Long Timbuktu Poems
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So after I told the crowd
in the store that I was
not Dolly Parton,
they quickly went away
disappointed and forlorn like,
going over to the dairy
to pick up some milk,
tried to stay calm as I
noticed pictures on
the back of the milk cartons
of my former self,
then I quickly drove home
and put the groceries
on the shelf,
thinking this disguise
isn't doing me any good,
decided to wear a
long red wig around
the neighborhood,
thinking now I can
finally relax again,
until people started
thinking I was Naomi Judd...
Then I noticed the
amish mafia guy
at the local 7-11,
I quickly drove away
to the local police station,
where they put me up in
a convent for
witness protection,
where Mother Superior
gave me my habit to wear,
and with it some long underwear,
calling me by new name
which was now Sister Rose,
she made me feel inferior,
as she was always looking down on me
with her big holier then thou nose,
the routine was to wake up every day at 4 a.m.
going to the chapel to pray
and say a lot of amens,
then having a quick breakfast of
coffee, bread and water,
then onto the cleaning
which lasted several hours,
washing and ironing the nuns
and priests clothes everyday,
cleaning the floors and toilets
with a tiny toothbrush
to my dismay,
dusting and vacuuming
all the rooms,
maintaining the large
farm using an old broken down mule…
At night I'd go to bed on
the lumpy old mattress,
feeling exhausted, lonely and famished,
hearing nothing but my stomach
complaining and grumbling,
thinking to myself
this is worse than the amish!
So tying some bedsheets
together I jumped out
the convent window,
ran all the way as
fast as I could and
started to hitchhike
on the turnpike,
it started raining and a
car finally pulled over,
quickly jumped in
only to discover,
the amish mafia guy
who looked
like Al Pacino give me
a big wide grin…
thinking to myself
not again...
Addendum: She finally escaped again and settled in Timbuktu where thank God nobody recognized her and where she made friends with the natives there who just happened to be so primitive they got her at spearpoint to make all their clothes and food from scratch, clean all their huts, make baskets and pottery, be the nanny for their tribal kids, hunt lions and tigers for meals……….
who knew?
firstoff, i wish to say, but not overdo,
that i never knew, what the new gnu knew
he never really said very much, and i knew
he wouldn't as such, since, being a new gnu
he hadn't much clue 'bout what to do
the previous gnu had a more worldly view
from Kalamazoo journeyed east to Timbuktu
beyond Katmandu south, down to old Peru
been many places, wore out many a shoe
but always believed that he'd come through
he got entangled with a bit of a shrew
a South American sheep, a hot-blooded ewe
that took every opportunity to scold and spew
venomous accusations that were mostly untrue
she really raised a big hullabaloo
he, being the good gnu we all knew
tried to smooth her feathers, to gently subdue
her wild angers towards that wildebeest
but, to little avail to say the least
yet it was the best the old gnu knew to do
he bleated that his love for her was true
she neighed loudly that no, they were through
she saw him now, from a whole different view
said she was leaving, that he should not pursue
for all she cared, he could turn into glue
she knew now she wanted the new gnu to woo
the new gnu knew amorously what would quickly ensue
but couldn't overcome with analytical review
certainty of grief from passions point of view
love's cliff came careening into abysmal view
"Ewe are what I want" the new gnu cried anew
in turn the ewe replied "i will always love you"
we'll build a life we always wanted, long overdue
have many children, a whole herd, a gnu ewe crew
we'll be happy ever after, in our own petting zoo
the new gnu thought he'd just follow through
but things went awry, let's say, far askew
the new gnu knew he'd met his own Waterloo
it wasn't long, you know, 'fore the ewe went skidoo
without even so much as a fond adieu
then the new gnu and the old gnu began to renew
a friendship, from which they both, had withdrew
i don't wish to insinuate, and not misconstrue
the bond of companionship the gnus lovingly grew
when old bonds are severed another comes on cue
now the gnus know what all beings should too
happiness and contentment depends on your view
you never know what the turn of your screw
in pursuit of a felicity, unknown hitherto
gets new gnu possibilities coming out of the blue
...thank you...
