Long Counterfeit Poems
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OF THE COMMON SEAS
"We must come down from our heights, and leave our straight paths, for the byways and low places of life, if we would learn truths by strong contrasts; and in hovels, in forecastles, and among our own outcasts in foreign lands, see what has been wrought upon our fellow-creatures by accident, hardship, or vice." **
Truth need not be found
in philosophers' musings,
or complicated by thoughts bound
with theorems and words, fusing,
nor within the intricacies
of mathematical proofs,
as one and one may indeed
not equal two; un-truth is truth.
Truth becomes vast in life,
and like the pearl, can be found
as beauty captured, in seas rife
between the common oyster's gown,
Or found within the common leaves
of books written by common men,
discovered by those literates who read.
Truth is simple, now and ever been.
I stumbled on such a prize
In Dana's autobiography;
of common men on common seas
living truths of common humanity.
** Dana, Jr., Richard Henry, Two Years before the Mast, World Publishing Company, 1946, p. 283
1
Like a moth to a candle flame
I pondered the perceived right
of those of wealth, culture, piety and fame
to control and lead the common blight -
(the average, struggling and forsaken souls);
yet have never descended to the lowly station
to learn the culture of these earthly ghouls,
their dreams, their pleas, their damnation.
As gods atop their cloud draped mountain
how dare they, in their empiric quackery
force the masses to their impure fountain
to drink of the laws and life that they decree,
yet having not trod the tracks of the plebian path,
having never felt the sordid plebian passions,
but worshipping instead their comfort and wealth,
adorned in decadence and richly clothed fashions,
how can they govern those they do not know,
minister to anguish they have never felt
or heal their sickness of body, heart and soul?
How can they play the cards, to them never dealt?
Are they leaders, statesmen, kings and lords,
or simply counterfeit men full only of themselves,
vainglorious peacocks, strutting hordes
deceiving not a common man, only just themselves?
We have them here, in this land of the free,
politicians, preachers, corporate men and judges.
None have suffered and worked, you see
yet dare to rule, when by common men begrudged.
Form:
In his hand is a smoking rose, as the sorcerer is in flagrante delicto,
in his own image the beast has made an army of self, with one mind.
These did not come, through the matrix of a woman but were hatched,
from counterfeit tubes. Dark images, after his kind, witch grafted.
The clones will kill those, that disobey him and even worse, if they do.
What a vicious viperous brood, entering this world stillborn,
without a God-given soul and only here to kill and control.
The destroyer, with crimson legions of bestial clones, marking his throne,
making you believe, that science fiction is really a honed science.
It will be like some Atlantean phoenix, rising from the ashes of war.
A golden purple metropolis of soulless human clones possessed,
by ruthless fallen ones. The spirits of these, Antichrists have already, through science fiction. Demonically indoctrinate a generation to believe,
that they are ancient aliens, which once seeded the earth and
for man to be complete, they must receive alien DNA.
The serpent seeds have already been laid, from the town of Bedrock,
to Gattaca and to it's empirical foundation, so called science.
Deceiving, through a host of in-between's, nether never land's and
by countless other Silent hills, within his imagination.
As the beast calls down, the fire rose from the airy heavens,
in the sight of the blind seer. A death star has become complete,
with deadly accuracy. While the sleeping world, becomes an Image Nation.
Sadistic Satan tortures his own, for five months,
because they have received the marker.
They can no longer die nor be redeemed,
by the living God but by then they will know,
it is too late, within an eternal fiery prison
Punch the button dial 9 three times
“Hello This is the emergency line”
“Excuse me yes id like to report a crime”
For you see this man took something that was mine
He took my hope, my trust, my love my time
Confused me with fakery bull and lies
Counterfeit love right in front of my eyes
Guess he thought I’d never get wise
He always waited until it was after dark
When he knew he had fooled my heart
Creeping in, trespassing my property
Taking things that weren’t meant to be
Made me break promises I’d promised to keep,
That no man would cause me tears and lose me sleep
Should call him Spider-Man with the web he spun
His art of deception is second to none
Split personality and divided attention
He needs redemption redemption redemption
So can I have a crime number now Uve heard my statement
Need to phone my life insurance to claim that payment
If my life’s been ruined do you think they will pay out?
