Long Gratuitous Poems
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It was the kind of day you step in front of traffic, then dare fate to fold you up in newspaper headlines.
Oh dreams came true alright, but you should have dreamed about not being a foolhardy dreamer; who can know these things. Maybe better instincts the next go-round.
Your mind is an ashtray full of stumped out intentions, it’s overflowing and starting to look like a barrel cactus. And you’re in just the right kind of mood, to burn another one down.
Your eyes slowly break open and realize how much you look forward to that double shot of communal antacid and how much you dread pouring yourself out onto the sidewalk for your morning bath in bright light. Today the dream is for a life lived in black and white.
Some days are better than others, but this one is exceptional. If overwhelmed and heartbroken had a love child, it would have been born at 6:30 this morning when you tore through a placenta of bed sheets.
But lust is on the menu today. It rarely doesn’t cause more problems, but having a little fun is not nothing. And it’s always easier to rally when excitement lies ahead. But creativity will have to be the secret sauce because you’ve gone and earned yourself “a reputation”. The last thing on her mind would be to see your stupid face today. Perfect.
Now, to pre-clarify, a simple plan, doesn’t mean good plan. And this may have been neither but good is a matter of perspective. Bad, well bad is easier to identify post mortem. Does it mean a man is no good, if no good comes from his actions or do intentions get any recognition? Asking for a friend.
Some things a man does, just for himself. No need for others to know about the challenge or triumph; it’s an integrity thing…this wasn’t one of those. This was more of a “gratuitous excitement” kind of thing.
You have have a customary pre-action thought of caution: sometimes fate just isn’t reasonable. But of course there’s no mystery in reason. A wise man once said “just because you can, doesnt mean you should”. Unfortunately that works the other way too.
But by tonight fate may finally be finished toying with you and tomorrow you’ll be a tabloid front page. She used to say “morning is for thinking, the nighttime is for feels”. It’s 4 seconds to midnight somewhere; you better get moving. But not before firing up another coffin nail.
Folie à deux
("shared madness," or "madness for two").
I suffer in silence, though not alone
kvetching old curmudgeon (me)
(once upon a time, a promising
long haired pencil necked geek)
buzzfeeding off life's miniseries
of unedited miseries in tandem
with ideal counterpart ofttimes
easily mistaken for a clone
Matthew Scott Harris
unable to function without her
(zee wife), he doth espouse as integral
to calculus of his existence
plus attributes wizardly
powers within (yours truly)
derived, highfived, and thrived courtesy
(think symbiotic), quietly riotously quintessentially,
nevertheless beloved hen pecking crone,
we carrion and cavort
(our respective wings
beating at speed of sound)
generating humming drone
beehive ving amorously
exhibiting unchoreographed tableaux
long practiced routine
equilibrium intermittently punctuated
with dynamic pantomime tour de force
communion words superfluous
since telepathic communication
predominates the unspoken wavelength
long established modus operandi
since... before pledging our troth,
while each ourselves in utero
womb during fait accompli
vis a vis gamely matched
think arranged embryonic marriage,
thus marital covenant
essentially linkedin since conception
both of us coaxed when livingsocial
no longer being tethered to umbilical cord
as lifelong playmates
forging compatible association,
now a gratuitous nod to our long since
dearly departed mothers
unbeknownst to them
how like firmly attached barnacles
each handily, snugly, and warmly fit
(esse mitten hand over fist gal love)
vicariously experienced reciprocal
trials and tribulations
whatever fate visited head of the other
permanently anchoring
nsync out rolling - rock of Gibraltar
across metaphorical stormy seas
trying against all odds
to weather strongest
emotional/psychological tempests
wallowing, née drowning in despair
at aging body, fading senses,
and thinning hair
which last named
akin to Samson
bolsters mein kampf
since... infancy, whose
counterpart betraying me like Delilah
wishing and threatening
(albeit jestingly) to lop off golden locks
each hair reed stranded longfellow
woolworth more'n fine spun gold!
Grace
is not the rather loose reputed love of choice
after natural laws of Earth's justice have been primally satisfied.
Nor is Mercy,
her sister,
a gratuitous co-passionate remainder,
icing on the after thought of justice cake,
after having had Her revengeful way
for sins of our enslaving Fathers.
Rather,
Earth's nature-spirit laws
for protecting nutritional rights and equity
are the evolving justice of last resort
when intrinsic co-empathic trusting grace
has been rejected too often already
within some connecting string of incarnation,
some sacred identity we might and could love
as organically transcendent life itself.