© Goode Guy 2013-05-31
Its the last minute of the 11th hour
I have seen a demon wondering searching for a soul
A priest coveting the ass of another man's woman at church
Convince people you have a speed dial to God's Kingdom
And they will take any theological theories given to them
They worship sophisticated stone deities.
Emmanuel TV, electromagnetic Gods in static images
Composers of the reverse version of the Holy grail
Cursing God, misquoting scriptures and reversing verses
Misleading women like Hershey's Kisses and forbidden pleasures
The fabric of our species is a loose canon
The revelations post-predicted by the real Mayans
The apocalypse.
Its the last minute of the 11th hour
This poem is not against the church
It speaks for Rhodes, Selassie and Robert Moffat
New disciples that walked the deserts of Africa
The founders and architects of God's synagogues
Scribers that wrote covenants in caves at Timbuktu
Puthadikobo, Livingstone, and Thabanchu
Monasteries with no Automated Teller Machices on their walls
This poem is not against Anglicans, Catholics or Apostles
Its an allegory against those that spit on the chapel alters
The bishops and priests with their filthy urethrae
Their genitalia submerged in the oral cavities of alter boys
Seeking head in return for blessings, deliverance and confessions
Fake Joshuas who plant placebo demons and exorcise them for fame
The same devils that preach at the podium of cathedral portals
Dangerous men, listened and worshiped by millions
I m not against the church.
I believe in Muhammad and Jesus all the same
And the sacred message they bring supreme
From Judah through Jordan and the rivers of Ethiopia
I stand firm against Lucifer's devices.
In the face of damnation an entire nation has succumbed
The devil puts in more work than Jehovah's witnesses
Such a beautiful genus undone at the seams by its own beliefs
Victims of natural selection and ever-upgrading IQs
Each generation figures they can be better than their creator
Separationists led by confused evangelists
I m not against the church. I m against religion
I have seen a demon at church searching for lost ones
A priest coveting the ass of another man's woman at church
Its the last seconds of revelation's last moments.
No objection to cold weather, but...
ah jest wanna boomerang
back into the womb
versus being threatened
courtesy beastie boy gang
beating me to a pulp
after accurately discerning
being scared less pang
suddenly imagining myself
buffered, and buttressed
within zen Sibyl
prophet table Chinese philosophy
known as Yin and Yang.
No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
haint got any got any
handy dandy blues clue,
nonetheless said wish
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.
Sudden pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting
Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,
thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this
before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying damn
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...
Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy
lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse
learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,
one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!
A hexagon, a hexagon, you have to be a hexagon.
You say you are a pentagon?
What use have I for pentagon?
You’re too close to the White House lawn!
So you’re a base to stand upon?
This isn’t baseball, Pentagon.
You silly polygon, be gone!
A hexagon, a hexagon. You have to be a hexagon!
You say you are a nonagon.
A nonagon? What good are YOU?
A coin perhaps, from Timbuktu??
You’re nothing, nonagon. Come on!
A hexagon, a hexagon. You have to be a hexagon!
You say you are a decagon.
I guess you think you are a star.
I don’t need someone quite so far
up in the heavens where you are.
I need, instead, a hexagon.
A hexagon, a hexagon. You have to be a hexagon!
You say you are an octagon.
You’ve got some versatility!
A mirror, tiles, candles too.
They all can be the shape of you.
But on the streets I always see
your sign. It makes me have to stop.
I do not think you are for me!
A hexagon, a hexagon. You have to be a hexagon!
A triangle you’ve now become?
A simple flag? Three-sided crumb?
I know that as an instrument
you are not much! I find you dumb.
A hexagon, a hexagon. You have to be a hexagon!
A rectangle you try to be
and now a square. You don’t fool me!
I find you oh so ordinary.
Crackers or Monopoly,
or crossword puzzles I don’t need
and Sponge Bob – yep – that’s “square” indeed!
A hexagon, a hexagon. You have to be a hexagon!
And so you are a circle now?
you’ve got no point, you “walking round in circles” cow.
A hexagon, a hexagon. You have to be a hexagon.
I want those feathered flakes of snow
with crystals of six sides to show.
I need the shape of many eyes
that see more colors than we know -
the eyes of flitting dragonflies!