If I break it all down and lay it out
Put it into words and say it out
Bag it all up and weigh it out
Insured my life when my life was mapped out
Before u was exposed and before u tapped out
Untick the terms and conditions it wasn’t genuine cover
That diamond turned out to be cubic zirconia
Surely a complete lie must be insurable
Like cheating ways are practically incurable
And maybe I don’t know the law atall
And maybe I just look even more a fool
But how else will he be held accountable
When His part in my demise is undoubtable
He kidnapped my hope and murdered my dreams
Denied me my future ripped it apart at the seams
Left me only with broken pieces
What I thought was smooth was actually creases
If a judge won’t be the one to pass a sentence
And ur ears are deaf to my ten Cents
try to convince us it’s all rumours and nonsense
But u know what it is that’s on ur conscience
And when ur time comes ur world will crash down
When what goes around makes its way back around
And when it’s you being played and ur not the one that’s winning
When ur hearing words but you’re not sure of their meaning
When u can’t work out what’s real and what’s deceit
When u start to feel the first pains of defeat
And I hope when it comes it will hit u hard
The ultimate punishment for love fraud
Scam the scammer, fool the fool
Switch it up and change the rules
This autumn morning with the birds waking up
and the leaves changing is Election Day. I meet
Jane Trichter on the downtown train and discuss
Henry's upset. Her skin is soft especially her cheeks
and she is intelligent and sensitive. The subway riders
do not recognize their representative.
All week, at the office, I accomplish nothing substantive
but keep the aides and interns working
and cheerful. On Tuesdays there is always a wave
of constituent complaints, by telephone. One woman's
Volkswagon is towed and the police break in
to get it out of gear. Do they have that right,
can they tow even though no sign said Tow Away Zone?
It is an interesting question but I try to avoid
answering it. The woman persists and succeeds
in committing me.
The people at the office want to bomb Iran. A few Americans
held hostage and therefore many innocent women and children
pay the postage. It may be good classical logic to hold responsible
the whole society for the acts of a few, however, then
I must begin to expect the bomb and the white cloud that waits.
Apocalyptic visions are popular again
but we are more likely to thrash the earth to within an inch of its life
than scorch it to charred rock.
Corner of Church and Chambers,
German tourist's language, accent repels me
although I wasn't alive 45 years ago
and many sweet, great Germans opposed the crazy Nazis
but lately I've read Primo Levi's If Not Now, When?,
seen William Holden in "The Counterfeit Traitor",
have followed the argument started by revisionists
who say the Nazi atrocities never happened.
War brought many shopkeepers, bookkeepers close to their earth,
weather, seasons, death.
I see daily life as low-intensity warfare
as my father, the World War II vet, did.
Off to work we go. What is war?
Population control, mother of invention, diversion
from the work of making life permanent.
Today is Election Day and because it's a day off
for most municipal employees, the City Hall area
has been quiet and easy to work in. Henry and Jane
hold a press conference on teenage alcoholism.
Leslie, the other aide, who I'd like to draw
the stockings and clothes off of and feel her whole body
with mine, goes home with her mother, leaving me
standing by my desk with my briefcase at the end
of Election Day.