The primary health role of nature's nutritional law,
protection against ecocidal toxins,
security from anthroprivileged injustice,
absence of co-empathic therapeutic trust
as presence of community co-immunity,
is to support effective deep meaningful anticipation,
and not over-reactive wide purposeless anxiety,
toward full development of richly resonant transgenerational relationships,
political and economic musecology.
As a materialistic, yet healthy-social, song and dance species,
we have spent far too much energy
on advocating the triumph of just political relations,
rather than justly cooperative and inclusive economic co-ownership,
rooted in co-empathic gratitude
through listening to and with suffering oppressed fractured species,
stories speaking to our own compassionate voices within,
advocating for future generations of EarthTribe peace.
When our relationship with EarthTribe's Commons
is more about protection from material harm
than loving sustained healthy relationships
rooted in natural-physical
organically inter-religioning
co-infested gratitude for compassion
and outraged attitude against Othering dispassion,
then we are significantly inside and outside the comfort range
of thermodynamic balance,
co-arising trust,
where Grace deteriorates into BadKarma
and restores into GoodKarma
as decomposition informs gratitude's re-incarnate potential
Grace's wealthy step-sister room
for Mercy's further transgenerational
trans generational
transgene rational healthy growth.
to cut down tridents of false truths that men gather ......they peace and plan for
tomorrow, but I can't understand why they have such a nothing plan
in power the rich....they control us all....but who, in the beginning took the fall?
it was Adam and not Eve...even though the truth to this Myth is only
contradictory...I want to discover the entire story
My version is that the Adam & Eve just proove that man's will
betrayed God himself for a naked piece of ass
of Mary Magdaline...of Colassis of Rhodes...of Panic stricken garbage talking
politicians that we have since known....
not so simple...located in a dimple of time....that's why I continue to rasp and
rhyme.....
loss of Innocence ...with fig leaf of grievance....is no true explanation...I liken to
the anthropologist...who once said...the Egyptians knew more than history;....
Their knowledge contemplation...in every conglomeration...can only execute
phases of ordered information ordered by the One
Blashephy...you quell?? Well, it's much better than an inordinant pre destined
hell...
lol
what the Roman Catholocs take for truth is what they have been shoving down
the throats of innocents since religion became the rule
which is so much just a ruling tool for those in power over those who have
nothing.....it's insane
I agree
and I rhyme off into the eve...just ask me another word......and I'll pull it out me
sleeeve..
lol
laugh out loud doesnt' qualify
i'm mister bright side...
yes, Ur and I really like that
I'm miss glass half empty but always see the water near, lol
and I'm a water bearer - dear...
yes, Ur
an Aquarian to the core..I look towards ways to gradually restore....
Images of gratuitous purity.....or right...the young don't understand security....
sometimes I think that I think too much....but what does that mean...? the cause
and the effect and the in between...
Sometimes I think too much and it wasn't really about much it all
in the end....but at the time..it is sublime
dracula (the real deal):
you know he’s been rollin’ in his coffin
since ejacula came & took over
the whole vampire scene---
as if it wasn’t hard enough to try and live off the blood of
moronic humans
for hundreds of years,
suddenly these pre-pubescent
high schoolers from “twilight,”
with their perpetually stoned eyes
(however, never actually
doing any drugs)
come along &
taint his image.
yes there was a time when vlad prevailed
when the people of his kingdom feared &
respected the man who fought to keep
wallachia free of the ottomans---
so much different was the man whose legacy,
illustrated for the west by stoker,
sat as a wonderfully unique novel delighting readers
for over a century,
taking its place next to shelley’s frankenstein on
the shelf & followed by the likes of
rice.
but as the saying goes, “all good things must come to
an end,”
and so strolled in ms. stephenie meyer
whose excrementitious mix of once interesting
vampiric lore & the quintessential teenage
stumbling over sexuality
(of which she claims: "I don't think teens need
to read about gratuitous sex.")
has become a new brew of
non-threatening pulp
which besides giving two actors who couldn’t
act their way out of a box high-paying careers
(as undeserved as the author’s),
has infected a whole generation of young women
who now have a brand new template for
abusive relationships.
meyer’s “abstinence ****” (as it is now
dubbed by many)
brings with it the inevitable message that women will
lose their whole sense of self in a relationship &
end up succumbing to the supposed societal norm
of having a child, that is,
a ludicrous vampire baby who will no doubt grow
up learning how to be abused just as the mother did---
this distressed damsel that stewart portrays
is so transparently based on meyer herself
that one would have to be intoxicated to a point of
blindness,
not to see it---
the real choice of a young woman to have an abortion &
not have a child with an abusive vampire
might make for a less “romantic” statement
than the twilight-drivel---
if only independence was as romantic.