I need the carbon chain of DNA
and pretty patterns on the shell
of tortoises. Okay, okay!
You are a hexagon, you say?
Come let me have a taste. Don’t tease!
You are the honeycomb of bees!
So sweet you are; you are my *salve.
I now have got a hexagon;
you're now the thing I had to have!
*In American English: salve uses silent l and rhymes with have.
Sept 15, 2019 For Nina Parmenter's "Welcome to My Random World" Contest
while atop the surface of planet Earth humanity
all abustle skittering
to and fro, hither and yon
engaged in self important activity yielding profits,
sans blood, sweat and tears won
full throttle industrial
manufacturers quaking unstoppably
only intermittently pausing,
where managers standing arms akimbo
asper quizzical looking hue cree ton
megaphone blaring orders to underlings
so "Boss" tweed can line pockets
for his/her daughter and/or son
Head Honcho most aggrieved,
when red ink doth run
undermining the bottom line,
thus farming out labor to distant places
(where wages amount
to pennies on the dollar)
locals such as Lake Woebegone, Qum, Timbuktu,
et cetera where pun
gnashing working conditions tantamount
to slave labor,
yet scare other options open
hence able bodied men,
women and children scramble,
despite back breaking grueling physically
exhausting grunt job accepting second to none
with nary any rest for weary
long as workweek includes a mon
day, where bloodied bare hands claw
purported Mother lode
with feigned frenzied zest
enterprise bolstered
via executive bank ministers
financing lucrative scheme
attended to by majordomo
attired in expensive vest
corporate investment project elicits
quaffing, imbibing, and chugging elixir
produced from heavily guarded recipe
qua electric kool aid acid test
where coeval business men/women rest
assured bonanza forecast upon
former green acres hiding treasured quest
marginally concerned such nettlesome
pillaging, ravaging, torturing ranks
wealth driven vanity as deleterious pest
shortsighted exploitation money making embarkation
glorified as investment nsync to feather nest
retirement funds despite leaving the environment messed
up, whereby future generations saddled with
poorly bandaging gentrifying, resuscitating
gaping wounds upon Gaia at best
shortening quality of life
for all (poetry) Earthlings aye attest.
In Africa's embrace, freedom sings,
Through vast plains and rivers' springs.
A continent's heartbeat, strong and true,
Where dreams take flight, where hopes renew.
From ancient tribes to modern days,
A tapestry of colors, myriad ways,
The spirit dances, unbound and free,
In the rhythm of Africa's jubilee.
On savannahs wide, where lions roam,
Freedom echoes in nature's poem.
The mighty elephant, with grace untamed,
Symbolizes strength, forever unchained.
From Cape to Cairo, and Timbuktu,
Freedom's flame burns bright and true.
Through struggles faced, and battles fought,
African hearts remain steadfast, never distraught.
From the echoes of apartheid's reign,
To independence, breaking every chain,
Africa's spirit rose, resilient and proud,
In the face of adversity, standing unbowed.
In Soweto's streets, the cries of change,
The birth of freedom, forever ingrained.
Nelson Mandela's voice, a beacon of light,
Inspiring a nation to stand up and fight.
The rhythm of freedom, an African beat,
Resonates through the lands, a harmony sweet.
In vibrant markets and bustling towns,
Freedom's essence can always be found.
From the Sahara's dunes to Victoria Falls,
Freedom cascades in majestic calls.
In the whispers of the Serengeti's breeze,
The promise of freedom whispers with ease.
Through fields of gold and diamond mines,
Africa's treasures, its vibrant signs.
Yet true wealth lies in freedom's embrace,
Empowering every soul, every race.
Let freedom's flame forever burn,
Igniting a hunger to learn and discern.
For in the spirit of Africa, we find,
The boundless potential of humankind.
So let us celebrate, Africa's birthright,
Freedom's triumph, a radiant light.
From Nigeria's shores to Ethiopia's peaks,
Let freedom reign, for all future weeks.
In unity, let us join hands and stand,
Honoring Africa's liberation, grand.
With hearts ablaze, our voices resound,
Freedom's anthem, forever renowned.
In Africa's embrace, freedom thrives,
Nurtured by the land, where hope survives.