Moving through the pulse and the flow
A timetable of fixed dilation
A given
And measured
Ellipse
To the people it trips
As they ride the crest
Of the waves
Of emotions
Just prisoners of
Perpetual motion
Never ceasing
Never pretending to be
Anything more
Born into the days
Of a future long past
Spying its records
From the start to the last
We are all
Just second hand news
In a land of ne’re to be
Nonsensical devotion
The prisoners of perpetual motion
Elate
And repress
The We
The US three
The Me
Myself
and I
Come to share in a life such as these
Checking out the view
I’m just second hand news
In the land of Ne’re do we
Strolling on by and
Pressing on through
Tasked with its provisions
And it’s riddled revisions
Nonsense and fiction
Have found their new diction
Of solar progression
As they encapsulate
The US Three
Strolling on by
Pressing ahead
The RIGHT
And the TRUE
It’s textured and layered deception
Held a managed intervention
Holding within its folio
The signatures of digression
Devoid of emotion
As it’s pendulum swings to and fro
Never able to leave
Or break its grasp
Transcending all in its path
Nonsense and fiction
Wear a guise of suspicion
Take on a new face
A perplexing division
With its sweeping broad strokes
To embrace and replace the US Three
Brushing on past
Just a page before
You knocked on the door
Of the garden where flowers once grew
These steps you’ve taken
Left to the tender mercies
Of fiscal conservancy’s
Hyperbolic uncertainty
Common knowledge
Given breathe
As stolen
A thief
Of the Inspector in chief
His notes plainly written
A solider in part
Has taken my enemies heart
In a fruitless pursuit
Of passion and pain
Here
I remain
In its orbital dance
The great mechanic has cast
His players
The WE
The US Three
Cry the home
On this ellipse
As we roam
The WE
The US Three
The black crow
Watches unfaltering
With his stalwart gaze
As your counterfeit lies
Sought in other men’s eyes
With a forbodance
Which can not be denied
In the wink of an eye
Like the pearls on a string
That glow
And
That shine
As it squares with the facts
In the drivers seat of circumstance
And at length in perpetuity
YOU hold the charter to men’s hearts.
Signing up for philosophy 101
Hi I'm here to sign up for the philosophy course
Why?
Because I have many unanswered questions!
Like what?
What is the meaning of life?
What is life?
I don't know, that's why I'm here
But...are you really here?
I don't know I think so!
What is the proof of your existence?
I have a birth certificate, a Photo ID
.
ok ok How do I know this is you and not your parallel you from another
parallel universe?
You have to take my word for it!
ok
So how much for the course?
$500 cash only
I don't have cash, I have debit card only
No debit, this is Philosophy school, we only believe in what we see
invisible money is not money!
ok I will have to go to the bank and come back do you have time?
What is time?
It's 5:30pm
no, not what time is it, what is time?
I don't know, that's why I want to take the courseto answer all my questions
Speaking of time what time do classes start?
7am
That's really early isn't it?
Not really, it's all relative...there are no absolutes...there is no correct answer
it's all true if you believe it!
so I can come at 8am then?
No! absolutely not, classes start 7am sharp!
So then what can I expect to learn about God?
We don't believe in God, God only exists in the minds of the weak. We only believe in what we see.
Ok then ...what about wi fi?
what about it? Do you have it?
Of course we have the highest technology here!
How can you have wi fi if you just said you don't believe in what you can't see?
you can't see it, yet it exists how is that possible?
(Silence)...
Can I bring my notebook?
yes and bring a pen too!
no...I mean my computer
Of course, of course, bring your computer
ok (5 minutes later)
So I'm back with the cash...here's your $500.00
Thank you
Wait a minute! How do you know that's real money?
We have a counterfeit detection system to identify false bills.
You know what! I have a built in counterfeit wisdom detection system
it's called common sense! I changed my mind, I want my money back!
What money? What is money?
My $500.00
Who are you? Do you really exist? Do I exist? Does money exist?
I'm calling the police, tell it to the judge!
John Derek Hamilton
May03,2016
In the chamber of silence where souls converge,
Masks lie in wait, the nocturnal guardians of our being.
Adorned with grimaces and velvet smiles,
They are armors against the unknown arrows of the estranged world.
Oh, how they descend like curtains over our fragility,
Sitting so carefully upon the shoulders of pleasure, the cloth of outward beauty.
