The forlorn look upon humanity’s face
Weary eyes ravaged by pervasive depravity
Societal treachery weighing upon an exhausted soul
Insidious indecision poisoning resilience
Observing the pre-meditated mass murder of compassion
With horrific hesitation and sickening silence
Stagnant and catatonic with indifference
Immobile and and psychologically paralyzed
Transfixed upon a whim
To adhere to gridlock
To embrace the virus as the norm
And succumb to its degeneracy
There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations
that remain as was,
for lack of a reason to be other.
Restaurants steeped, not in nostalgia,
but in a comfortable inertia;
diners that serve
broast, broiled and breaded,
drive-ins where the movies you missed
can now (if you have a mind to),
miss again.
We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for archived time-warping selections.
Beer here has a fabled and dusty history,
and is brewed as meaty as a rolled-up forearm.
Astronauts are grown here,
the moon is their backyard,
their silvery spaceships
launch each year from every State Fair.
We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way,
we are as post-modern as Jetson reruns.
We dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.
Post Modern Cynical Poets.
To count upon line
Life would be just fine
Find my way through time
To measure out rhyme
That’s what sound is for
Hexaverse— terse
One can rehearse
The sing song rhyme
That is so sublime
It was best
I should guess
Meter stressed
Left with two
What to do?
Laugh.
She rode into town
On the surface
Of a cracked egg
Bearing the usual grievances
Of the heavily indoctrinated
A crowd of blind children
Gathered round to show their "solidarity"
As is typical
In this post-modern age.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2019
16/8/19
He read the words,
But he knew not what they meant.
He walked down many roads,
But he knew not where they went.
He lived his life,
But he knew not why he was alive.
I love you,oh,my little black dog.
Oh,yes!Bloop bong.
Thwack.
I love this pit,I do really.
Bang bong.
No, do not help me
I am
Fay
ted.
My narrative went wrong.
Oh.hoopla!
Now he has deleted me from his
Sto
Ry!
He wants me to disappear.
Mama meea Blong!
But I have my own narrative
La banko dio
Bloop bung.
My heart longs.
For his love alone
is a sad storee.
Oh eh a mama dip thong
Jer bum long
I love my white dove
But he hates me.
Ah,ah, it's time for some Wagner.
I hate it!
Screaming women
Get off me!
Oh,cupid!
I feel you are lucid.
Blong
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