In between the prayers of a million words and emotions
To the God in the sky, statues and pictures stuck on walls,
Looking out for some signs of their existence,
Constantly asking for the solutions to the difficulties absorbing me,
I pity my parents, the God that brought me to Earth.
Perpetually asking for my take in life, my plans, my aim,
Encouraging me when I am lost, hiding their own loss ,
They doubt my ideals, my proposition,
Doubting themselves in their acts of bringing me up.
They see me failing, depressed and succumbing to the consequences of failure,
And they come, encourage me with a filtered smile and confidence,
They narrate the chronicles of success, struggles and experiences of hard work,
And convince me that defeats are just part of life.
"Each fall make you rise higher, till you reach where your destiny resides,
Therefore do not worry, have faith and be diligent", they tell.
They are more skilled with life, they have seen asperity
They have seen problems and have found leads to solve them
They see the inarticulate words and concerns of mine,
They know the sensitivity, the fears that brings me down.
But they do not know, I too comprehend them all
Their anxieties, worries and dubiety of their methods,
Their frustration, their urge to see my mind
Their patience to wait for me to speak out my conception,
Their filtered emotions, their plastic smiles,
Their perpetual ways to procure my intend so they can aid,
Their endeavours to keep me going, keep me bucked up.
I see them all, but I am helpless,
As I am a question without an answer,
I am still vexed to rise after the falls,
Still scared to choose a path,
Dread trailing me like my shadow,
Mind dense with gratuitous beliefs,
Heart brimming with suppressed opinions,
My escalating wrath, annoyance and the agitating soul,
But I am their kid, I have their blood in my veins,
I inherit their ways of forcing a grin,
I too show them, there is nothing to fret,
I am all sorted, and on my way to the goal that I still need to find.
K.S.Lakshmi
You hear about holidays that people hate
Rarely of exotic taste, finding the better fare,
Cheap enough for travel agents to promote
Such resorts which they advertise with flair.
A visa to start will set your mind at ease.
Most controls need to see your passport,
Wait a little longer in queues to get the air
But when you see the clouds from up there.
You think you are almost down there,
And can feel the landing gear quickly bite,
Into the dust with the wind rushing clear,
As keen concierge are prone to take delight
And provide the right service to a customer,
Looking for a treat to make them feel please,
Gratuitous tips will set their mind at ease.
Though experts give advice on legal matters,
The request that you must weigh points inside,
To set your mind at ease with desired answers,
You may not like files in briefcase discreetly hide
Risk disk others have confided their passions known,
The spiced taste of medicine given in health advice,
A hot desert to match the hazardous pursuit,
Of pleasures snuggled up with stress and hurt.
Of course, there are great professionals out there,
Who practice every day in quite another mode?
Rest assured the church and state is well secure,
Legislation at the door, favor is a governing code,
Making the cost of living rise, equity values more,
You will concur, and welcome another substitute,
From the top of the basic list offering you peace,
In hope of setting your mind at ease.
Life has no guarantee in giving enormous overview,
Take another look, see what you miss in the mirror,
Try to find a younger picture but if you see a shadow,
Humble and mute coming around towards you,
What you see is a reflection of a time and not another.
Set your mind at ease the taunts will not last forever.
Dilemma or demise a prayer brings you to your knees;
Other trading places will set your mind at ease.
Tower, buzz and scurry
Oh great resilient city
Ahoy!
Alive. Scramble bustle earth's
ethnicities
On lurid quests--
A pendulum of tantric turmoil and
Blessed harmony
Quixotic city--brash,
Sangfroid merotomized and
Chrematistic--metro nonpareil.
See a myriad melange of
Tortured splenetic
Souls and great spirits
Noble and soothfast
Great city, your hecatombs
Of underground trains
Roar scream in
Hodge-podge graffiti attire
Fat fuming brattling buses
Grunt their huffpuffs,
And nervous cars scissorcut
Impatiently betwixt tarred and
Cemented streets
August and capacious
Ferruminated grey glass and steel
Towers--Aeeries in obeisance to the
Heavens, erupt in anabasis at the azure
Pearly welkin,
Humming diapasons of marvelous
Melismatic tunes
A gallimaufry of cacaphony and
Sweet sounds--the
Great Metropolis persistently
Thrives.
