the water guy has an annoying loud voice
I jumped a foot when he asked if I wanted a drink
I have heard megaphones that were softer
I dare not touch the water
fearing he will return and scream at me again
He must be hard of hearing
But I am not
Why do they let him work here? I asked another waitress
We cannot get rid of him, she confided. He owns this restaurant.
Mysterious Mumbo micron meanders most monochrome mornings
Merry Mickey monster makes mentionable mackerel marmalade
Michigans maleficent mayor maimed Mrs.Maryjane May Marlow
Mumbling meager monarch mumbles making Muncie memorable
Minute minions marched missing marshmallow marsh
Montana mistresses mixed millions, mincing megaphones
Marvelous misguided monkeys mimed minutemen,
Milly mistakenly met misogynist men making mincemeat
Marty’s munchable muffins mysteriously melted
Mystical memories mischievously met Merry Mickey
Missouri's mania maybe mystifying many Minnesotans
Moppish meanies mislaid miniscule Mississippi maps
I could decide that you are bad
And people urge to judge you mad,
If you would often keep your dad
Thinking that he could not be glad,4
Because you had him made a pad:
A bearer of what leaves one sad,
Often misspending Hard- earned wad,
On every craze, every cursed fad:
You, his doted -upon lad:
The one in megaphones he had
Do you ever feel like –
You are being driven onto jagged rocks
By an unforgiving tide,
Searching for a refuge,
Searching for somewhere safe to hide?
Feel the world is spinning much too fast
And you are barely hanging on,
Like a vinyl record spinning out of control
And you don’t like the song?
Feel like you are on a sheer cliff face
And the next hand-hold you can’t find,
The storm clouds gathering above you
And they aren’t silver lined?
Feel you are wildly out of step,
With the decision makers at large,
That you cannot make yourself heard,
Cannot influence those, seemingly, ‘in charge’?
Feel you are whispering into the wind
While others bellow into megaphones,
While the privileged feast high-on-the-hog
And throw you the picked-clean bones?
If you feel your warnings can’t break through,
Just be mindful to protect your mental state,
Your views will eventually gain support,
Just hope this happens –
Before it’s much too late…
Close to a scandalous ten thousand,
A reproach to the late Reverend Townsend;
All with their advertising megaphones,
And big dreams-nursing microphones …
In my town of domicile
With odds one can’t reconcile
Which I had some time walked miles
With my job-hunting files
That rather handed me victorious counts
Of how their number mounts:
I tell you: A Religious Harassment,
An unendurable embarrassment;
Ten thousand, really a killing figure
For a town wielding not the circumference of Cairo
And herself not lending to vigour
Definable with honest biro …
I still maintain: gong hollowed-out halls,
No Rock Musician would try for his frenzied falls;
A good many of them: a late traveler’s tent,
Whose thanksgivings broadcast Satan’s intent …
Never could be God’s umbrella,
For the catholic Emmanuel and Emmanuella;
Nor altars for demonic exits
From Christ’s patronizing visits …
Christ’s salvation current;
Is unthinkable in rooms of high rent!
Not Satan, not the evil fairies,
not Micky Mouse and his club
of pre-packaged screen angels.
Maybe the radio-stars
the high priests of biblical fashion
with their guitars, mega churches
and megaphones?
Did Jesus get too popular?
New temples sprang up
but they are just above the ears
either side of the skull,
and even a congregation of one
is lost between the entry and exit.
So who ruined faith?
They did,
the ones who declared their ‘Faith’
above all others, condemning
even the good fairies.
You pick a fight to live today,
You tell the time you saw the dreamed-of shore
of an island, Gilligan,
Gentle wind at your cheek,
A kiss parting lips caress,
A day wide-eyed as a lamb,
But then the harrow got you.
So swing your partner, men sashay,
Sad to say I see you lost a leg,
You can call the do-si grow
One of them megaphones
You could goose it up: Wrong way!
If you don’t know where to sit,
Why not by your other shoe?
But pick your spot and stay away,
One fine day the world will open wide,
Till then keep your company
With the goat-kid-gloved-of-
the-less-said-the-better-backed-
down-mouse-frightened elephants,
schooling the lesson you knew.
And take your tea with tooth decay,
Spoon-to-cup-by-spoon-to-cup you go,
Rhythm stretches on like dough,
Apple-pie-order slow,
And you kneed deep all alone,
Haystack-deep, Gabriel's song!
Blast it! Blast is 'las to brew!
my x has been boxed
Stations have been played
nine ten do
switch
my reality virtualised
my intelligence artificialised
escaping fear in evil
residently near
Trevor smiles
as his stole car
switch gears
Of wars i am well versed
Honoured with medals
Never smelt the Battle field
Duty always called
From mist
filled silent hills
screaming megaphones call
Half my life lived
Fi-fa-foo-fum
I smell the blood
of a lego x-man
Mind my craft
Spy with row
Crash the band
i could
Assassin hid by hood
Redemption read
Dead rise and walk
May i cry ask the devil
Raid the den
The division with which her
smile has changed
wonder if these days
are the last of us
You can’t hurt words.
