Long Lloyd Poems
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The Curse
Smitten, battered, beaten, torn,
to this spell, I am sworn.
To strike thee down on this day,
and with thy soul yea shale pay.
To whom that sees thee go insane,
writhe and scream in burning pain.
For all that look upon thy face,
may they chase thee from this place?
Thy ego broken battered by scorn,
and to thy soul justice is born.
See thy self as thine others do,
for when yea speak none is true.
When once thee thought yea were great,
I bring thee down to seal thy fate.
Thy stench of death shall follow thee,
and yea shall know deaths misery.
An evil deed yea have done,
one thee thinks yea have won.
So to thy deed thee are bound,
until resolution can be found.
For what yea have done now is true,
in every act that yea are due.
The only way to be undone,
thee must act for yea’s the one.
Suffer now I shall not wait,
with this curse I seal thy fate.
Smitten, battered, beaten, torn,
I curse thee now thy pain is born.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
I like the heroic America of World War II;...
The America champion of good technology...
The America that freed us from the damned little mustache...
The America of Hollywood, of cinema,
Of black soul music, of Doo Wop,
Soft rock of Credence Clearwater Simon, Bob Dylan
Folklore... Woodie Guthrie, Peter Seeger,
Peter, Paul, Mary, mixed with country and blues,
Poets like Walt Withman, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost. BEAT POETS...
The America of Frank Lloyd W. Edison, OTHERS...
Not an America with dyed hair and greed
madness for money and power...men colored
in yellow who only think of domination,
and submission of others, without thinking of brotherhood among peoples...
MAGA Make America Gentle Again
Blind
My eyes are dim, I do not see.
How could this happen, to someone like me?
I’m not a bully, a thief, or a cad.
Just a hardworking man, like my grandfather and dad.
As children we played a silly game.
Called blind man’s bluff, that was its name.
With our eyes covered, it’s just not the same.
We remove the blindfold, and we can see again.
Being blind is not like turning out the light.
The world is not dark as a moonless night.
Shades of gray without shape body or form.
To a blind man’s sight, this is the norm.
Why did this happen, to someone like me?
Was it God’s way to teach me pity?
My eyes are dim, I cannot see.
Why did this happen, happen to someone like me?
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
In those streets of
buildings projected
by Frank Lloyd and
Corbusier
I dreamed my dry
landscape ...
In those sumptuous
temples full of mystery,
I dreamed of
the little chapel
of St. John ...
At speedy High Ways, I
dreamed
the trails of xique
xique ...
In the gigantic
parks,
of these
megalopolis, I
dreamed
the backyard of the
caatingas ...
In these blown
Mecca,
I dreamed my
shotgun
from punch to
punch ...
In the night clubs of
high society, I
dreamed
Zé Lagoa
homemade ball ...
I confess that I lived
these worlds,
but I never left home ... !
Xique - xique, Piloseceus polygonus
cactus...
Caatinga : area in the northeast of Brazil
semi-arid, scrub forest
SUNFLOWERS AND THE BUDDHA JAZZ LIGHT
Inner peace, mindfulness, compassion, word sculpturing, and the painting of visual jazz word speak
Ingredients to make your soul Buddha talk/
Herbie Hancock, Charles Lloyd, the Beat poets/
notably Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Gary Snyder, the Dharma Bums, Eastern philosophy/
The Beats were heavily influenced by Zen Buddhism, focusing on direct experience, meditation,
and the transcendence of structured thought/
Some jazz musicians of the 1950's fused the spontaneous energy of bebop jazz with the philosophical tenets of Buddhism/
The spontaneity of Charlie "Bird" Parker's playing merged with Buddhist notions of the "void" or "shunyata," where the improviser
pierces through the silence/
Buddha's breath in petals bright, whispers of mindful light, interconnected, yet free from grasp. a dance of seeds in a cosmic clasp/
Sowing happiness, in the earth's embrace, manifestation's gentle trace, yet in the void, where silence lies, non-existence softly flies/
Modern art, a visual jazz, words sculpted like spiritual pizzazz, inner peace to Eddie Gale,
Compassion spun, a tapestry of the soul begun/
Herbie's keys, a sacred tune, Charlie's sax, a fleeting moon, the Beat poet's rhythmic breath, Zen's deep silence beneath the depth/
Spontaneous, raw, unbound, in the void's embrace, profound, where improvisational jazz is born anew/
Sunflowers and the Jazz Buddha, in harmony's dance, a sacred union of chance and meditative trance/
In every seed, a universe, in every breath, the universe's verse
Israel's God is good to His own
those of a pure heart are blessed
even if their feet are almost gone
God keeps them in His safe nest
Seeing the foolish and their wickedness
filled with pride and trouble free
having more than they could wish
hating God with whom they never agree
They show such high arrogance
questioning God's knowledge so high
living as if Jehovah doesn't exist
thinking they're eternal never to die
But the Lord shows us how to understand
by going into the sanctuary of God
and discerning the arrogant's end
destruction and ruin will be their award
God's promise is always continually true
holding and guiding your right hand
to afterwards take you to glory
as in His strength you shall stand
God ends all who are unfaithful
but the faithful He'll not let go, no never
God will hold you in himself so very near
as the strength of your heart and portion forever
(Some thoughts after reading Martyn Lloyd-Jones book on psalm 73.)