We learn to parade with them, in a masquerade where every step is watched,
Where each breath, heavier than the last, is veiled by studied nonchalance.
Few are those who dare shine without the borrowed mask,
To stand bare, in the harsh light of day, unafraid of the whirl of rejection.
Even rarer is the creature that, in the human garden, stands unwavering in its truth,
Unfettered by earthly fears of 'seeming' and 'not being enough'.
The mask, once a shelter, becomes the dungeon of the spirit, still in the shadow.
A surrogate of identity, which over time melts into the skin of existence,
Making it hard to discern where the persona ends and the self begins.
You see it, hanging there, lightly, on the hook prepared by the world,
A means by which anonymity weaves its web around our essence.
It is a game of appearances, where we are all unknown thespians on a vast stage.
To traverse beyond the false face and to see the raw core of your proclaimed existence,
Is the art that binds us, without unraveling the ties that keep that sliver of secret,
A silent call to acknowledge the soul, even beneath the daily makeup.
It is not just denial, but the desire to feel understood, even behind the shadows.
Power, the world says, lies in hardening the heart, but how deceitful is this thought!
For true stature arises from embracing vulnerability, a force that lifts us from the ashes of prejudice.
You, be that gentle murmur of your truth in every counterfeit day,
Be that fragment of sync with oneself, amidst a choir of disparate voices.
Do not fear to dance, even when the dance embraces the void, authentic and raw.
In the world of men, to be seen as you are is a gift you offer,
A brave smile in the face of a world that demands you to be unyielding, impenetrable.
Love and be loved, as once said by a sage long asleep,
For in this recognition lies a whole universe of love, before it even begins to be infinite.
Memorable - "I remember the time when...." (Aah!...the good old days!)
Puzzled - "What time is it?" (Time for a watch!)
Philosophical - "Time is of the essence!" (You can smell time???)
Exaggerated - "If I told you once, I told you a million times!" (A million??...REALLY)
Request - "May I have more time?" (Yeah, get it out of the bucket!)
Panic - "I NEED MORE TIME!!!" (Sorry, fresh out of time!)
Procrastination - "I'll do it the next time!" (Um....Maybe!)
Encouragement - "You'll do better the next time!" (Be ready!)
Threatening - "You just wait 'til the next time!" (Uh-Oh!")
Wishful - "When I get some more time!" (It's in the mail!)
Pondering - "How much time do I have?" (Tick...Tock...Tick...Tock!)
Questioning - "When was the last time?" (Cmon, think hard now!)
Acceptance - "Time waits for no one!" (Missed that bus again!)
WHAT????? - "Time and time again!" (When was the first time???)
Admonishment - "Don't waste my time!" (The bucket's almost empty!)
Ceasing - "Time out!!!" (Whoa...stop right there!)
Foolish - "Turn back the hands of time!" (Good luck on that one!!!)
Regret - "Time is what I don't have!" (Buddy, can you spare a time?)
Boasting - "Yeah....I've got the time!" (My loan rate is 100% interest!)
???????? - "Where did the time go???" (I know it's around here somewhere!)
Advice - "Be on time!" (Don't be late again!)
Wanting - "Give me some more time!" (Gimme!...Gimme!...Gimme!)
Truth - "There is no more time!" (Come back tomorrow...if there's time!)
Reality - "I'm running out of time!" (Then pick up the pace!)
Upset - "Do you know what time it is???" (You must be crazy! Look at the time!!!)
Pleading - "Do you have any time???" (Buddy, can you spare another time?)
Realization - "I need to make the time!" (Now where did I put that recipe???)
Befuddled - "I lost track of the time!" (Where, oh where has my little time gone??)
It escaped - "Time got away from me!" (Time to get a leash!)
Falsehood - "You can make up the time!" (Counterfeit time???)
Biblical - "....and a time to every purpose under heaven:) (Don't forget this one!)