Lord knows I’ve tried.
For years I tortured words,
twisted them, kicked them about.
For a time,
it was just me against words.
The more I hammered on them
the more they jumped back up
and mocked me.
There is a God of words.
He protects words from politicians,
lawyers and poets.
I learned the hard way
that you have to love words.
They are not weapons, there’
not flags, not megaphones.
Loving words means knowing when
not to use them. This is just respectful.
You won’t hurt their feelings.
but if you misuse their power to
Illustrate and illuminate,
they will smear and smudge,
or shout too loud.
Words do not need much company;
just enough of themselves
to actually say something real.
You can’t hurt words,
and in themselves they do not lie,
it’s only the heart that lies,
and of course,
untold numbers of poets.
Summer love, a man, a woman, conception, a new born
Ring the bells, amplify megaphones, bugle the cow horn
The ceremony begins, baptism, cries, holy water
From two one, family, father, mother, son or daughter
A priests blessings, proud grandparents, proud parents, birth anew
Hospital papers, a birth certificate, much to do
Tears from parents, tears from baby, tears from all, tears of joy
Breast fed, nipples, milking mothers, changing diapers, oh boy
A songbird sings, rock-a-bye-baby, lullaby's at large
Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, sitters take charge
A pacifier, a cradle, corners of stuffed toys
Hanging crib toys, singing toys, jingling bells, rattling noise
A new generation, of life, all this, in summer love
A woman, man, baby, a family, from god above
A highlight of my grown-up life,
Before I was a mom or wife,
Was being one of those who cheered
On game days, when our teams appeared.
This was in high school, years ago.
The squad, unlike today’s, gone pro,
Was there to get the crowd enthused;
Exhilaration we effused.
Through megaphones we shouted out.
The crowd responded; we had clout.
So when we yelled, “Gimme a T!”
You best believe they did, with glee.
We practiced hard and stretched each limb
For many hours in the gym.
It was our church, or more, our temple
And our rabbi, Mrs. Stemple.
I wore that uniform with pride.
To me, it most exemplified
A feeling potent, deep and strong
That to this world, I did belong.
Tonight our squad will reunite;
This poem I likely will recite.
We’ll reminisce about our past
And hopefully, we’ll have a blast.
But looking back, what I know now
Is being on that squad, somehow
Was magical and did provide
Such joy, I still have some inside.
“I WILL OBEY”
stack the legos
make the towers
bury the money
build the server
send the message
the dandelion’s on fire.
tonight,
the code goes out
the message is clear
the message is coded
the megaphones were charged.
walk the blueprint of my home
listen to the frying pan cry
the due date on the digital
service bill is late but they
gave the world an extra day.
his voice follows
her voice carries
the world’s bloodsuckers
require new poison
the moon asks for the sun
the sun asks for an eviction
step after step
the coded messages reiterate.
time laughs as we forget
to breathe
resistance is pointless
and yet,
resistance is doubled.
tonight,
my ears have no conscience
they’ve made their own decision
jail stripes make love to the ball and chain
toupees move with agitation.
we’re all headed toward the same e n d.
By: Chicano Eddie
10-28-2016
The eyes behind a head inclined reflect a universe
Of shanty towns and kings in crowns and parties in a hearse,
Of heaping mounds of coffee grounds and pennies in a purse,
Of heart attacks in shoddy shacks, of motion in reverse,
Of reasons why pale kids must die, quite trite and curtly terse,
Of puppet people at the steeple, kneeling down averse,
Of tinkle tones and megaphones with empty words and worse,
Of life’s begin’ in utter sin and other things perverse,
Of lewd taboos and residues contained within the Curse,
While poets blind, in gallows’ rind, carve epitaphs in verse.
I want to live in a world
Where people with substance abuse problems
can walk hand in hand with a community of friends
Because addictions as we know it is harder to fight through then it was for frodo in the Lord
of the rings
I want to live in a world where
Poverty and homelessness is in our realm of political focal lens
Because the way I see it
Poets are street reporters
and Misery is the sheets that blankets
the poor.
Our pens are our megaphones
Social Injustices have continually been silenced
The news focuses on Angelina's Newest Babies
Or whether Tiger woods was guilty of infedility
and My god..... How distracted we become like
horses with side blinders
so mindlessly flipping through our
television sets
which in essence are portals where the doldrums of our brain cells come to hibernate
and we forget about our abilities to cause a commotion
Inspire with our thoughts
Our crazy, beautiful, wonderful, abstract, unique, witticisms that can set off a movement like
a thousand beautiful rainbow dominoes.
Falling to the floor in a ballet of tumultuous delight because
Change... change can simply erupt overnight
Lacking definitions
for glasses without bottoms,
we call them telescopes
or megaphones. But still
they crawl down our throats
like silver centipedes
because we close our mouths open
at just the right time
and we spit up poems.
So who cleans up
the order? Leaving it there
long enough, it will go away
or like a dog we tongue it back up--
coo at its sweetness, faces
blank as Big Chief tablets--
holding out these empty glasses for more,
wishing for the long, lasting sip of stars.
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