Psalm 73 vs. 1-28.
Continued from Part 1
Matt Dillon chases Jack LaLane
Around a roller derby lane
I think I need some more cocaine,
So please don’t ever come back Shane
I try to walk another street
When me and Walter Cronkite meet;
He says he thinks the news is neat
And starts to talk about the sleet
I run away as fast I can
When Brinkley and the other man
Say ‘good night Peter, good night Pan’
While Tinker Bell is on the can
A dog starts crapping up the yard,
He must have eaten too much Pard
But watch out, here comes Pat Boone, bard,
He’s taking steps without regard
I find a jackass facing me
And ride as far as far can be
And find myself beneath the sea,
But now Lloyd Bridges faces me
I think he must be on a hunt
To find a mind that he can stunt;
He says ‘they’re sitting all up front
And you can hear them as they grunt’
Old Ironsides rolls into view
And says he’s looking for a clue;
I close my eyes and say ‘me too’
’cause something seems so much askew
I better buy some brand new specs
’cause Mickey Mouse is rated X
And everybody’s doing sex;
Ben Casey gives the VD checks
Hey, Milton Berle is throwing rocks
And Elvis Presley’s chased by flocks
Of girls in teeny bopper socks;
Please help, I’m sick, I need two docs
A weirdo asks me ‘what’s my line
If Ricky Nelson drinks my wine
And Lucy is my concubine;
Paola’s great if I get mine’
I’m looking for a place to hide
I stick my thumb out for a ride
When Jackie Gleason pulls up beside
‘If two squared’s four, can you divide?’
‘Of course I can, I’ve been to school
And I am not nobody’s fool’
I feel I am a molecule
Just floating through a vestibule
So Jackie says ‘you are a kid
But older than a pyramid,
Too bad you’re not a phallic squid;
I say, ah, can you spare a lid?’
Some girls are wearing panty hose
They shave their hair which overgrows
And spray away their bod’s B.O.s;
I want to fade inside my clothes
Continued in Part 3
You know me I am never grouchy she said.
Is her neck on straight? Is she right in her head.
I cannot stand people who stomp and grump.
Just a second. Here comes that creep with the dowager’s hump.
I cannot stand her; she is evil, the anti-christ she relays.
I hate to complain, but she simply ain’t very nice many days.
I stay on the phone line, for I am desperate for a friend.
Her grouchiness and complaining never does end.
She doesn’t like her neighbor, he is a mean guy.
She cannot abide her mother-in-law, so why even try?
Whining commences, and I am trying to hang up.
She never notices, that I have eaten my hat and my cup.
She causes me anguish, I feel stressed and annoyed.
She is yelling about a guy she dated once named big Lloyd.
I hate pessimists she tells me, I have to stay away from this guy.
The next week when I start to dial her, my psyche asks “why?”
Blessed Be
Blessed be the darkness.
For without the darkness, we would not know the light.
Born in darkness, the blind do not know the light.
To them the dark is the norm.
Born in the light, we see the sun, the moon and the stars.
We know the difference between the light and the dark.
If we lived in pleasure all our lives, we would not know it was pleasure.
It would just be.
But when we feel pain we learn the difference between pain and pleasure.
We know that one we like and the other we don’t.
In life we need the bad to teach us good is good.
That pain and sorrow hurt, and joy and life are pleasure.
Without death we would not crave life.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
New Day
I sit watching god’s creatures of the night,
fleeing from the ever-approaching dawn.
A bright orange and red haze caresses the horizon.
Beyond this is the sun.
Slowly ever so slowly rising above the edge of the earth:
to explode into an orange ball of fire.
Sending a red river of shimmering light across the water,
now it is dawn.
I can hear the cries of a seagull as it gracefully glides by me.
In the water ducks swim around,
as the sun lights up the world.
It becomes morning,
it is dawn no more,
but a new day.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison