Borman and Anders and Lovell have gone around the moon
And charter trips in rocket ships may well be starting soon
We've reached a time in history that's called the lunar age
A frantic race to conquer space has now become the rage
Meanwhile down here on Mother Earth things haven't changed one bit
We bomb and raid what we have made led on by some half-wit
Man doesn't stop and try to save the treasures that are near
Let's lock the latch on the booby hatch—the loony age is here
So tired of the TV talking heads
twisting every word that's said
much of it scripted
and has to be read
they don't even have a vested interest
only putting their mouth
where the money is at best
my advice to them...
'If you have nothing useful to add,
Mum's the word
don't drive us mad,
keep it under wraps
stow it under your hat,
put a lid on it
or a cork in it,
zip your lips,
spare us the hot air,
it's a verbal Sirocco and, in all likelihood,
an ill wind that blows no one any good.'
It's a broad word
Let me dive into it
It's created to be embraced
Nature at It's raw form
It's created to be enjoyable
Control is imperative
Put a lid on it
It's part of intimacy
Link that chocolate off your fingers
It's part of who you are
Acknowledgement of preferences
It's part of indulgement
Awakening of senses
What a creation
I never saw myself clearly
But smelled my own disappointment
For I reeked with it; an acid smell.
I tasted Vicks in my mouth
When there was none in the house
And had not been for years
An unfamiliar voice told me I was a loser
It came from within; I recognized it not at all
But totally too
I was a sight, groveling and growling silently
I doubt anyone knew; for I kept this wisely silent
Away from the eyes of the others
And you are all the others
I can trust no one.
Smelling disinterest and disregard on you
As you pass me by not seeing me or my little dog Two
I have never recognized my sorrow
Or put a name on it
Preferring to keep it way down deep
Where I put a lid on it
You might see me as a party animal with flair
Self-confident, and outgoing
I scoff at the irony of that
As I take out my little friend
And watch the red bubbles pop out of my arm
As I make little cuts
To prove that I am alive
And can feel something.
Sir,
Hands off that Pen
Can i see your Poetry
License and Registration please
Sorry we have had several complaints
From both critics and reader's
That your Poem's aren't up to scratch
And i tend to agree with them
So unless you want me to come
back with a warrant
Put a lid on it
Find yourself another hobby
One that doesn't involve word's
and thoughts
Otherwise you will have your day
in court
For crimes against Literature
And the Prosecution has a list of
witnesses as long as your arm
Willing to testify your word's do
far more harm than good
Your Pen is an offensive Weapon
Sharper than Sword and Stones
"Millions of minions, pinioned by their sickened dominions,
asking for the opinions of popular Virginians who reside
in the capitals and Capitol of our nation's vacant soul!--
Millions of minions in search of a perch, it can be white
birch, black birch, or even a church, all looking for ways
to pad their padded pockets, it's all a rigged game in the
game of loaded dockets!"
"Excuse me sir...
But will you sit down and please shut up--
Now's not the time for civilian positions on race, religion,
or social conditions; it's best you put a lid on it because
in here there's absolutely only one opinion to which you
better da'mn well listen--
There's no talking in the theater! Now be a good Minion
and enjoy the show."
February 17, 2016
Radical Rantings
ants and flys in my fresh soup
strain it out with love
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