The Best One - "You have ALL the time in the world!" (BEWARE of that one!!!)
Brave New World
A 'world' it is and it spins around in mad circuits of loopy loops.
Has reached an infinite array of denominations in which foolish
insane clowns have taken over the asylum once more as bedlam
pretends liberation as the counterfeit currency of nauseating progress.
'New' I have my doubts though when fiddling with reconstruction
conjures novel aspirations from Holocaust to Hiroshima from pure
race unadulterated megalomania to narcissistic greed ‘all can be
done’ but the genie emerges from Huxley’s toxic bottle unrestrained.
'Brave' should pertain to courage when golden means and common
sense of virtue defaced by ugly grimaces facades mascara of tainted
moderation succumbs to mediocrity construed by disingenuous evil.
An aberration of jesters plotting naked feasts of blinded engineering.
Temptation is an ancient theme and just because we are capable to
plot our own demise does not preclude some hesitation or valid
inhibition as courage must incorporate the rationale. Not to follow in
wolf’s clothing a script of Faustian cloning just because we can.
Manipulation of chromosomes through twisted recombining helices
as a stairway to hell gave us Dolly the sheep. Another incarnation
braying ‘Give me body parts’ to harvest stem cells modified amino
acids like little devils on steroids and protein shakes of unpredictability.
The most cunning argument for creating whole new persons brought
to the fore the notion that if we the ‘good ones’ do not follow science
to create what evolution failed to build from nature’s garden and God’s
promise then the malign others surely will and consequently all is lost.
The mind boggles in the light of self-righteousness and the delusion
that refusal and resistance are signs of cowardice and the misconception
that two or numerous wrongs result in right and law when duty could
prevail as guardian for another world of sanity and accepting our limits.
The thought police and miscreant paradigms of Dolly’s dogma will surely
try to silence my opinion that courage has another merit than the scientific
infestation that my mind and brain needs to be cloned in order to restrain
my voice of caution but when I shout ‘enough’ at least my dignity remains.
Cobblestone Echoes
by Odin Roark
Ancient stone
keeper of darkness
of auras reaped from high seas
vast is your harvest
from earth rumblings beset by molten tears
to charred obsidian made hard
glass reflecting where primates once clamored upon
From paws a running
sniffed calloused drippings in peril
where sandal swathed footsteps
dodged blade and spear
as wash water dumped from high
added slippery footing for predators ever lustful
ever hungry
ever historic
Now the high noon of modern life
the wonder among your melodies
amidst recent fabrications emulating your path
you the wrinkled skin spirit of ancient masons
who served sun-baked feasts
from the past of pasts
Alas…
Genuine micro-canyons of irrigated seed and drift
send the spirits aloft from once grasses high
reminding us that while calendars may crumble
time’s enduring stone of old remains original
transcending the language of vowel and consonant
acknowledging the reach of sentient eye to eye
the whispered caress beneath a Nike sole
sharing the tongues of old
echoing the murmurs of weary travelers
the severed limbs of warriors
the rivers of plasma-red passion
polishing fossils within
within
within
Yet many choose faking Nature’s setting
even making ready counterfeit copies
to pacify the blind living without preference
massaging serpentine monsters of ignorance
whose Gucci laced feet now prance upon this facsimile
sold as make-believe
glittering’s bondage
hidden in fakery
having not a clue of the Carthaginians
or Mediterranean isles of blood and sweat
from whence it all came
For like Rodeo Drive’s cobblestone plazas
where modern celebrity prisons of today
masquerade as credible reality for borrowed tomorrows
knockoff décor identity everlasting
unaware their own history
reaches inevitable fade out
may never know the hidden messages
Perhaps…
The subtle cacophony of shadow and whisper
cobblestone’s enigmatic infernal
made orchestral for those who can hear
those who dare see through the darkness
those who can be moved and touched by
shadowed silence protected with truth
will experience the magic
How few seem to hear the deafening message