I am a man more rich in hope
Pride and self-confidence absorbs me
So if you ever want to start a riot
And you want to be free
Better call King Pariah who will help you see
Track: Fall Out Boy - The Young Blood Chronicles
Anti-social behavior is a trait of intelligence in a world of conformists.
~Nikola Tesla
I've never been
To Alberta, Texas or Florida,
No, I haven't been
And I don't intend to go.
It's not Covid
That keeps me home
It seems that will be with us
Until Eternity comes.
It's a virus you know
And will mutate
In dozens of ways,
Survival of the fittest...
I am an almost hermit,
I don't like most people
Except for Mom,
Of course.
I venture into town
Only when I have to,
Covid hasn't changed
Me much at all!
Like Twain once said,
"The more I learn about people
The more I like my dog!"
In fact, all five of them,
And a couple of cats.
For: Alberta Texas Florida Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joe Maverick
Takes the heart of a lion to express your genuine roar.
How easy it is, to go along simply to please
the crowd.
Be all smiles and jokes, with daisies but no
significant sound.
Telling the truth, no way, you are to afraid to
be ignored.
We go through life just once, there is no second chance.
You can make the world better, it is so profoundly
needed ……you know?
Conformists just bow to the government’s
evil taxes and blows.
Brave up now, fear no man,joyfully do your
Independence dance!
6/22/2024
The blind self righteous scald dreams
The rotting of robotic conformists
Shadowing every new dawn
Weaving the web of lies snaking around the necks of the sentenced
The punishment of invisibility
A life confined to the masks of the ball
While the truth overwhelms
Alive in the hearts of the condemned
Shrunken beneath the shadows
The intensity of their happiness hidden
Their secret suffering in shrouds
As they are painted grey
The truth in their eyes removed
And shackled to the lines of society
Marching the imperceptible boxed walls
It is melancholic march of the heart wrenched
The unjustified price in avoidance of the public hanging
At the revealing of our truth