Streets adorned with sylph fashion
Models, conute churls, street
recrement--dazed and forgotten men,
Enticing shuck and jive
Blandishing street vendors,
Natty brujo business gentry
With their helotry on a
Ferris wheel of daily
Triumphs and defeats and
Cheeky mendicants
Shuffle along allegro vivace
Howling chorus songs amidst a
Torrent of raining dollars and
Coins floating in the skies over
The brazen metropolis.
Snuffling restaurants like hives
Humbuzz the grandiloquence,
Pithy slang and sententious
Persiflage of the day.
A truly syncratic parley
Of passions sentient
Of crimes basilic
Of arts sacerdotal and gratuitous
Of fashions arabesque and outre
Of plays frivolous and profound
Of music sericeous and truculent
Of money pursuits solonic
Of loves ascendant and descentdant
Of rejections mournful and joyous
An e'er persisting cha-cha-cha and
Boogie-woogie of the fierce
Bustling bubbling bold city,
Pendulumming pandaemoniums and
Resolutions, day
Upon pertinatious day.
David John Hart 2003 USA
at the mission in the Bowery
when the addict comes in at night
they are ushered through electronic doors that
slam shut like a prison
echoing down the hall &
with few people on staff
they make their rounds in the greater part of the shelter
with walkie-talkies hooked to them
but no weapons or defense tools of any kind
which might allow for those spending their evenings
cleaning the laundry of the homeless &
taking care to the best of their ability
of those that the rest of society has left to die
in the garbage bin that is the piss ridden street---
in the emergency room
where those that walk straight off the street are allowed to
keep shelter,
but only shelter,
they need not even give their names &
they are not hassled by the help---
they remain huddled together
nodding off in a stupor
with the staff checking on this specific room
every 15 minutes
with the hope that no one has drifted off to an overdose---
those with the walkies also have a needle on them at all times
which contains a good dose of adrenaline &
after gratuitous exercises upon being hired,
of shoving the needle into a ripe orange
over & over
(as if this is supposed to prepare you for shoving it in a human being
who has just overdosed),
they are told to be on the ready
for such a moment to arise
when they will need to use it---
upon entering the emergency room,
those who have come in off the streets often,
having no respect for those with jobs & lives that
they can no longer even imagine, or perhaps from a greater disdain for
society as a whole,
they often ridicule the help,
cursing at them,
maybe not even conscious that they are doing so &
it is all in a night’s work to ignore or tolerate these insults
to the best of one’s ability
in hope that they are not struck or physically attacked
because an adrenaline needle & a walkie-talkie
isn’t going to stop someone who has nothing left in the world but
rage.
“the most famous man who ever lived”
hollow is the story of “jesus”---
hollow
like the stamp with which it was printed,
hollow as these other mythical hero
archetypes,
which all bear a supernatural birth,
which all bear the hunting of said hero
as an infant, with an exciting & dramatic
subsequent getaway,
which all bear the entertaining magic tricks during
the hero’s youth,
which all bear the blind adoration, devotion &
worship that follows
when he is seen as “divine,”
only to be betrayed, executed &
for that big fat finale…
RESURRECTION!
(which all christians want to happen for them as well,
be it secretly or not)
and then, of course,
our hollowman gets
made into a martyr
for which history is supposed to
weep & remember,
weep & remember,
weep & remember.
to say that “jesus” was a man,
to say that he lived at all, that his life was in any way
original or authentic,
is to say the same of Osiris, Hercules, Baal, Attis, Adonis
& Asclepius (to name a few)
were all real people…
all who mr. “jesus” bears just a little more than
coincidental
liking to.
still, over 40% of americans
believe that “he” is going to return within the next 40
years---
this of course has nothing at all to do with
the relative age of those asked &
what their lil’ dreams are of getting to be on the
planet when “he” does, right?
(throat clearing)
having created a character of fiction,
one which can be mentioned to be
“the most famous man who ever lived,”
seems a bit gratuitous, doesn’t it?
but then again, those who believe it
are the same who believe that there is a
place that they can go
when they are dead &
they will get all the gold stars that they’ve been
earning
all the years that they have been alive---
opportunists,
opportunists,
opportunists,
who will create a “history” in order to
provide themselves an
out---
all so they can sleep at night.