A continent's journey, ever so grand,
A testament to the power of freedom's hand.
the bittersweet silent story of my life age
fifty and nine automatically rebroadcast
in indelible (yet never washed out) beige
indistinguishably linkedin, when counting
the last three of seventy somber orbitz,
signify torturous custom made cage
whose darkening shades of gray
housed a weakened Harriet Harris,
an ashen corpse lay
no doubt a grown changeling dust play
a cruel trick, and soul of me mum didst slay,
so...tis with great difficulty aye write this poem today
cathartic to brush off self denunciation,
an albatross that dust way
heavily incriminating, ostracizing this mind of mine,
recurring every year comb May fourth a line
codifying, delineating, earmarking,
and doth likened
to elementary school Boyer
as in Henry Kline
no less painful reflection plus unavoidable,
hence this middle aged man lets feelings incline
toward self expression this anniversary
revisiting re: deign
upon memorializing general up beat
defiance at death of thine late mother,
where disease rabidly did eat
ting her til she expired,
this singular married heir
set himself a writing fete
wordlessly mouths never expressed greet
unbeknownst reeders gleaning my sentiments heat
ting recollected adieu bid prior,
whence she angrily wanted to meet
that accursed nemesis
against healthiness and repeat
cherished apothegm,
that existence offers no second act
as she relinquished slipping tenuous weak bract
leave ving ever fainter grip upon cracked
pommel of mortality, an immutable fact
thence black knight denounced, pounced, hijacked
trounced unannounced, vanquished, lacked
motive to rival nixed, extinguished sputtering pact
fast fading joie de vivre unspoken,
where death rattle racked
personal def tone accentuation tracked
subsequent self castigation,
excoriation nearly whacked
me to Timbuktu rebuking extolling bless
sing experienced from
this sole son for thirteen years, aye confess
when the inimitable Harriet Harris
ALAFFIA EVERYDAY COCONUT SHAMPOO
Yours truly (me)
just an ordinary primate from the human zoo,
who while ambling along
the boulevard of broken dreams on a Green Day
(just me and my shadow)
I experienced unexpected lionizing flattery
courtesy Pink Floyd,
he went ape and shouted "hey you"
out there in the cold
getting lonely, getting old
but honest to dog,
I took the road less traveled
unexpectedly encountering
fire breathing creatures
imagine dragons puffing
at these lovely bones
that constitute a generic guy,
a madding crowd qua at least one
with multiple talking heads
quite frightful harried styled beastly yahoo
primitive creature obsessed with "pretty stones"
popularized by Jonathan Swift
in the fourth section of Gulliver's Travels
trying their damndest to woo
yours truly, an aging baby boomer
and long haired styled pencil necked geek
he/him even extended
an invitation to their next venue
to frolic in the autumn mist
in a land called Honah Lee,
hence methought to spruce myself up
to undergo a major makeover
courtesy Salon Nova beauty technician,
and in one fell swoop
off went approximately a dozen inches
of mine lovely brunette locks of love
(tinged with natural gray),
and upon getting
to the house at Pooh Corner
I swiftly tailored mine appearance
showering and sudsing hair
with aforementioned product
(videre licet title of poem)
suddenly unconditionally loving
the new Matthew Scott Harris
immediately accepting an awesome
handsome kickass transformation
awash with true value,
especially after liberally appling
Eco Style Olive Oil Styling Gel
with damp hands quite a challenge,
but cap I did eventually unscrew
ready to rock and roll with the Monkeys
(with other artists... Guess Who)
at a rave in Timbuktu,
whereat paparazzi snapped pictures
asking me to stand still as a statue
encased within a stone wall
(think Andrew J. Jackson)
unexpectedly espying my likeness
in the next issue
of classy fashion magazine
nothing but accolades
with stunning breathtaking photographs
populated the Harris review.
No objection to cold weather, but...
ah jest wanna boomerang back into the womb
to escape unrelenting forbidding gloom.
perhaps cuz mine generation
nsync with baby boom.
No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless (three plus) scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
yours truly haint got any
handy dandy blues clue,
nonetheless said wish -
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.
Sudden pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting
Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,
thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this
before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying damn
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...
Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy
lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse
learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,
one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!